I'm a converted city chick...or would it be converted country chick? Well, whatevah...point is, I live in the country and I love it! But I grew up "in town"...hence, "the conversion".
We had a bountiful garden...at least in my eyes! We had tomato plants dripping with red fruit, and Mr. Wonderful said, "Let's can it!"
Well...lemme tell ya 'bout canning.
I figure it's like knitting...no one hates knitting but still does it to put clothes on their back (anymore), right?
Yeah, well, I figure no one hates canning but still does it to put food on their table.
So, our tomatoes that we had "comin' out of the wazoo"...after blanching, cooling, peeling, seeding, quartering...we've got like...a jar. (And, I found out that someone we knew planted 120 tomato plants...we had 6...so much for that "wazoo"!)
27 hours after we started (ok, so maybe I'm exaggerating) we've got enough for one meal. Maybe. If we're lucky.
Seriously? Isn't time money? I told my hubby, "This one jar of 'tomato something' is worth like, a hundred bucks at this point, dontchathink?"
Sheesh, I can go to the store, buy myself a nice jar of Prego, come home and whip up a tasty batch of spaghetti in less time and for less money than our one jar of "tomato surprise".
And to think I could've continued on my quest to find a rockin' pair of jeans...or some stylin' Naughty Monkey's.
It's official...I'm not a canner.