When tomatoes rain, they pour. One day you’re wondering if any of your tomatoes will ever ripen, and the next day you’re wondering what to do with them all. And then before you know it, the garden gets frosted on, and that’s that. You’re stuck with the memories of tomatoes that you were able to enjoy, a crimson froth on the wave of summer, and with whatever tomatoes you managed to stash away.
But now, the tomatoes languish, growing soft on countertop platters, where they are easily taken for granted, as if there will always be tomatoes. One can also feel crushed by the weight of all the responsibility those tomatoes embody. If any rot, you have committed a crime against food.
Whether they come from a flush garden, friendly neighbors, farmers market or food bank, if you don’t have tomatoes to deal with yet, you will soon. So here are three ways of handling the red monsoon of August.
Simple oven-roasted tomato sauce
This sauce is the ultimate way of putting away tomatoes quickly and efficiently while leaving the widest array of options on the table. Other than a little bit of salt and some vinegar to raise the acid level, I kick that jar down the road, knowing that when the time comes I can decide how to season it. I leave the sauce uncommitted, and add whatever spices or veggies I care to at the time of cooking.
Remove the stem scab and any imperfections the tomatoes may harbor. Lay them flat on a cookie sheet(s), and roast them at 400 degrees until the tomatoes collapse into round, wrinkled piles. Remove the tray from the oven. When the tomatoes are cool, lift off the skins, squeezing their pale juice back onto the tray.
Many people blanch their tomatoes in boiling water and remove the skins that way. But since learning the oven-roasted tomato attack, I never looked back.
But however you reach the point of having peeled your tomatoes, dump the remaining juicy pulp into a thick-bottomed pot and simmer on low heat for an hour or two-until it reaches your desired thickness. Season with salt.
Assemble your sterilized jars. Add a tablespoon of vinegar to each quart, and half a tablespoon to each pint. Then ladle the sauce into the jars, and process for 20 minutes in a boiling water bath. This sauce can also be frozen in freezer bags, after first letting it cool.
Ma Ma’s Chunky Spicy Ketchup
This sauce, courtesy of my friend Allen Broach’s grandma, comes from southern plantation country. I’ve only been making it for a year, but it’s already developed a following among my circle of canning enthusiasts. The original recipe uses canned, drained tomatoes, but I’ve made it with fresh tomatoes and it works great. The juicier specimens, however, might take longer to cook down sufficiently. I like to use a combination of Roma and slicing tomatoes.
4 quarts canned (drained) or fresh tomatoes, coarsely chopped
1 rounded Tbsp. whole mixed pickling spices, tied in 5x5-inch square of cheesecloth, and crushed with a mallet
2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. black pepper corns (Broach admits to using a lot more)
1 cup sugar
3/4 cup dark vinegar (I used cider)
5 medium onions, chopped
1 or 2 pods hot pepper (optional, but recommended)
Add everything to a thick-bottomed pot and cook on low/medium for 2-to-3 hours, stirring often. Occasionally mash the bag of spices to release flavors.
“Don’t hurry with this sauce,” Broach cautioned. “Ma Ma was a very patient person and cook.”
Pour into sterilized jars, process in a hot water bath for 10 minutes. Keep them away from my Ma Ma-in-law, as she would happily eat them all.
High Octane Salsa
I learned this technique from the rarest of individuals: a used car salesman with whom one actually wants to be friends.
Roy Sasser got into spicy foods as part of a successful effort to get off drugs, as the endorphins created by spicy heat are similar to those of opioids, he says. And he would know.
Along the way, Sasser became quite the salsa master. But he stayed humble. “Ah don’ know hwhat ah’m doin’,” he confessed in a southern drawl thick enough to stick a truck up to its axles. “Ah jus throw a bunch a shit together.”
His self-deprecating assessment is basically true, but his method is tested. Not only is it delicious, this is the kind of salsa that’s built to last. I once stumbled upon some five-year old jars of Roy salsa, and didn’t hesitate. They were still in top form.
Roy’s salsa involves a lot more ingredients than the oven sauce or ketchup. But the ingredients in question are basically all in season now as well, so this is a way to put away a lot of different vegetables at once. By the time you’ve turned them into salsa you will defend those jars with your life.
Tomatoes and chili peppers comprise the bulk of this salsa, with garlic and carrots rounding it out. The ratio of tomato to chili pepper should be about one to one by uncut volume, or three to one by weight. So, for a 40-pound box of tomatoes, you’ll want 13 to 15 pounds of peppers, as well as 10 large onions, 3 pounds of carrots, and 6 heads of garlic.
High-acid, juicy, canning tomatoes are ideal; look for big, red, and round normal-looking varieties. No roma-style paste tomatoes or funky heirlooms. As for the peppers, include as many shapes, colors, sizes and flavors as you can. This diversity is what gives particular salsas their individual character. I use whatever I can get my hands on, which is most often jalapeños, bells, Anaheims, waxes, pickled peppers from the jar in my fridge that my kid’s art teacher gave me, and perhaps some crispy red pods pulled from the half-empty ristra hanging in the garage.
Salsa lovers with low heat tolerance can assemble a diverse collection of mild, sweet, and flavorful pepper varieties, and still get the complexity of a good salsa without blowing your head off. If you’re in the hot camp, use gloves, and remember to remove them before using the restroom. And wash your hands before using the restroom as well as after.
Roy fills his pots with salsa ingredients by the food processor load, as in: five loads tomatoes, five loads peppers, two loads onions, one load carrots, half a load garlic.
Keep adding ingredients at those proportions until the pot is almost full. Then mix the contents, turn on the heat, and gently bring the salsa to a boil, stirring and scraping frequently to prevent scalding. While heating, season with salt and pepper, tasting frequently with corn chips and beer.
When the mix hits a boil, let it roll for 30 seconds, and turn off the heat. Ladle the salsa into hot sterilized jars, and add a tablespoon of apple cider vinegar per jar, to keep the acid up, and screw on sterilized lids. The hot-packed jars will seal as they cool.
With these three recipes in your arsenal, you will never again fear a pile of tomatoes.
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