Be it the economy vs. the price of fresh grocery store produce or maybe the "simplify" or "green" themes that are so prevalent these days but 2009 seems to be, at least in these here parts, the year of the garden. Everyone I know has a patch planted somewhere. Some corn here, a few tomato plants there...a half an acre of assorted beans over there...and its all good.
I'm fortunate enough that even though I live in town, part of the big old house-tiny yard group, I have plenty of green-thumbed family members and friends out in the country who keep me in fresh veggies up to my ears. This is the set up and reason for my latest culinary adventure.
So what do you do with a grocery bag FULL of ripe tomatoes and an equally obnoxious supply of assorted hot peppers? As I found out last night....you start getting saucy baby!
My mom called the other day to see if I had her food mill. She has a garden full of veggies that apparently need, milled. First, I had to remember exactly what contraption she was talking about, then came the hard part, trying to figure out were in the world (or attic) I had put it. I had borrowed it one fall to try my hand at making apple sauce from the orchard in the back yard of my previous house. After moving in the middle of Thanksgiving last year, things are still a bit sketchy in the organization department.
Finally, I gave up and went to the local hardware store. Yes, in a small town the hardware store sells cooking paraphernalia, small town hardware stores are one of the real treasures in America and we are losing too many of them, but this will be a topic of a future blog so I'll get back to this one. Anyway, I went to the local, small town, family owned, been in business since before my grandfather was born, hardware store knowing that they would have this evasive piece of equipment. Low and behold they had 5 different ones, in all different shapes and sizes. I picked out the one that looked suitable and proudly walked up to the front counter after discussing the finer points of stainless steel construction with the owner's daughter-in-law. "Gonna make some sauce ehh?" "I think so", I replied, not really sure yet exactly what I had actually bought.
To make a long story short I triumphantly presented the shiny new mill to my mom and later that night watched as she turned a pot of cooked red lumps into wonderful smelling tomato sauce. The smell rivaled that of Olive Garden hands down.
That night I put the boys to bed and started cooking. I felt like a mix between Julia Childs and Julias Sumner Miller. Sharp knives were pulled out, wooden spoons were involved. It was a wonderful thing. Now I am no stranger to the kitchen. I can think of no better evening than one spent cooking a good meal, glass of wine in one hand, pointy metal utensil of some sort in the other and a good jazz tune on the Ipod. This however was different. More clinical, more chemical, more combustible. I cooked a huge stock pot full of tomatoes and a few cloves of garlic like some crazed basement scientist and made sauce. It worked. It smelled good. That was the practice round.
Next I washed and chopped at least 30 jalapenos, just as many banana peppers and a few interesting looking purple bell peppers and tossed them into a large pot, not as big as the one that the tomatoes had been in, but one I certainly could have worn as a hat, so decent sized. Anyway, as these edible weapons simmered the kitchen started to fill with the familiar smell of Mexican heat. The smell that comes from the kind of sauces you only dare taste after a bet from a "friend" or too many cervezas. It was good. It was very very good.
After the peppers cooked a bit I started scooping the contents into the mill and turning the crank slowly. What it produced was a bright green translucent mush that I would say looked a little like what's inside the packet of "duck" sauce you get with Chinese take-out, only not orange. It was beautiful. After I had successfully milled my mash I moved to the next step, simmering it with some vinegar. I added a little white wine vinegar, then some balsamic vinegar, then some salad vinegar...then I thought to myself, "hey, that's a lot of vinegar...I had better give this a taste, being that this is my first attempt at hot sauce and all." I stuck in the wooden spoon and brought it to my mouth.
Now, it's hard to explain this to anyone who has never had really, really hot sauce before, but my nose experienced this heat long before my taste buds got the chance to and it tried to send my mouth a warning. Had the momentum of the spoon toward my open mouth not been as significant, I am certain that the communication would have been to close and close fast, but as I said, this was a taste in progress and I was finishing strong. When the sauce hit my tongue there was sizzle. Not like the Pop Rocks pleasant tickle type of sizzle, more of a "WOW! that 9 volt battery must me brand spankin new" sizzle. It was hot. Damn hot. As I swished it around in my mouth trying to decipher the flavor amidst the sensation of my teeth melting I came to the realization that I was in the process of swallowing this mix of heat and hot and that at this point there was nothing shy of a baseball bat to the back of the head that would stop me. It was a completely involuntary action, and it hurt, bad.
I gathered myself after the spinning stopped. Walked straight into the mudroom and opened the beer fridge. I pulled out a cold one and put what I could of the fire out and thought, "man, I didn't even taste the vinegar..."
The rest of the night was spent finishing and perfecting the sauce, "bottling" it in cleaned out glass baby food jars and washing up the kitchen. My lovely wife had worked second shift at the hospital and she strolled in just as I was washing the last pot. I was covered in sauce, sweat and tears. She just looked around the steamy kitchen, shook her head, and mumbled something about her "domesticated husband"...but there is nothing, absolutely nothing, "domesticated" about the adventure that transpired in the kitchen last night. Nothing "Pampered" about this chef. That sauce is killer. That sauce will hurt. That sauce is going to be tested on every willing, unsuspecting guest to our house this year until word gets out and the game is up.
That sauce will make men of boys.
I can't wait to have a party.
Anyone for some fajitas?
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