her able hands

Angelina has a great post about cooking with what you have on hand and it’s had me thinking about the pantry I want to build when we reconfigure our back entryway someday. My grandmother had a fantastic pantry when I was a kid, but she tore it out and made her kitchen bigger once all of the kids were grown and raising families of their own. I suppose you don’t really need a huge pantry for two people, but I sure wish I could have it here and now.

I remember the cookie jar on the counter inside, the rows and rows of jars and cans stacked neatly on the shelves. The bin of potatoes and onions underneath. The window at the far end where I could lean on the counter and watch everyone in the backyard from the dark space and feel like I was in another world, spying. She had unopened jars of Raspberry Za-Rex and Coffee Syrup for flavored milk—we blew through several glasses of that every visit.

Here I have one of those corner carousel cabinets that holds a surprisingly large amount of food. But you have to watch how you load it, things knock off into the unreachable space in the corner sometimes. I also have one of those snap-together Rubbermaid shelves in the basement that holds some kitchen supplies that get used less often, as well as the rapidly dwindling jars of canned food from the 2005 garden.

This weekend Tyler wanted to make a sandwich, but groaned his lament at the empty Bread & Butter pickle jar in the fridge. Nothing in it but green brine and mustard seeds, a few floating slices of onion. He looked so bereft and actually started to put everything away rather than eat a sandwich without the beloved pickles. I told him to check the shelf downstairs and he Teenagered me with “This was the last jar, moooom. Duh.”

“You’re sure? Because I’m pretty sure I just told you that so you’d make them last a little longer than your usual week. Go check.”

He huffed and puffed and leaked air all the way downstairs and back he came with the true last jar of B & Bs. He even managed to look a little sheepish and thanked me for being so sneaky. I restrained myself from saying that it’s hardly sneaky when it’s sitting right there on the shelf for anyone willing to schlep down to the basement and get it, lazy bones. Honestly.

The slices at the top were kind of mushy, but they didn’t have brine covering them so I picked out about an inch worth and tossed them into the chicken scraps bin. Once into the brine, oh wow. Even at almost 2 years old, spectacular pickles. I stood at the sink eating with my fingers straight from the jar and could feel the prickly spines on the cucumbers as I washed them in the sink that summer. I wish I had time this morning to go back through my CDs and find the pictures I took of the heaps of harvest in the wheelbarrows. I must have pickled 300 cucumbers that summer, plus the tons I sold at the farmer’s market.

Well, I’m determined to work out my soil balance problems this season so I can restock my pickle supply. Even if I don’t do any other canning this summer, we can’t go without the B & Bs. Oh hell. Or sauce. Or roasted tomatoes. Or roasted peppers. Or salsa. Or Kim-chee. Or pickled banana peppers. Whoops! There I go getting all carried away again, forgetting that I work 45 hours a week. Silly bint.

One other thing that I canned that summer has surprised me with how good it tastes and I sadly used the last jar the same day we cracked open those pickles. We had traveled to see my family that July, right the same week the Haricot Verts came on strong. When I returned the first crop was all a bit oversized for market, so I picked for two days straight, pulling in about 75# of beans that I had to clean and trim. I gave a lot away. Some I blanched and froze, and I know there’s a trick to doing that so they don’t get mushy, but hell if I can figure it out. They had great flavor, but worked best in soups or casseroles. Not so great as a side veggie. The rest I either pickled as spicy dills (pretty yum!) or I straight canned.

Now, I’m not a fan of canned vegetables. I don’t ever buy them in the grocery store, except for an occasional can of creamed corn to add to chowder, or canned artichoke hearts for pizza or pasta and hearts of palm for salad. Oh, and black olives. But I have never in my life bought canned green beans, so I set about this project with some trepidation. What if they sucked and gathered dust on the shelf for ten years?

Well, they didn’t suck. As a matter of fact, I’ve been enjoying a bowl of the roasted chicken soup with brown rice that I made on Sunday, for lunch every day this week and biting into the canned, oversized Haricot Verts that I dumped in at the last minute has been the culinary highlight of my days. They’ve absorbed just a tiny bit of the slow-cooked stock mingled with the salty brine, but just behind that comes the taste of summer. Green, sharp, sweet and while not exactly the flavor of a fresh green bean, the ghost of that beautiful snap and crunch sits on the tongue for just a second.

I can see my pantry, tucked next to the mud room I envision one day after we’ve sold the other house and knocked the debt back down. But for now I look forward to putting up even just a few jars of pickles, sauce and yes, even some green beans this summer. Just so I can pull myself up out of the grey Midwestern winter fog to taste the sparkle and promise of summers to come–thanks to the work of the summer just past.

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