This morning I am facing straight on the classic canner's connundrum: you can't have your canned goods and eat them too. I've written about this before - the frisson of hestitation before giving jam to a friend, the ever-so-slight quiver of regret before opening pickled brussels to grace the dinner table. And, as I wrap up a jar of jerk sauce for a brother-in-law and a jar of chocolate sauce for another, and pack up a jar of cranberry chutney to take to the mountains for Thanksgiving, it is clear: if I wish to have such a varied pantry and enjoy the pleasures of being open-handedly generous with the fruits of my labors, my self-imposed canning maternity leave must end. The Little Diva is nearly 10 months old now (can it really be so?) and mama must again turn her attention to provisioning if life is to continue as we know it both in terms of household management and maternal health (in addition to filling my canning shelves anew, I am ready to reacquaint myself with my own personal joys and habits outside of mothering). I entered these infant months with shelves full and never worried that a plain meal would go unadorned - there have been pickles and jams and chutneys and sauces and marinades to perk up even the most basic of broiled meats or omelets or breads. It was a wonderful gift to myself, this inventory, and now it is nearly depleted.


So again into the breach. This is an awkward time of year to fill up the canning kettle. Harvest has past and there is very little on the horizon in terms of produce. I'm thinking more cranberry chutney, lime chutney, more marmalade, pickled greens, pickled turnips and juice-based jellies - pomegranate or even carrot-tangerine.


It's good to be back. I love the smell of vinegar in the morning.