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Ode to Tomato

• by Laura, October 22, 2008

Yesterday fall came in on a blustery wind.  As the temperature began to plummet, I went out to my tomato plants and found a clump of lovely ripe red babies hidden beneath the dying vines.  I shook the branch and a bunch of them fell to the ground.  It was a stunning sight--those red tomatoes amidst dried brown leaves--the air gray and cold.  I raced for the camera but it was out of juice.  So I took a colander instead and gathered them up and made a tomato salad.

Tonight there will probaby be a freeze, so I’ll have to send the boys out later to pull off the beans and peppers and the green tomatoes.  I always take the end of tomatoes hard. 

This year I’m mourning just a tiny bit less.  That’s because with my new chest freezer all set, I finally processed my own tomatoes by myself for the first time.

In the past, I’ve observed and lent a hand at Lou’s house where each year he and his friend John Moy make near a hundred quarts of tomatoes.  (They are kindred spirits those two and will do heroic things for the love of food.) But it’s never the same as doing it yourself.  So on Tomato Day, I swung by for a review.  Let the Tomato Documentary begin!

Tomato processing is ideally an outside job.  Here are the plums, ready to be hosed down. 

Next step, cut them in half.

Then, steam them in a steaming pot.

After they are soft, drain off some liquid and put into the hopper of the processor.  This is a serious and expensive piece of eqiuipment that Lou and John share.  It is a workhorse.

Now comes the sputter.  The machine sends out the skins and seeds one way and the pure tomato pulp out the other, into the pot.  Hour by hour it fills. 

At last, Lou puts the tomato puree into quart containers.  Because he is relentlessly mechanical and efficient, he uses a siphon, which is quicker and neater.  Years ago, Lou used to do all this with sterilized mason jars, vacuum sealed, and a hand-cranked tomato machine--just like his mother did.  Nowadays he prefers technology for the job.  He lent me the old-fashioned crank. 

A week or so later, back at my house, I prepared for my maiden voyage.  Note the happy smile and joy at the beginning of the job.  Still perky.

Here I am with the handcrank.  Note dishevelment.  Fallen sleeve, sweaty chest. 

And finally at the end of the day--a pure wreck--only about 6 hours later. 

I thought I’d have 20 quarts.  But no, only 13--I was disappointed at first.  It took me about three hours to clean the kitchen.  But as the memory faded I became more content.  My tomato sauce is safely stowed in the basement freezer along with some pesto.  I calculate that I can use one a month.  Well, it’s a start.  Next year i can make more. 

Now it’s time to fry those last green tomatoes.

see also: Smoked Blues

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