August 25, 2011- Time again for the Gillespie County Fair. And time to continue my quest for a trophy. Guess what? I finally got one! But wait, of course there is a story that goes with it. Kind of long but bear with me. It starts out like this:
I've tried to win a trophy with my canned goods (and occasionally baked goods) for the last four years and never seem to even come close. My mom, the home ec major, taught me those baking and canning skills as part of my 4-H projects. Every summer we made fig preserves and jelly- usually pepper jelly- to enter in the fair and give as Christmas gifts to friends and family. My history with canning has always been good and I always did well at the fair back at home, but they don't give out trophies there. Needless to say, when we moved here I felt compelled to uphold my family (maiden) name in the canned goods category at the Gillespie County Fair. Why I felt this way, I have no idea. Honestly, I'd enter something in the fair even if there wasn't a $3 first prize or trophy up for grabs. There's just something nostalgic about taking top honors at a county fair.
Okay, so I'm a country bumpkin kind of dork. I admit that and I own it.
Last fall I canned some pickled okra so they'd have plenty of time to set and get all pickled-y (yes, I know that isn't really a word). Then I made salsa for a family get together and had enough left to can one pint so that too went into the pantry as part of my trophy quest. Each time I get out the canning pot Pecos becomes interested in the tools of the trade and wants to help. Since there is a junior division at the fair I let him be my assistant so he can also enter something. His job is washing the vegetables and helping dunk the jars into boiling water. He also observes the chopping process and presses the pulse button on the food processor for me. But he never helps clean up the mess.
Just a month ago we returned from Louisiana with a bounty of fresh peppers from my dad's garden (remember, I'm a country girl and yes, my dad has an enormous garden with a bountiful harvest). So after hauling- & smelling- these peppers all the way home I gave some of them away and let the others sit on my counter for a week before I finally got a chance to do anything with them. I got ambitious and wanted to do something different from my usual pepper jelly; since that has never won a trophy I desperately needed to find an alternative strategy. I settled on making a hot pepper relish from a recipe I found on-line but never tried. After all the chopping and seeding it went into the pot to cook for a while and if you've ever "cooked down" something for canning you know there is a vast reduction in volume. So it was for this batch of relish. I ended up with barely one pint to can. And my frustration with the lady in charge of the adult division of canned goods grows every year as she refuses to take anything less than a pint sized jar. Quarts for vegetables and nearly everything except a relish or jelly. I'll never understand her rationale and she'll never understand why I think it is so wasteful. This is where the story really gets good, if you are a country bumpkin kind of dork like myself.
Fast forward to today. I arrived at the fair to enter my canned goods (no baked goods this year because that requires far too much time and concentration than Brazos will allow me to have). I automatically let Pecos enter the salsa since we only had one jar and there usually isn't much entered in the youth division for salsa. That left me with pickled okra and hot pepper relish. I went over to the canned good section to deliver my bounty to my arch nemesis of all things preserved in glass jars. She refused to take my hot pepper relish because it was in one of those cute new short and squatty
PINT-SIZE jars. Okay, I get it, all of you non-country bumpkin dorks probably don't know what I'm talking about so here it is, sans relish:
And here's the label that foolishly led me to believe I'd done something right:
Canning Queen tells me it is NOT a pint. I said it was...it even said so on the box. Canning Queen says no, not really, and then told me
"if you would take the time to measure out a pint with a measuring cup and pour it into that jar you would know that it is a little bit less than a full pint". To which I replied
"does it really make that much of a difference for a fair entry if it is just a half ounce or so less than a full pint?" Canning Queen was not amused. I assured her the difference in volume (a mere 3 tablespoons- yes, I measured when I got home) did not put me at a competitive advantage, nor did it pose a risk of botulism or other food safety hazard for the judges. Canning Queen insisted she wouldn't take it. I politely said okay and took
BOTH of my jars back. Canning Queen wanted to know why I wouldn't enter my pickled okra. I told her it wasn't fun anymore, but thanks anyway.
Here's where I'll take a moment to rant for a bit. In today's times how many people are really canning anymore? It is sort of a lost skill that is not shared much, although I've read of community canning groups...kind of wish there was one nearby. Families no longer garden all summer and can everything to make it through the winter. Why should they- we have H-E-B (a Texas grocery store for any non-locals that may be reading this) and year round access to any produce you could want no matter what the season. You'd think the canned good know-it-all would just be happy that she has another jar to display and something for her judges to sample. But no, she gets a kick out of her once-a-year power to make us hobby canners feel embarrassed that we don't know the difference between a pint and an almost pint sized jar. Enough of that, I'll quit ranting now...thanks for indulging me.
So how did I get the trophy? Well,
I didn't actually get it. Pecos did! Since he'd helped with the jars and pushed the button on the food processor, I took the relish over to the junior division where the mean Canning Queen doesn't reign and it was accepted for entry. In fact, the lady in charge over there- we'll call her "Glinda"- has an attitude that is much more pleasant...she is glad to take whatever comes in as long as it is canned properly. She doesn't want to discourage kids from learning how to do it- and she is just glad to fill her display shelves, even if it is with my short, squatty, almost pint sized jar.
The call tonight came that Pecos needed to be at the fair tomorrow at 2pm to take a picture with his trophy for winning with the hot pepper relish. And his prize for
BEST OF SHOW HOME PRODUCTS is donated by none other than, you guessed it- the one and only self-declared canned good maven that rejected the not-quite-pint-sized jar. I wonder if she'll show up to be in the picture?
Now, I know this is not truly a win for me and an end to my trophy quest. I'll admit there are not near as many entries in the junior division and much better odds at winning an overall prize and trophy. But you'll have to excuse me while I
relish in this moment.
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