When my boyfriend and I decided to spend yesterday together, I wondered how it was going to go down. His agenda: football. My agenda: canning. Seems incongruous, no? Successful relationships are all about compromise.
As he cracked open a beer and settled down to some snacks at my kitchen table, Kenton joked that he couldn't just sit there like the lazy grasshopper in the children's story while the ant processed 25 lbs of tomatoes. ("Who are you calling an ant?") I am not one to turn down help in the kitchen, mind you, so as the NFL pre-game commentary yammered on in the background, I gave the grasshopper a quick primer on canning: wash, sterilize, score, scald, fill, check, seal, process, cool.
Kenton scored and scalded tomatoes during commercial breaks, peeled heads of garlic with increasing zeal in the clove smashing department as the game went on and the just-returned star quarterback biffed another key play. I stirred fresh garlic and basil and red wine into the pasta sauce simmering on the back burner, poked air bubbled out of jars of tomatoes before sealing them, and paused to wave my jar grabber to echo the protest against another bad call by the must-be-almost-blind referee.
I'm happy to report that though the Redskins did not have a win under their belt, the afternoon was not lost: we had 10 quarts of processed tomatoes cooling on the counter. Not bad for an ant and a grasshopper on a Sunday afternoon.
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