We're fixin' to take the pressure canner for a spin this weekend. It will be interesting doing a canning project with Brainiac. Not that he's not usually involved to some degree, if only to calmly listen while I complain about all the tomatoes or peppers or...but this time I want him pretty close by. An inaugural run of any new equipment that involves buttons, a power source, gauges or instruction manuals of any level of complexity is boundto have me too jittery to think clearly. His sciencey, rational demeanor will do be good this first time out.
To prepare I've concocted what looks in the fridge to be a lifetime supply of chicken broth. In reality it's probably less than a month's worth, since it and veggie broth are staples around here. I find store-bought broth to be perfectly acceptable but making my own appeals to my inner frugalista, that secret corner of my personality that freezes carrot peelings.
Yes, it's true. My method for broth making is simple: freeze chicken carcasses (we have a roasted chicken maybe every other month) and also freeze veggie peelings from carrots, onions and the like (including also celery tops, onion sprouts and garlic that's a bit past it's prime). So now you've got chicken(s) and an ever-filling container of veggies. Eventually the twain shall meet and you can 'em all in a pot with water and a couple peppercorns to make broth. Easy as pot pie.
In times recently gone by I'd freeze the broth. With the acquisition of the pressure canner we'll be able to keep the broth while also preserving precious freezer space for something else. Excellent.
Now, I realize that on the face of it, all this is kind of silly. Freezing already-cooked (chicken) or processed (veggies) stuff only to cook it into something else and then process it for storage when more broth than I could ever use is on offer at a perfectly nice store not five miles from me...well, yeah. Silly. That's not the point. Not my point, anyway (although I know it may well be the point for you) and I'm o.k. with that. I like not wasting perfectly good raw materials and knowing what's in the food on my shelves. Realistically, I can't do that for everything but where I can (ha! can? get it?), I will.
The Best Sauce
If my kitchen smells a bit peculiar at the moment, it's only because I embracing a notion to be productive. The oven is packed with a peach-blueberry crisp, chocolate chip muffins and a pumpkin pie while the stove top entertains my largest stockpot simmering the makings for chicken broth (for pressure canning experiments) and a bit of roasted veggie pasta sauce. The aroma around here isn't bad, just strange.
Some of these will find their ways to friends' houses and others are meant for us here at home, but what almost all have in common is that they would not have been possible today had I not canned, frozen or otherwise stored the key ingredients months ago. I haven't been able to do any food shopping for almost three weeks and not for the first time am I thankful for spending the time I do stocking our pantry. Remind me of this, will you, when come late summer I complain about drowning in apples or tomatoes or whatever is vexing me at that moment?
The fruit crisp is our dinner party offering. I rashly promised to bring dessert without actually thinking about what I might produce. With the day upon me, I peered into cupboard and freezer until - a ha! - inspiration struck in the form of two bags of frozen blueberries to pair with a pint of canned peaches. A quick crumble on top and off we go. I love fruit crisps hot, warm or cold, with cream or without and will take almost any opportunity to share my devotion. If peach is good and blueberry is better, surely together they'll be fantastic, right? Let us hope.
The roasted veggie sauce is saving tomorrow's lunch. I've got some wagon wheel pasta on hand - my favorite for brown bagging because they don't have to be cut, twirled or slurped - but no commercial sauce. No problem. I pulled a pint of the roasted veggie sauce off the shelf, poured in a half a cup of leftover merlot and just like that, there's tomorrow's lunch.
These are just two examples of the sheer convenience of having a stock of homemade convenience foods. On other recent days I've opened salsa for snacks, pickles to brighten a plain meal, and diced tomatoes for dirty rice. Blackberry jam filled thumbprint cookies made to cheer a friend, while tomolives graced more than one martini glass. In nearly three weeks of what I had thought of as sub-optimal food procurement I've been astonished again and again by how little we actually needed and missed.
Even while I extol the virtues of home canning, though, I have to confess that it's true that similar benefits could be had with careful shopping for commercial goods. Still, I think we can't overlook the empowerment that taking more charge of one's food brings. I know the origin of every ingredient in every jar I opened, hugged the people that stood beside me filling them, pint after pint after pint.
This week the pantry associated with the local medical clinic put out a call for assistance, looking to fill their rapidly dwindling stocks. With three weeks of near-zero food-related expenditures thanks to decisions we made six or seven months ago, my family's mandate is abundantly clear.
What an extraordinary privilege.
Some of these will find their ways to friends' houses and others are meant for us here at home, but what almost all have in common is that they would not have been possible today had I not canned, frozen or otherwise stored the key ingredients months ago. I haven't been able to do any food shopping for almost three weeks and not for the first time am I thankful for spending the time I do stocking our pantry. Remind me of this, will you, when come late summer I complain about drowning in apples or tomatoes or whatever is vexing me at that moment?
The fruit crisp is our dinner party offering. I rashly promised to bring dessert without actually thinking about what I might produce. With the day upon me, I peered into cupboard and freezer until - a ha! - inspiration struck in the form of two bags of frozen blueberries to pair with a pint of canned peaches. A quick crumble on top and off we go. I love fruit crisps hot, warm or cold, with cream or without and will take almost any opportunity to share my devotion. If peach is good and blueberry is better, surely together they'll be fantastic, right? Let us hope.
The roasted veggie sauce is saving tomorrow's lunch. I've got some wagon wheel pasta on hand - my favorite for brown bagging because they don't have to be cut, twirled or slurped - but no commercial sauce. No problem. I pulled a pint of the roasted veggie sauce off the shelf, poured in a half a cup of leftover merlot and just like that, there's tomorrow's lunch.
These are just two examples of the sheer convenience of having a stock of homemade convenience foods. On other recent days I've opened salsa for snacks, pickles to brighten a plain meal, and diced tomatoes for dirty rice. Blackberry jam filled thumbprint cookies made to cheer a friend, while tomolives graced more than one martini glass. In nearly three weeks of what I had thought of as sub-optimal food procurement I've been astonished again and again by how little we actually needed and missed.
Even while I extol the virtues of home canning, though, I have to confess that it's true that similar benefits could be had with careful shopping for commercial goods. Still, I think we can't overlook the empowerment that taking more charge of one's food brings. I know the origin of every ingredient in every jar I opened, hugged the people that stood beside me filling them, pint after pint after pint.
This week the pantry associated with the local medical clinic put out a call for assistance, looking to fill their rapidly dwindling stocks. With three weeks of near-zero food-related expenditures thanks to decisions we made six or seven months ago, my family's mandate is abundantly clear.
What an extraordinary privilege.
Quiz Show
Like many folks these days, Brainiac and I are trying to be more mindful in how we spend our increasingly limited discretionary cash. Some changes were a long time coming and we're grateful to have the kick in the pants to take care of them. Other fiscal adjustments are more nuanced and may not even look like much to the outside observer but are making quite an impact to us personally (I recently learned that I can buy four bottles of nail polish for the cost of one manicure! Laugh if you must, I will merely smile the smug smile of someone whose nails look fantastic at a fraction of the usual cost + a bottle of Seche Vite). For shorthand we might call these line items NO and MAYBE.
We have a third category, let's call it YES, in which we have, if anything, expanded our spending. You might think of it as covering anything which could be considered tool-like. Under this rather large umbrella we placed things like chain saw (although now unnecessary because Brainiac trashed picked and repaired one from a nearby posh 'hood's curb - can you say score?), printer ink, drying rack(s) and so on (I should point out that the YES list isn't really a license to spend, it's really more a wishlist of practical items for which we are willing to exchange actual money, although we hope the situation doesn't actually come to that). Anyway, last week I indulged my inner spendinista in a highly responsible way by purchasing an item off of the YES list. What did I buy? How about a quiz? I'll give you three hints. My purchase:
1) Relates to the, uh, theme of this here blog,
2) Requires me to read a gauge (Brainiac cracks up at this one), and
3) Enables me to can non-acidic foods like broths or plain green beans.
So what do you think I bought? Oh, here's a bonus fourth hint: It just might be more fun that all those bottles of nail polish.
We have a third category, let's call it YES, in which we have, if anything, expanded our spending. You might think of it as covering anything which could be considered tool-like. Under this rather large umbrella we placed things like chain saw (although now unnecessary because Brainiac trashed picked and repaired one from a nearby posh 'hood's curb - can you say score?), printer ink, drying rack(s) and so on (I should point out that the YES list isn't really a license to spend, it's really more a wishlist of practical items for which we are willing to exchange actual money, although we hope the situation doesn't actually come to that). Anyway, last week I indulged my inner spendinista in a highly responsible way by purchasing an item off of the YES list. What did I buy? How about a quiz? I'll give you three hints. My purchase:
1) Relates to the, uh, theme of this here blog,
2) Requires me to read a gauge (Brainiac cracks up at this one), and
3) Enables me to can non-acidic foods like broths or plain green beans.
So what do you think I bought? Oh, here's a bonus fourth hint: It just might be more fun that all those bottles of nail polish.
Red Beans and Ricely Yours
Lately I've noticed a steep uptick in the number of people brought to my little interwebby home with searches on things like "Dave Ramsey rice beans" or "beans and rice rice and beans" or even "ramsey bean rice do i have to" (yes, really). In the year and a half since I posted my thoughts on the subject of Mr. Ramsey's dietary recommendations the hits have been steady, if not numerous. A few a week, here and there, with the occasional e-mailed question of what, exactly, did I mean by paneer or how dare I compare the man to Martha Stewart. All very workaday. In the last month those weekly few have turned into a daily few dozen.
It's not hard to understand why. Some folks are getting serious about their personal debt load and are embracing Dave Ramsey's methods for coping with and eliminating it. Others are just trying to figure out how to put a decent meal on the table while using as few of their scarce dollars as possible. One doesn't have to be an, ahem, news analyst to make sense of their interest in Ramsey's anti-debt empire or his ever-so-catchy admonishment.
To the extent that my referrals are economic coalmine canaries (o.k., they aren't at all, but go with me, yes?) there's more that brings me pause. The same day that CNN.com posted an article about white-collar, educated, professional folks utilizing foodbanks in California I received two separate e-mails and perhaps half a dozen hits all asking essentially the same question: can home canning help me feed my family cheaply.
Leaving aside the many unpalatable issues brought to bear in the CNN.com article - and I believe there are many besides the regrettable fact that people are hungry - it, the e-mails and referrals all underscore a key point that I've made before (here and here and here) and which I am going to make again right now. Knowing how to cook, how to can and even the basics of shopping for food are not luxuries, they are shields against all manner of weapons. Choosing a steady diet of rice and beans for any reason can be a grand and noble thing, but better if one can do it in a way that doesn't feel like a punishment or, worse, a consequence for decisions made in meeting rooms in far away cities by people never encountered. If one knows how to cook, there is endless (frugal) variety and pleasure to be found in beans and rice. If one knows how to shop for ingredients and is able to use them, the household impact of ever-increasing costs for pop tarts or boxed soup mix or anything else might be diminished (although admittedly not eliminated - there are limits, after all).
The talking heads have been agog at their wondering what the economy might mean for family life. Might people entertain at home more? Throw less elaborate home parties for birthdays? Vacation closer to home, camping perhaps? I suppose any or all of this is possible (although I remember the early-90s recession-influenced fashion of flannel and tightwadery didn't last all that long, did it?) I'd like to throw another possibility out there.
Maybe we'll learn to cook. For real, like with cutting and mixing and applying heat and measuring. Maybe we'll learn to do it with our kids, filling their metaphorical toolbox with the skills they'll need to be not as vulnerable as their parents to the vagaries and whims of large corporations. Maybe we'll be more ant-like, shunning our internal grasshopper voices to pick fruit and make jam, even when the day returns that we don't have to. Maybe we'll do it because it's a good thing to learn to do with our families, working together side by side to feed ourselves and each other. Maybe.
And to answer the question, yes, it's possible that preserving food at home can contribute to a lower grocery bill. For all of you who asked, I hope you found what you're looking for in your search here. Stick around and we'll learn even more together. As with most things, cooking and canning are more fun with friends.
It's not hard to understand why. Some folks are getting serious about their personal debt load and are embracing Dave Ramsey's methods for coping with and eliminating it. Others are just trying to figure out how to put a decent meal on the table while using as few of their scarce dollars as possible. One doesn't have to be an, ahem, news analyst to make sense of their interest in Ramsey's anti-debt empire or his ever-so-catchy admonishment.
To the extent that my referrals are economic coalmine canaries (o.k., they aren't at all, but go with me, yes?) there's more that brings me pause. The same day that CNN.com posted an article about white-collar, educated, professional folks utilizing foodbanks in California I received two separate e-mails and perhaps half a dozen hits all asking essentially the same question: can home canning help me feed my family cheaply.
Leaving aside the many unpalatable issues brought to bear in the CNN.com article - and I believe there are many besides the regrettable fact that people are hungry - it, the e-mails and referrals all underscore a key point that I've made before (here and here and here) and which I am going to make again right now. Knowing how to cook, how to can and even the basics of shopping for food are not luxuries, they are shields against all manner of weapons. Choosing a steady diet of rice and beans for any reason can be a grand and noble thing, but better if one can do it in a way that doesn't feel like a punishment or, worse, a consequence for decisions made in meeting rooms in far away cities by people never encountered. If one knows how to cook, there is endless (frugal) variety and pleasure to be found in beans and rice. If one knows how to shop for ingredients and is able to use them, the household impact of ever-increasing costs for pop tarts or boxed soup mix or anything else might be diminished (although admittedly not eliminated - there are limits, after all).
The talking heads have been agog at their wondering what the economy might mean for family life. Might people entertain at home more? Throw less elaborate home parties for birthdays? Vacation closer to home, camping perhaps? I suppose any or all of this is possible (although I remember the early-90s recession-influenced fashion of flannel and tightwadery didn't last all that long, did it?) I'd like to throw another possibility out there.
Maybe we'll learn to cook. For real, like with cutting and mixing and applying heat and measuring. Maybe we'll learn to do it with our kids, filling their metaphorical toolbox with the skills they'll need to be not as vulnerable as their parents to the vagaries and whims of large corporations. Maybe we'll be more ant-like, shunning our internal grasshopper voices to pick fruit and make jam, even when the day returns that we don't have to. Maybe we'll do it because it's a good thing to learn to do with our families, working together side by side to feed ourselves and each other. Maybe.
And to answer the question, yes, it's possible that preserving food at home can contribute to a lower grocery bill. For all of you who asked, I hope you found what you're looking for in your search here. Stick around and we'll learn even more together. As with most things, cooking and canning are more fun with friends.
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