Another Kind of Canning Pickle
Teachers can do anything, can’t they?
I used to believe that teachers could tackle nearly any job and do it with aplomb. I mean, who else is adept at managing up to 150 kids in various grades and abilities, creating engaging lessons and activities to keep 90% of the class on task and progressing, and jumping through protocols and approaches that change from year to year, and sometimes week to week?
Teachers rock their jobs!
But now that I’m putting my hands into the gloves of a veggie gardener, I have a new appreciation for the farm wives of years gone by. They may have been the original brilliant multi-taskers.
The learning curve for canning has been steep for me. Juggling the tasks isn’t as easy as the recipes seem! Today, I made cinnamon-watermelon rind pickles and charred red onion-cucumber relish. Concurrently.
See, that’s the problem with being a teacher: we’re multi-taskers. And, we’re darned good at it. I graded more papers and made more lesson plans in the car on the way to Elkhart every other weekend than I care to remember. I had more “with-it-ness” than one evaluator had ever seen in any observation- probably because I’d been a lifeguard on a lake in my younger days. I could see what was happening all around my classroom at any given time. (Except once when a kid ate a chicken leg in class and stashed the bone in the bookshelf along the north wall, the one that had tables jammed next to it due to limited classroom space. I didn’t find it until it was withered and dry, but he was especially adept in stealth maneuvers, and it was a special needs group that took an extra helping of with-it-ness. But still…)
Yes, I have a thirty-five-year history of managing many tasks at the same time. And that kind of confidence doesn’t just evaporate.
But maybe it should have.
I’m learning my place. Let’s just say that the skills of a teacher don’t necessarily transfer to being a home canner. At least not for this teacher.
Today’s venture into the land of self-sufficient eating involved watermelon rind and charred red onion. The recipes sounded a bit old school but appealing in a hipster kind of way. And I like a challenge.
My hubby was down with COVID, so I was flying solo. I couldn’t wait!
I retrieved the brining watermelon rind from the garage fridge after a grocery run earlier that morning. Accurate, if not full, disclosure: the covered bowl, properly weighted with a plate and another bowl, had been in the garage fridge for an extra day due to an on-the-job injury. Nothing major: to remove the thick skin of the baby watermelon, I was using my slingshot-shaped veggie peeler in the only effective way– toward me– and I peeled my thumb and nail in my exuberance. The visual of the green rind covered in my thickening red blood required a day of recovery. There went a few new red blood cells that my anemic self could have used!
Anyway, my thumb super-glued, I was ready to give my ambitious project a try.
After wasting time with missing ingredients in the last session, I set out all the ingredients I would need. The lime juice was uncooperative. I knew I had just bought it that morning.
Did I forget it in the car?
I made two sweeps of the kitchen and family room, until I realized I had already filed it away with the other canning supplies.
No deductions there, I counseled myself. Just a minor delay. Actually, extra points could be awarded for organizational intent.
So, I pressed onward with the watermelon recipe.
The cinnamon sticks gave me a moment, too, as I began to infuse the vinegar-sugar syrup. I checked their expiration label. 2020. Hmmm … I decided to throw in a few extra. I didn’t think they went bad, but a little more cinnamon taste wouldn’t hurt anyone. I snapped a couple more and tossed them into the simmering pot.
Things are moving along splendidly, I congratulated myself, as I checked the canner instructions.
It was time to set up the digital canner and put the jars, bands, and lids into the water to be sterilized. It took twenty minutes, so I estimated that the timing for the jars and relish would be close. But I knew I could do it!
Then it was time for the main event. I rinsed the watermelon rinds twice. They looked lovely, despite their long soak. White, palest pink, and deep green. Colors well suited for any summer party! I eased them into the pot to simmer in my syrup for the next hour.
An hour!
Last night while planning my morning, I recognized that this hour of downtime could be effectively utilized since I would be pony-tailed and set up for canning anyway. So I began the first task for my second recipe: peeling and slicing the red onions.
As they roasted and charred in five-minute increments under the broiler, I selected eight medium-sized cukes from the twenty on the table. I’m not a huge cucumber fan, so I split them and removed the seeds, via a spoon scrape technique, straight into the trash can. I smiled at my cleverness.
Chopped into the requisite size, the lovely green and white cubes went into a giant measuring bowl to await their boiled fate.
Off and on, the batches of red onions needed to be turned or taken out and chopped. They, too, had their own bowl, awaiting their union with the cukes.
See how handy multi-tasking is? I asked myself. I’m getting so much accomplished!
After a quick stir of the watermelon rind, I was ready to make the pickling sauce for the relish. What a combination of ingredients! Vinegar, sugar, lime juice, turmeric, mustard seed, coriander (from my garden), dried crushed red pepper, smoked paprika! This recipe had flavor promise! I added them all to the pot. Who knew how or when I would serve this relish, but it seemed exciting to make!
I dumped in the veggies and once the entire mess began to boil, I was feeling pretty confident. I set my phone timer for ten minutes and gave the watermelon another quick stir.
How much longer does it have to boil? I glanced at the stove timer.
It was off.
Uhhh, didn’t I set a timer for the watermelon? It had to simmer for an hour. How long ago had that been? Ten minutes? Twenty?
I guessed and set the stove timer.
Then it was time to get the jars ready. I opened the canner and fished out the sterilized lids and bands with my tongs.
Uhh, ohhhh, I bet I just ruined the plastisol seal by boiling the lids. Darn it!
I texted my son- the former Ball brand employee.
He called me back. “Well, Mom, you can try to use them. If they don’t seal, just reprocess them.”
I thanked him and pulled out new lids. Reprocessing would take way too much time. Would processing kill the germs? I gave them a quick rinse-off in the sink.
This time around, I remembered the damp paper towel to wipe off the jar rims. I remembered to poke the stick in the jars to release any air bubbles. I also remembered the measuring marks on the stick. Ha! No retractable tape measure needed today.
See you are learning how to do this! I encouraged myself.
As a teacher, I learned that multi-tasking is most successful when one stops to admire the work one has already accomplished. Mini rewards! This gives the worker a sense of pride and some regularly scheduled motivation to continue at the frantic, scattered pace.
I filled all the jars, and even loosened one just a bit, thinking I’d over-tightened it.
How lovely! They are in the canner, ready for processing!
I returned to my laminated canner instruction page, even checking that I was on the correct side, boiling water processing. “Fill canner with boiling water to one inch above the jar lids.”
Boiling water! I have no water boiling. Crap!
I put a pot of hot tap water on to boil and then reconsidered. This will take forever! What will happen to the relish? What’s the fastest way to heat water?
The electric teapot!
I filled it and took it to the dining room to plug it in. That way I wouldn’t blow a circuit breaker like last time.
Just as I flipped the ON switch, Hubster called down from upstairs saying that the roof guy had arrived. I’d forgotten I was supposed to take over meeting with him, since hubby is in COVID exile in the guest room.
Why didn’t my phone alarm go off? I know I set a reminder.
Yesterday, the man forgot about us; today, he was early. Oh well. I went out and quickly introduced myself and then begged off. “I’m canning today,” I told him, as I waved him around back and sent him on his estimating way.
Surely he understood. I was standing there barefoot, in a red onion and tomato-stained apron with my hair pulled into a wispy ponytail.
Back inside, I checked on the boiling water. Tiny bubbles were just starting to form on the bottom of the pot. I darted back to the dining room to get the tea kettle.
Oh! It’s off already; the water must’ve boiled. That was fast!
Nope. It had blown the circuit breaker.
Silly home builders! Who puts a dining room circuit on the same one as the garage?
I returned from feeling around for the right switch in the dark garage. Then I gave the watermelon another stir. The syrup was getting thicker. And darker. The rinds were getting limp, too. What were they supposed to look like anyway?
Hey, maybe pickle crisp will make them crunchier. And isn’t the recipe called Watermelon Rind PICKLES???
Truthfully, I just wanted to be able to prove to myself that I could use the right ingredient for the right reason after my last bout with pickle crisp. But it did sound reasonable.
I whipped out my phone and opened my personal online canning hotline. I posed my question on the Approved Methods canning group I’d joined. A message popped up. My post had to pass muster before it would be visible to anyone but admin. I shrugged. I’d probably, be long finished by the time anyone responded. Oh well. I typed anyway.
Finally, the water on the stovetop was bubbling, so I finagled my large pourable measuring cup into the pot a few times to transfer the water and reach its required height in the canner. I latched the lid and pushed the buttons for it to do its safe magic. This time, I remembered to refill the pot, so I’d have boiling water later. And by the looks of the diminishing rinds and syrup, there’d be a lot of canner space to fill with water. I’d be lucky to fill one pint of rinds!
As I waited the fifteen minutes of processing time, I checked Facebook. No response. So I tidied the kitchen, putting away ingredients and washing the broiler sheets and bowls. One more Fb check showed a response from an admin. Since the rinds had already softened, there was no point in using the additive. But wasn’t that the point of pickle crisp? Oh well, I was in no position to argue with a canning expert. Pickle crisp would not be responding to my invitation that day.
When the second series of beeps notified me that I could open the hatch, I was eager to see what I’d created. I didn’t expect a mess.
Floating above the jars was something like the chunks hurled after a college party. I knew they were cucumbers and onions, but ewwww. Luckily, I have a moderately strong stomach. I carefully lifted the three intact jars and set them to cool and ping as I deliberated.
What happened to the fourth jar? And how am I going to get this slop out of the pot?
Foolishly, I tried to lift the liner pot, but it was too heavy. And I quickly realized the danger in trying to lift and dump four quarts of recently boiling water into the sink. My oversized glass measuring cup came to the rescue. I dipped it into the pot to offload the waterlogged relish.
Just as I poured it into the sink, I shouted! What the heck?! My foot!!!
I glanced at the floor. A bee lazily circled and then zoomed away! I had stepped on a bee! In my own kitchen! How does that even happen?
Was it the kind that leaves a stinger?
I hobbled to the family room and found the flashlight app on my phone. Nothing visible.
Suck it up, Barby! You’ve got pickles to make! I scolded myself.
With some of the scalding water gone, I washed my hands and decided to remove the liner and dump it. I carefully folded a towel to protect my hands from the heat of the liner. I lifted it from its tight berth in the canner.
Dang! Dang it!
The heel of my hand slipped onto the liner. I almost heard the sizzle. I dumped the water into the sink and slung the liner back into the canner.
Luckily, Mr. Ouchie, our cute, friendly ice pack, was right there in his resting place in the freezer drawer waiting to be of service. I folded him over my hand.
There was no use crying over the spilled relish, so I set up the canner again, this time to process the watermelon rind. Mr. Ouchie was an awkward assistant, but we made do together.
By now, the lovely translucent watermelon rinds had become dark as blackstrap molasses. The syrup was, too. The whole batch had reduced by more than half. Optimistically, I set two wide-mouth pint jars in the canner to heat.
They came up to temperature quickly. The watermelon rinds now had the consistency of fried apples, and they were suspended in what could have been thick BBQ sauce. I chose a stainless spoon and began globbing thick, blobs into the jar. Only one jar.
Dang it! Why didn’t I prepare two half-pint jars? Who’s ever going to eat this anyway?
But thinking of my relish mishap, I paid close attention to my tasks. After the long day of prep, I wanted to at least have one jar to show for my efforts. Slowly and methodically, I went through the steps: glob the food into the jar; use the stick to release air bubbles; measure with the other end of the stick. And there I stopped.
The syrup was so thick, that some of it stuck to my hand. I sniffed it. Intrigued by its sour aroma, I pulled a spoon from the drawer. There was a little extra in the pot, so I tasted it.
OOOH! What a weird and wonderful flavor! Tangy-sweet! How in my entire lifetime had I missed tasting vinegar and sugar boiled down to this thick goo? Was this what BBQ sauce was? And I thought I didn’t like BBQ! Or was it candy? This stuff had possibilities!
Encouraged, I wiped the rim and then placed the flat lid on top of the jar. Carefully, I screwed on the band, just finger-tight. And I set it in the canner to process. My boiling water was ready this time, so I raised the water level, locked the hatch, and commenced processing.
Still in the pot were three pieces of watermelon rind smothering in syrup. I forked one and nibbled at it. Wow! And the syrup was crazy tasty! My mind flashed to baked beans. Then in a moment of insanity, I envisioned myself nibbling this BBQ sauce off a bone with smoked meat. I shook my head and came back to reality. That would never happen. But what about candy! Was vinegar candy a thing?
And then, like the teacher I have been, as I cleaned up the kitchen, I reflected on my day. There were challenges, but also accomplishments. What had I learned?
Several things!
I can fly solo, but it’s the work easier with a team.
Planning helps, but you have to be ready for the unexpected bee underfoot.
Trying to tackle too many things at once may sound efficient, but it isn’t the wisest approach.
My life is so much easier than people’s were back in the day.
Always keep a pot of boiling water on the stove.
They were worthy lessons for one day.
Just a few minutes later, the processing was complete. I heard the beeping of the canner and removed the single jar of cinnamon watermelon rind pickles after it cooled. I lifted it carefully and set it to cool. Within seconds, I heard the ping.
Yes, the rinds were too dark, and the jar probably wouldn’t win a ribbon at the county fair winner. But I was betting it would be delicious.
And I learned one more thing after all was said and done and cooling: vinegar candy IS a thing. Hmmmm….
