I’m a novice at ketchup-making, but all experts have to start somewhere, right?

This year I made three kinds. One was good but a little too vinegary. (Plus, my husband didn’t turn off the crockpot like I asked him to and it got very dark. I canned it to use in cooking. The other day I added some to my sloppy joe recipe and it enhanced the joes tremendously. So, yay!) Another wasn’t really a ketchup at all, since I put curry powder in it, but still, I call it a ketchup. And the last one was straight-up simple, about as close to Heinz as you can get.

First, the curry ketchup.

This ketchup is like something you might find at a high-end restaurant, the kind of place that messes with the basics in a pleasantly surprising way. I don’t want my basics messed with all the time, mind you, but a bit of different now and again is a good thing, I believe.

The original recipe hails from Germany and is called currywurst sauce. It’s supposed to be eaten a-top sausages. I’m sure that would be most scrumptious, but we have yet to try it that way.

So far we’ve eaten this ketchup with oven fries, zucchini fries, and spooned over green tomato curry like a chutney. I figured that would be a stellar combo since tomatoes and curry are star ingredients in each recipe, and I was right. (Also, I suspect this curry ketchup would go well with the golden curry, but I haven’t gotten around to trying it yet.)

Curry Ketchup
Adapted from Saveur.com

The recipe called for hot paprika. I didn’t have any, so I used smoked paprika and a couple pinches of chipotle powder instead.

2 tablespoons canola oil
1 large onion, chopped
2 tablespoons curry powder
1 tablespoon smoked paprika
1/8 teaspoon chipotle or cayenne powder
2 cups canned tomatoes, including the juice
½ cup sugar
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
salt to taste

Saute the onion in the oil until soft. Add the curry powder, smoked paprika, and chipotle powder and saute for another minute. Add the tomatoes, sugar, and vinegar. Cook over medium-low heat until reduced a bit, about 30 minutes. Blend until smooth, season with salt, and cook until it’s the desired consistency—thick, like ketchup.

Yield: about 1½ cups. Store in a jar in the refrigerator.

The problem with many homemade ketchups, so I’ve read, is that they taste great but aren’t anything like Heinz. While I might be thrilled with a creative homemade ketchup, I was
pretty sure my children wouldn’t settle for anything less than something that tasted just like the store-bought variety. So I set about scouring the web for a homemade ketchup that tasted like mass-produced stuff.

I finally found a recipe with reviews that claimed you could hardly tell the difference between the homemade and the storebought. The only problem was that the recipe called for corn syrup.

Now I don’t know about you, but I’ve been programmed to believe that corn syrup is from the devil. It’s poison in a jar. It will give you cancer and make your butt big and absolutely ruin your reputation as an authentic, thoughtful cook. Corn syrup is for losers. Period.

But! I wanted ketchup that tasted like Heinz even if it meant I was a fraud, so I pushed my biases aside and made the stuff.

Wouldn’t you know, it was delicious! It had the same shiny, smooth consistency as Heinz, and it tasted wonderfully sweet and tart. It was the real deal!

So then, of course, I had to research corn syrup. I (lightly) read some articles on the web (here’s one, and here’s another) and discussed it with my biologist Dad, and you know what? Corn syrup isn’t as demonic as I thought! It’s just a syrup from corn—bad for you like sugar, but that’s all.

And get this: high-fructose corn syrup isn’t even all that evil—it’s just intensified corn syrup! The problem with the high-fructose stuff is that it’s double the sweet which equals double the trouble. So, you know, watch out. (Or maybe I am off my rocker? Maybe corn syrup is sticky poison? Am I missing something?) (Also, if you know of a non-corn syrup ketchup that tastes just like Heinz, do tell.)

In any case, I’ve concluded that homemade ketchup-that-tastes-like-Heinz needs to have corn syrup. It’s necessary for the trademark satiny glow and velvety texture.

I’m even willing to put my culinary reputation on the line for the stuff.

Just-Like-Heinz Ketchup
Adapted from topsecreterecipes.com

I used my own canned roasted tomato sauce instead of the called-for tomato paste, so my ketchup had a bit more texture—random seeds and such—and the kids took issue. I ignored them, because they were being ridiculous, but then I relented and let them mix the homemade with the store-bought, half and half. I have high hopes that they’ll soon acclimate.

1 pint roasted tomato sauce or 1 6-ounce can tomato paste
½ cup light corn syrup
½ cup white vinegar
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon onion powder
1/8 teaspoon garlic powder

Combine all ingredients and bring to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring frequently. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer until thick, unlidded, about 30 minutes. Cool to room temperature and pour into an empty Heinz ketchup bottle. Store in the fridge.

Yield: 1½ cups

This same time, years previous: hot chocolate

I just read somewhere that September is the big month for preserving food. That might be true for me some years, but not this one. The garden finished up early, thanks to the weird weather, and I am done, done, done. Sure, I want to dry apples eventually (maybe), score some butternuts from a farmer, and perhaps order a bushel or two of broccoli (if we can empty out our freezers enough before then), but only if I feel like it. It’s not my priority.

Even so, that comment about September made me a little anxious. Should I be doing more? Am I missing something?

It’s true, I was a little more moderate in what I put up this year. For example, even though we still have oodles of tomatoes out in the garden, I stopped putting them up because it seemed like we had enough. And we do, I think (I think?), but I can’t help worrying that I should maybe do a little more. Just in case.

When I start getting Guilty Gardener Pangs, you know what I do? I soothe myself by chanting, There are grocery stores. You won’t starve. There are grocery stores. You won’t starve. It works pretty well.

And then, if there is any lingering guilt, I tell myself, “You always over-preserve anyway. You’d think you lived through the Great Depression in a former life or something. Geesh.”

So anyway, this month is shaping up to be pretty relaxed, garden-wise.

 A lazy September? What a novel idea!

I think I like it.

2012 Garden Stats and Notes

spinach, frozen: 12 10-ounce bags and 11 4-ounce bags
strawberries, frozen, sliced: 31 quarts
mint tea concentrate: 16 pints (and another batch that I didn’t count)
sour cherries, frozen: 3 quarts
blueberries, frozen: 37 pints
sweet pickle relish: 3 pints
sweet pickles: 17 quarts
pesto, frozen: 17 batches
green beans, Roma, frozen: 29 1½-quart bags
green beans, Tenderette, frozen: 57 1½-quart bags
applesauce, canned: 86 quarts
corn, frozen: 36 quarts and  12 pints
corn, roasted, frozen: 3 1½- pints
peaches, canned: 45 quarts
peaches, canned, roasted: 5 pints
peach jam, canned: 18 pints and 2 half-pints
red raspberries, frozen: 10 quarts and 1 pint (and counting)
zucchini relish, canned: 5 pints and 2 half-pints
tomatoes, roasted, frozen: 4 quarts
tomatoes, chunks, canned: 27 quarts and 2 pints
salsa, canned: 16 quarts
roasted garlic pizza sauce, canned: 23 pints and 6 half-pints
roasted tomato sauce, canned: 6 pints and 2 half-pints
ketchup: 7 half-pints
grape jelly, canned: 24 pints and 5 half-pints
grape juice, canned: 15 quarts
trumpet squash, frozen: 4 pints

Notes:
*Don’t bother planting spinach. It’s much more effective to buy it in bulk from the neighboring farm.
*The old strawberry patch is done. Plant a new one already. And you don’t really like the Sparkle strawberries that you planted last spring. They’re sweet, but have zero shelf life—they can hardly even make it into the house without going all mushy. Plus they’re taking over the asparagus.
*Next year, take the time to make some strawberry jam.
*You didn’t get blackberries this year because the dam got mowed. Make them a priority for next year, please.
*One huge row of cucumbers and another of red beets was a brilliant move. (Thanks, Dad!) Finally, you got your fill of cucumbers.
*About those red beets: don’t hesitate to harvest them for their greens and tender little babies. When it comes down to it, you don’t need many full-sized beets to make you happy.
*For the love of fresh corn, do not cook all the corn at once and then let it sit on the cob while you scramble to play catch-up! Because then your delicious sweet corn ends up tasting like cobby sweet corn. (The horrors.)
*For the first time ever, the zucchini didn’t keel over and die. Four plants provided enough zucchinis for a whole summer of eating without ever being overwhelming. It helped that they were picked small, too.
*Roasted garlic pizza sauce is divine.
*There were no nectarines or apricots. Do lots next year.
*Finally, enough green beans! And, thanks to the rain, they kept producing and producing and producing! Who knew green beans did that?
*Two bushels of potatoes is just about right. You’ll run out in a few months, but you don’t like them when they grow whiskers and get all wrinkly anyway.
*It would be nice to have some sweet potatoes. Try not to forget them next year.
*Mulching the garden with straw was very, very worth it. Hardly any weeds and no watering (though that was partly due to the dripping skies).

This same time, years previous: rainy day writing, NY trip, family pictures, how to clean a room, almond cream pear tart, blasted cake, fruit-on-the-bottom baked oatmeal, grilled salmon with lemon butter, oven-roasted shallots, drying pears

Since we are in the midst of Hurricane Isaac’s aftermath (I think?) and will not see the sun for the next three days, a laundry list is in order. Maybe this will make me feel better for not being able to actually do any laundry.

Also, it’s a really long post. Pour yourself a cup of coffee and get cozy.

1. Homemade laundry detergent. (A fitting start, no?)

A couple weeks—months?—ago, I made my own detergent ’cause everyone was doing it and I felt left out. So I bought the borax and washing soda and zote soap and made myself a five-gallon bucket full of the stuff.

Only problem was, the bucket had a slow leak, so my husband had to set it inside an oil pan and put it in the basement. Within a few days, much of the water had leaked out and my liquid laundry detergent had become a gelatinous laundry detergent. It still worked fine. Instead of pouring it into the little slot in the washing machine, we just had to blop-plopped it in. (So why all the fuss with making a concentrate and then diluting it if you can just make a jiggling gel from the start?)

Actually, I lied when I said “only problem.” I did have another problem with the stuff. Simply put, our clothes stank. Not all the time, mind you. Sometimes, when they fluttered dry in the breeze on a hot, sunny day, they smelled downright lovely. Or at least neutral. But other times (cloudy days maybe?) they had a dank, rank stench to them. Not so strong that others would notice (I hope!) but strong enough to bother the wearer.

So last week I re-subscribed to my favorite laundry detergent on Amazon, and two days later a large box of the sweet-smelling, magic powder arrived on my doorstep. Doing the laundry never felt so good!

2. Keeping it real.

I loved your comments on the walking-the-line post! Of course, I love all your comments all the time, but these were especially great—so thoughtful and insightful. Insightfully thoughtful. Thoughtfully insightful? Whatever. For some I laughed out loud, for others I nearly cried. I love you guys.

I said I have a built-in BS detector, and I do. But after further reflection, I wonder if my BS detector is as sturdy as I think it is. FringeGirl wrote, “ In the end, I think people know.” I pretty much agree with this statement except that sometimes I really don’t know. Sometimes I read about people who are joyfully making supper with a passel of kids underfoot and I think, Really?  Five o’clock isn’t arsenic hour at your house? (Arsenic hour: when everyone falls apart just before supper and you’re tempted to put arsenic in the food.) In my house, pre-mealtime equals crashing blood sugars and mass meltdowns. So I start doubting myself. If I smiled more, maybe, or if I only took pictures of sunshine on gnarled wood, could I, too, joyfully prepare supper while my children genteelly played games or set the table or visited with me? It eats me up sometimes. (Now that the children are older, arsenic hour is less … poisonous. So there’s that.)

The other day in Barnes and Noble, I picked up Ree’s new cookbook. At the very end of the book there were some pictures of her kitchen completely buried in dirty dishes after a full day of cooking. At first I found the pictures reassuring—she makes messes, too!—but now not so much. Because she never (at least not that I know of) says who washes all those dishes. Her kids? Her husband? A cleaning crew? It really doesn’t matter…except that it does. I need to know these things. I need to know the dirty details so that I can feel a little better about my own dirty details.

Dirty details: it could be the name of a book. Or a blog.

3. Going to the theater.

My husband and I went to see “The Lion in Winter” on Friday. We were blown away, both figuratively and (almost) literally. It was intense. I walked out of the theater so filled up that I was on the verge of tears. And I wasn’t sad. If you’ve been thinking of seeing a play at the Blackfriars, do yourself a favor. See that one.

Then on Sunday night we took the whole family to see the dress rehearsal of Twelfth Night (ushers’ privileges). I think it was good, but I’m not for sure since I was battling with my younger children the whole time—the poor wretches were victims of air conditioning, full bladders, intense thirst that could not wait, sleepiness, and general angst. The theater’s rule may be no kids under the age of six, but mine (as of Sunday night) is no kids under the age of ten.

Positive Note #1: the older two sat on the opposite side of the stage by themselves and behaved marvelously. Kids do grow up.

Positive Note # 2: all four kids loved the play.

4. The garden is kaputz.

We are done with the garden. Done, done, done! Boy, does it feel marvelous.

I gave my husband permission to mow down the corn. He was excited (in his I’m-not-going-to-show-any-excitment-about-it way) because, one, he doesn’t like the garden all that much, and two, he likes to mow. In fact, my husband was so freakin’ excited to mow the garden into oblivion that he celebrated by mowing down the corn and the beans without checking with me first.

As soon as I realized what he was doing, I ran out on the deck and started hollering at him. He cut the engine and I yelled, “People were going to come pick the beans!”

“I didn’t know that!” he yelled back.  And then he surveyed the flattened garden and added,“Well, I guess not anymore.”

“I told you they were coming!” I was all sorts of huffy self-righteous.

I went into the house. He turned the mover back on to finish decimating the bean patch. The gleaners drove in the driveway. The timing could not have been better.

The gleaners, bless their hearts, had to sift through the dirt for their beans. My husband felt so bad (which was exactly how I wanted him to feel—I made that quite clear) that he plied them with basil, beets, and tomatoes in an attempt to compensate for their mowed-up beans.

All that to say, we’re pretty much done with the garden.

5. My favorite pizza sauce recipe.

I wrote about this recipe in my newspaper column. You can read the whole story here.

Roasted Tomato and Garlic Pizza Sauce
This recipe first appeared on Simple Bites.

12 pounds paste tomatoes, such as Roma
½ cup olive oil, plus extra as needed
salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
1 head garlic
3/4 cup green pepper, rough dice
1 cup onion, rough dice
1 jalapeño, rough mince
2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon each, dried basil and dried oregano
citric acid, bottled lemon juice, or vinegar

Cut off the top of the head of garlic, making sure that the tippy-top of each clove has been removed. Set the garlic, cut side up, on a piece of foil, drizzle it with a bit of olive oil, and wrap tightly.

Wash and core the tomatoes. Cut them in half lengthwise and toss with ½ cup olive oil, 2 teaspoons salt, and the black pepper. Divide the tomatoes between two large, sided trays (put the foil-wrapped garlic on one of the trays) and roast at 400 degrees for 60-90 minutes, rotating as necessary. The tomatoes will blister and blacken a bit—this is good.

While the tomatoes are roasting, sauté the peppers and onion in about 2 tablespoons of olive oil until very soft.

Dump the roasted tomatoes into a large stockpot and add the sauteed veggies. Squeeze the garlic pulp out of the skins and add to the vegetables. Puree the mixture. Stir in the sugar, dried herbs, and more salt to taste—2 to 3 teaspoons.

Ladle the sauce into pint jars. To each jar add 1/4 teaspoon citric acid or 1 tablespoon lemon juice or 1 tablespoon vinegar. Screw on the lids and process the jars in a hot water bath for 20 minutes at a gentle rolling boil.

Yield: approximately 5 pints.

6. Charlotte, we adore you.

We are smitten, I tell you. Smitten.

I am not an animal person, and I am definitely not a small dog person, so I am a little caught off-guard by how much I like this bundle of fur.

Fellow mamas, you know how when your baby goes down for a nap and after a little while your arms start to ache to hold her again?  Confession: I get those same achy-arm twinges over Charlotte.

She’s a snuggle bug. You can put a sleeping Charlotte over your shoulder like you do a real baby and then walk around doing your thing. It’s soothing.

We have started some basic dog training, a la youtube. She’s catching on pretty quickly which is encouraging.

The first couple nights my daughter slept outside with her. The third night we decided it was time to let Charlotte cry it out. I closed all our bedroom windows and put the noise machine right by my head.

My poor parents were sleeping downstairs, however, only an open window separating them from the yowling pup. 

Let us know if it gets too bad, we said sweetly.

She eventually went to sleep, they reported. And in the morning she and Francie emerged from the doghouse together!

My husband and I are united in the no animals in the house (most of the time) rule. The first night, after the kids were asleep, I brought Charlotte inside. My husband was outraged by my audacity. He lectured and sputtered, and then I put Charlotte in his lap and he shut up.

“You can’t put these pictures on the blog,” he said. “I’ll never live it down.”

“I can do whatever I want,” I said.

7. The things they say (and do).

Exhibit A: My younger daughter unwittingly made up a new word: hypergetic. It’s a combo of hyperactive and energetic. I like it.

Exhibit B: My younger son was bouncing on the sofa beside me. Knock it off, I snapped. He took one final enormous jump, lifting his legs high so he could land in the sitting position. Except he jumped out at the same time he jumped up so he missed the sofa entirely and landed smack on the floor.

Without thinking, I quipped meanly, “Serves you right!”

Two seconds later, his stunned silence turned to wails of pain. “My butt went up into my stomach,” he sobbed.

I rubbed his back and tsk-tsked soothingly, like mothers are supposed to do, but inside I was still giggling.

Example C: “Do I come from you?” my younger daughter asked. “Am I your child?”

“Of course,” I said. “Whatever gave you the idea that you’re not?”

“Well, there’s this dumb song that says I’m not your own child.”

Can you guess what song she was listening to?