"For Eva and I, life is just better with pickles!"

Saturday mornings at Marin Country Mart Farmers' Market recently got a little brighter with the addition of Emiliana Puyana and partner, Eva Lauderback of JARRED SF brine. JARRED SF brine is a new pickle business based out of the La Cocina kitchen in San Francisco. They specialize in seasonal pickles like pickled yellow wax beans, fennel, incredible shitaki mushrooms and beets (among many other rotating weekly choices). After working as a cook for years, eventually going to the Culinary Institute of America in New York, and moving to San Francisco in 2002, Emiliana started experimenting with pickling on her days off. The rest is history. Emiliana and Eva just began selling their pickles in Marin, but plans are already in place to branch out into other venues around the Bay Area and, someday, perhaps open a little artisan food shop. Chatting with both women, it's clear that a once weekend hobby can, with patience, persistence, and community support, become more of a viable business option. I asked them to tell us more about how they got started, what they're inspired by, and how the feel about the local Bay Area food scene. Here's what Emiliana had to say.

1. Tell me a little about your business, how and why you decided to start it.
For the last year or so of working in restaurants I began to get a little restless. I wanted a little more time for myself, time to spend with Eva, to plan our wedding, to have a "normal" work schedule and to get home at a reasonable hour. I started thinking of ways in which I might be able to make a living without having to be in a restaurant 12-13 hours a day. I was really thinking about starting a business that specialized in making organic pickles using local ingredients when they are in season and pickling every ingredient with its own unique flavor profile. But it was just an idea at the time. Then, came our wedding; we got married in our home and made a ton of different pickles: carrots, baby fennel, green beans, spring garlic, radishes, etc. and we used those as part of our center pieces. It was a massive hit. Everyone loved them (we had my brother design a label for us that was a sketch of our home). For days and weeks after the wedding people were coming up to us saying "You have to sell your pickles they are so good." That was the final push that I needed. Now with the help of La Cocina, Eva and my family we are finally out selling our products.

2. Why pickles?
Because they are delicious and you can use them or put them on everything. Fried pickles, pickled fennel salsa verde, tuna salad with pickled onions, Gibson martini with pickled ramps, Bloody Mary's with pickled yellow wax beans, fried green tomatoes made with sweet pickled green tomatoes, pizza with pickled jalapeños. And so on, and so on.

3. Do you think living in the Bay Area allows your business to flourish?
Without a doubt, living in the Bay Area helps us to flourish. It puts us at such close proximity to our products from the wine vinegars that we use for our brine to the different fruits and veggies that we pickle. We also love the customers here. They are well informed, they know food, they know what they want and they are adventurous with what they eat which is great for us because one of the things that we really want to do is to continue to experiment with what we pickle.

4. What have been the highlights of being a small business owner in the Bay Area thus far?
Being a small business in the Bay Area has proven to be pretty difficult for us so far. A few of the bright stops have been the local resources available to help small business start to operate. The Small Business Administration and La Cocina have been a tremendous help for us.

5. What inspires you, day to day?
I get inspiration from a number of different places: first and foremost from food. Every Wednesday I go pick up my CSA box, open it, and look at what is in it and I get inspired. Last week for instance, we got beautiful fresh Cayenne pepper in our CSA box and now we are working on developing "MARYS MATE" which will be pickle brine that we we'll sell for people to spice up their Bloody Mary's. It will have grated horseradish, fresh Cayenne pepper, and garlic. The idea is that you can put a splash of "MARYS MATE" in a glass, add a little vodka, top it off with your favorite tomato juice and voila BLOODY MARY'S!

Website: JARRED SF brine
Facebook: Jarred SF brine

For the past month, every meal I've had at home has included tomatoes in some form. I'm not exaggerating. This time of year brings out the greedy tomato monster in me, and I just gorge on them until they vanish from the stands of farmers' markets.

I'm not alone in my obsession, and I'm particularly fond of Early Girl tomatoes. This year I resolved to eat these red jewels as long as possible and decided to finally make the time to stockpile them in my pantry. Wintertime won't be as bleak knowing that I have a stash of tomatoes to brighten my dishes on occasion.

This past Saturday morning, I bought a crate of dry-farmed Early Girls from Dirty Girl Produce at the Ferry Building (be sure to ask for the ones for canning, they're cheaper!) and hauled 20 pounds home in my bicycle panniers. I set aside the rest of the afternoon for this enterprise because canning is an all-day affair, especially if you're planning on doing a large batch (and you should, since it's so time-consuming.)

I had already stocked up on Weck jars from Weckjars.com; I confess part of my impetus for canning tomatoes this season was that I have a deep affection for these beautiful German jars. You might have spotted them at Heath Ceramics or Crate and Barrel. (They're available on plenty of other online retailers as well, so search around if you can't find them locally.) They're pricier than Ball and Kerr jars, but the lids are reusable as long as you don't crack them. (Ball and Kerr jars lids are one-time use only.)

Weckjars.com was kind enough to provide me with a home-canning guide that was immensely useful and included recipes for a variety of jams, preserves and pickled food. Here's a run-down of the essentials:

1) You need a large pot that's deep enough to accomodate both a rack that you can rest in the bottom and the jars. The jars will rest on this rack and should be completely submerged in water when processing.

2) You'll also need a jar lifter to remove the jars from hot water with ease.

3) Be sure all of your jars are in pristine condition and have been thoroughly cleaned with hot, soapy water. If you see any mold (from being stored in a damp cellar, for instance), boil them for 10 minutes. Always use new rubber rings, and they should have no cracks or tears. Boil the rubber canning rings for 2-3 minutes and leave them in the hot water until you need them.

4) Prep your tomatoes. Chop them up and can them raw, or blanch them to remove the skins, make a sauce, roast them...the possibilities are endless. I like the skins and don't mind seeds, so I just sliced mine up, then roasted them in the oven with olive oil and salt.

5) Fill your jars up almost to the top (I left approximately 1/8" of room, Weck recommends 1/2" but I thought that was too much); you want to be sure that the lids don't squeeze any liquid out when you press them down. Wipe down the rims, then add the lids with the rubber canning rings. Be sure the rings are evenly seated around the lid and don't poke up anywhere. This is very important as it will insure a tight seal later on. Weck jars use rust-proof metal clamps to secure the lids during processing. Clamp two of them on top on opposite ends of the lid. Be sure to completely press down so that they click firmly in place.

6) If you're packing raw tomatoes, you must submerge the jars in room temperature water and bring it to boil. Once the water's boiling (212 °F), you must process them for 90 minutes. For cooked tomatoes, bring the water to a boil and then gently submerge the jars for 50 minutes. You may notice that the volume of your tomatoes has decreased slightly due to the processing stage, as steam and occasionally liquid may leave the jar (but won't enter in.)

7) Don't stack jars on top of each other; be sure to use another rack if you add a second level of jars. It's ok for the jars to touch one another and the walls of the pot itself. However, don't pack them in too tightly. Leave some room so you can remove them easily.

8) Remove the jars with the lifter and let them cool completely. Then remove the clamps and test the lids. Here's the moment of truth: they should be firmly in place, and the tab of the rubber canning ring should be pointing downward. If the lids have any give, refrigerate this batch and start over. Store your jars in a cool, dry place away from sunlight and periodically test the lids of your jars over the next few days to ensure they've successfully sealed. If you notice that the tabs are level, check the seal -- it may be loose. I'd avoid consuming any tomatoes if you feel the seal has been compromised. You don't want to get sick and not be able to eat the good ones over the next few months.

9) When you're ready to eat your tomatoes, pull on the rubber tab to break the seal. You'll hear a satisfying pop and you can feast away.

If you're feeling a bit on the lazier side, you can always freeze your tomatoes, too.

Good luck and happy hoarding!

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Being an enthusiastic jam maker means never arriving empty-handed. It also means heavy luggage that has to be checked, especially if you're being hosted by several different kind folks over the span of a week or so, as I was during an East Coast holiday jaunt last month.

But it's worth schlepping a dozen glass jars among the socks and sweaters, if you can send an old friend into eye-rolling, toe-scrunching ecstasy with one spoonful of last winter's Seville Orange Marmalade. Here, on an icy, slushy Manhattan morning, was the concentrated sunshine of a California summer, brought to full ripeness by the cold, simmered down into an aromatic, bronze-y gold essence.

Of course, it helped that this friend once owned a ruined castle in a glen and is mad for all things Scottish. Not everyone loves marmalade; like chutney, it has its diehard fans, who have strong opinions on whether the citrus peel within should be in meltingly fine shreds or rambunctious fall-off-the-toast strips, or if the marmalade itself should be cheery and sunny or bitingly bittersweet. I can give a jar of strawberry jam to anyone; with marmalade, I ask first, because there are many people out there who would rather put anything, even the cheap grape jelly found in those little foil tubs at the diner, onto their toast instead.

In my experience, though, people with an affinity for Scottish things, even just plaid and a tot of Ardbeg, are more likely than not to appreciate a good marmalade. According to "Maximum Marmalade," a well-researched and entertaining chapter in John Thorne's most recent book, Mouth Wide Open: A Cook and His Appetite, marmalade found its way onto the Scottish breakfast table at about the same time as the morning's masculine "wee dram" of chill-chasing whisky was being replaced by the gentler, more feminine pot of tea. What could, in its brawn and bite, slap a man's tastebuds awake and give him the strength to face the damp, the fog, and the accents of Glasgow? Why, marmalade, sharp and complex, tart and snappy with just the cheekiest edge of sweetness. (And if you want to celebrate Burns Night, coming up on January 25th, why not start the day properly with porridge, oatcakes, and marmalade?)

But what is marmalade, anyway, and how is it different from jelly or jam? First off, it's made from citrus, traditionally oranges but potentially any kind or combination of citrus fruit, from Rangpur limes to grapefruits. Unlike jelly, made from juice only, or jam, made from crushed fruit (or fruits) with all their juice, marmalade is made from the juice, pulp, and peel of citrus fruits, cooked with sugar and (usually) water. The peel may not always be visible in the finished product (it can be strained out for clarity after cooking), but the fragrant oils in the peel are what gives marmalade its unique flavor. Without peel, you'd just have orange jelly.

As noted earlier, you can make marmalade with just about any citrus fruit. But true-blue British marmalade lovers know that the most classic marmalade is made from just one fruit: the Seville orange, a knobbly, seedy, green-patched fruit cultivated not for its scant and sour juice but for its ravishingly aromatic peel. These Spanish-born oranges, which make a marmalade of rich complexity, were for a long time the only oranges used for marmalade in Britain. (For a deep and fascinating dive into the centuries-old history of British preserving, C. Anne Wilson's The Book of Marmalade is a must-read.) I've made numerous marmalades over the years, and nothing compares in depth and intrigue to one made with Sevilles.

Local jam makers like June Taylor do make wonderful marmalades, but alas, the high price of those itty-bitty jars can be prohibitive to a daily toast habit. Anyway, aren't we all making our own now? Making homemade marmalade can be a sticky business, but one cold afternoon's worth of effort can produce months of happy mornings. And if you have any oranges left over, you can make duck à l'orange, or the tangy, garlicky Cuban marinade known as mojo.

Seville oranges, lemons, sugar, and equipment (from left: jar lid, jars, wide-mouth funnel, muslin bag, jar lifter tongs)

Now is the time to find Seville oranges: they have only a brief winter season, and are grown on only the smallest commercial scale even in California. The only grower I've found with a steady supply of Sevilles in season is the DeSantis Farm from the Central Valley. They sell these and many other beautiful specialty varieties at the Alemany Farmers' Market on Saturdays, the Marin Civic Center market on Thursdays and Sundays, and the Heart of the City Farmers' Market on Wednesdays.

A warning: don't buy anything unless it's clearly marked and sold as a Seville orange. Unless they work for an orchard specializing in odd varieties of citrus, like Buddha's Hand or bergamot, few farmers' market sellers will have any idea what a Seville orange is. Just asking for Sevilles, or for good marmalade oranges, isn't enough; sellers are in the business of selling, and the easiest way to deal with a customer's weird request is simply to sell her whatever's already on the table, be it a navel or a satsuma. Currently, both Berkeley Bowl and Bi-Rite Market have Seville oranges for sale, for $1.69/lb and $3.99/lb, respectively.

If you make jam on any kind of a regular basis, you should already have the basic gear: a scale, a wide-mouth funnel, a jar lifter, a bunch of canning jars, and a wide, heavy pot for cooking. If not, make the small investment and go to the hardware store and at least get the scale and the jar lifter. Trying to wrestle slippery hot jars in and out of a potful of boiling water with a pair of tongs is a crazy-making endeavor, trust me. And to measure fruit and sugar accurately, you really do need a small, preferably digital kitchen scale, available at any well-stocked kitchen-supply or hardware store.

Something else to know about marmalade: sometimes, you do everything right, and it doesn't seem to gel up. Don't despair, and don't cook it to death trying to get it to thicken. Once you've added the sugar, cooking it longer (say, more than an hour) won't always give you better results. Overly long cooking can break down the pectin and/or caramelize the sugar, giving a heavier, darker taste that's not so bright and citrusy.

If everything else about it seems right, jar it up and put it away for a week or two. I've had this happen to me--imagining that I'll have to re-open the jars and try boiling down the whole mess a second time--only to find that, left to its own devices for a while, the marmalade has gelled up perfectly all by itself. It happens. So, don't despair right away.

Seville Orange Marmalade
Particularly heavenly with hot tea and toast made from last year's recipe for Easy Multi-Grain Bread.

Makes: 8 half-pint jars

Ingredients:
3 lbs Seville oranges, approximately 8-10 oranges
2 lemons
2 quarts plus 1 cup water
3 lbs granulated sugar, preferably the pale-blond, organic kind

Special Equipment:
• small muslin jelly bag or 8"x8" doubled square of cheesecloth
• wide-mouth funnel
• jar-lifting tongs
• 8 half-pint canning jars or 4 pint canning jars, with metal rings and flat lids
• a wide, heavy, non-reactive pot, such as copper, stainless steel, or enameled cast iron
• a tall, deep pot
• candy thermometer (optional)
• a few saucers, in the freezer

Preparation:

1. Wash oranges and lemons well. Halve fruit and squeeze juice into a bowl. Pour the juice through a strainer, and drop the seeds into a separate bowl.

2. Using your fingers, and possibly a serrated-edged grapefruit spoon if necessary, pull out the remaining pulp, seeds, and membrane from inside the fruit halves. Using the spoon, scrape out as much white pith from the inside of the fruit halves as you can. Put the pulp, seeds, membrane and pith into the bowl of seeds.

3. Cut the now-scraped halves into quarters. If you have a food processor, shred the quarters using the slicing disk. Otherwise, use a mandoline or a very sharp knife to slice the peel into fine strips.

4. Scoop the pulp, pith, and seeds into a muslin bag or a square of cheesecloth. Tie the bag shut, or knot the pointed ends of the cheesecloth square together firmly.

5. Pour the juice, water, and shredded peel into a large, heavy pot. Add the bag of pulp. Bring to a simmer over medium-low heat. Cover and let simmer gently for about an hour, until peel is very tender.

6. Remove pot from heat. Lift out bag, put it in a bowl and let cool for 15 or 20 minutes, until it can be comfortably handled.

7. While bag is cooling, add sugar to pot, stirring until dissolved and mixture is clear.

8. When bag is cool enough to handle, hold bag over the pot and squeeze firmly to get all the liquid out. Yes, it will feel slimy; this is a good thing. That slimy-feeling stuff is the natural pectin present in the seeds and membranes, and it's what will make your marmalade gel.

9. Bring pot to a fierce boil, stirring frequently to make sure it doesn't burn or stick. It should reach the setting point in about 20-30 minutes. Visually, it should look dark amber in color, with a maple-syrupy consistency. The peels should look thinned down and translucent.

To check the set:
• Use a candy thermometer. The setting point should be reached around 220 degrees F. Or,
• Remove pot from heat. Take a saucer out of the freezer and drop a spoonful onto the saucer. Return it to the freezer for a minute or two. Push the spoonful of marmalade with your finger. If it feels like warm honey and sets in one place rather than running all over the saucer, it's done. If not, return pot to heat and cook, stirring, for a few more minutes, then test again. Don't expect it to be as thick as store-bought marmalade at this point; it won't fully gel up until cold.

10. Let the marmalade sit for 30 minutes, in order to keep all the peel from floating up to the top of the jars. Meanwhile, fill a large, deep pot with hot water. Sink jars into the water--they should be covered by at least an inch. Bring to a boil and simmer for 10 minutes to sterilize jars.

11. Lift jars out of the pot. Using a ladle and a wide-mouthed funnel, fill jars to within 1/4" inch of the rim. Wipe rim with a wet paper towel or clean dish towel dipped in hot water. Top with flat lid. Screw on ring finger-tight.

12. Replace jars in pot of hot water. Bring pot to a boil and simmer for 8 minutes. Cover a tray or nearby counter with a clean, dry dishtowel. Lift jars out of hot water and let cool completely on towel. Don't disturb the jars while they're cooling. As they cool, you should hear a sharp popping noise from each jar as it seals.

13. When jars are completely cool, check lids for seal by pressing in the middle of lid. Lid should not move. If lid pops up and down, it didn't seal. Store any unsealed jars in the refrigerator and eat within a month.

14. Loosen rings and wipe off any accumulated moisture. Replace rings, if desired, and store sealed jars in a cool, dry, dark place. Once opened, store in the refrigerator and eat within a month.

Food, glorious, food. It's that time of year people: Bay Area Bites brings you the best in food news for 2010.

In this two-part package, we look at the national trends and topics that sizzled over the past 12 months and serve up some local flavor on the side.

Feel free to weigh in with your own edible highlights from the year that was. In no particular order:

1. Food Safety

From previous years we've learned that what we eat can make us sick (tainted peanut butter, beef gone bad, and salmonella-laced spinach ring any bells?).

This year's food alerts: A massive egg recall and lingering questions about health risks associated with Gulf seafood.

Thankfully, late in the year Congress passed the Food Safety Modernization Act to protect consumers from food products hiding harmful poisons or pathogens like E. coli and salmonella, a food policy coup that greatly strengthens the Food and Drug Administration's ability to keep unsafe food off supermarket shelves and restaurant plates by expanding the agency's recall abilities and access to records.

Local angle: Bay Area-based media consultant Naomi Starkman kept the spotlight on potentially dangerous foods for sale in reports on Civil Eats and Huffington Post, including a story about a Consumers' Report study that found packaged salad laden with fecal bacteria.

2. D.I.Y. Food

Age-old practices such as canning, jamming, foraging, fermenting, growing and gleaning are suddenly new (and cool) again. Chickens are the au courant backyard animal of choice. And classes in the Domestic Arts all the rage.

The New York Times Magazine traveled west to take pretty pictures of urban homesteaders from the Bay Area, The Washington Post chronicled the canning trend long strong here, and Vogue got down and dirty with city farmer Novella Carpenter, who donned a pink cardigan in a concession to fashion for a photo shoot with the stylish mag's scribe Hamish Bowles. (Carpenter seemed to pop up everywhere last year, including on KQED.)

Local angle: In addition to Novella Carpenter's Ghost Town Farm in Oakland, the Bay Area D.I.Y. brigade created a kind of cottage industry, hawking their homemade wares at venues like SF Underground Market (Underground Market on BAB) and East Bay Underground Market, as well as the Pop-Up General Store.

And they wrote about it too; notable D.I.Y. books this year included Rachel Saunders' tome The Blue Chair Jam Cookbook, Napa forager Connie Green's The Wild Table (featured on The California Report), and D.I.Y. Delicious by Vanessa Barrington. Online, San Francisco's Sean Timberlake launched Punk Domestics, a curated space for D.I.Y.-driven cyber self-publishers.

Classes in baking, brewing, beekeeping, bottling, animal husbandry and more were in high demand at venues like 18 Reasons, Urban Kitchen SF, the Institute of Urban Homesteading, and BioFuel Oasis, a worker-owned cooperative begun by Carpenter and friends.

3. Food Politics

In an era of identity politics and culture wars, food fights join the fray. What you eat (and what you choose not to consume) speaks volumes about your political persuasions. First Lady Michelle Obama, dubbed America's foodie-in-chief by The Atlantic, talked about ending obesity and increasing activity with her Let's Move initiative. She also championed growing food and farmers' markets -- and brought to her kitchen top chefs like Sam Kass. On the other hand, Rush Limbaugh mounted a modern-day Twinkie defense (this time citing the fact that a man lost weight on a diet consisting mostly of the infamous junk food as evidence that all nutrition science is bogus). Sarah Palin showed up at a Pennsylvania school bearing cookies and dished up s'mores at a diner in a calculated countermove to a Michelle Obama dessert comment. Professional rager Glenn Beck even weighed in. Sigh...

The task of putting the food wars in context fell to ex-Washington Post writer Jane Black, who has moved to Huntington, West Virginia with new husband editor Brent Cunningham to see what happens to the community's eating habits now that celebrity chef Jamie Oliver has skipped town.

Local angle: Taking the happy out of Happy Meals: Outgoing SF Mayor Gavin Newsom vetoed a Board of Supervisors ban on plastic toys in fast-food meals. But the supes struck back, ensuring that no child in the city will be tempted to eat junk food simply to get their hands on a cheap trinket that will likely break before you can say Big Mac.

4. School Food

For the majority of schoolchildren around the country school lunch sucks. Big time.

But change is coming. This year, Jamie Oliver brought his Food Revolution to the States, an anonymous teacher chronicled what she ate every day in her school cafeteria in her blog Fed Up With Lunch, and President Obama signed into law the much-anticipated Healthy, Hunger-Free Kids Act of 2010. The legislation bans some junk food, and gives a small, though historically significant, six-cent increase per child per lunch (the first such boost in the reimbursement rate in 30 years), and there may be more lunch money tucked inside the bill to boot.

Local angle: Veteran school food reformer Alice Waters claimed victory for her Edible Schoolyard model following the results of a study on Berkeley's School Lunch Initiative from University of California at Berkeley researchers.

5. Street Food

Fueled by Twitter feeds, gourmet grub on the go continued to attract a growing following around the country as food trucks hit the streets in increasingly more legitimate ways, boasting inspired names and bright colors, to wit The Best Wurst in Austin, Big Gay Ice Cream Truck in New York City, and Chairman Bao in San Francisco.

Food trucks went a step further in size, too, with the introduction of bustaurants, stripped former public transit buses reconfigured as a mobile kitchen, and, in some cases, even offering eat-in seating. In L.A. the double decker Worldfare dished up ethnic eats, while closer to home Le Truc in San Francisco served up gastro-pub fare, and Diamond Lil debuted to a small crowd and a camera crew.

Los Angeles officials announced it may regulate mobile carts, a move that could see other cities follow suit.

Local angle: With mild-mannered accountant Matt Cohen at the helm, the mobile food fest Off the Grid launched in Fort Mason and sprouted several neighborhood locations, including Golden Gate Park, McCoppin Hub, Civic Center, and UN Plaza. Officials in San Francisco passed reforms making it easier and cheaper for mobile vendors to serve street eats, while in the East Bay the city of Emeryville saw pushback from local brick-and-mortar businesses and Berkeley residents bemoaned missing out on most of the mobile food fun (for now).

Check BAB tomorrow for the rest of the best of 2010 food news.

Let's Preserve volunteers get ready to make apple sauce. Photo: Agustin Gutierrez

Foraging with friends and gleaning for good is very much back in vogue. Locally folks like Asiya Wadud of Forage Oakland and Iso Rabins of forageSF, as well as North Berkeley Harvest, PUEBLO Urban Youth Harvest in Oakland, and Anna Chan (aka The Lemon Lady) in Clayton have that covered.

And D.I.Y. canning is also au courant, with Bay Area cookbook authors like Vanessa Barrington encouraging urban homesteaders to put up provisions in their pantry.

Now comes canning for a cause. The Sonoma County group Let's Preserve a community effort to continue old-fashioned (now newly chic) food traditions, make good use of excess produce, and help those in need.

This past harvest season in Healdsburg, Santa Rosa, and Petaluma thousands of pounds of gleaned apples, tomatoes, and quince were preserved and donated to local food pantries, in an effort, says one organizer, to close the gap between waste and want. Apples and tomatoes were canned for sauce, the quince became filling for empanadas that were frozen for future use.

Merrilee Olson, who runs her own Sebastapol-based food business PRESERVEsonoma, didn't grow up hungry but her family needed help to put food on the table. Raised by a single mom, who supported three kids on a state salary in Lincoln, Nebraska, food stamps frequently helped to provide dinner. Now a professional chef who works with local farmers and artisan food and wine clients, Olson wanted to find a way to give back through food.

She teamed up with Judy Christensen from Slow Harvest in Healdsburg and Elissa Rubin-Mahon of Artisan Preserves in Forestville and last summer offered a training workshop for volunteers who want to galvanize their community to preserve surplus produce.

Last month, she led a group of volunteers who peeled, cut, cooked, and canned hundreds of pounds of apples to benefit the COTS Petaluma Kitchen.

Food pantries will accept preserved products that have been processed in a commercial kitchen under the supervision of someone who is food-safety certified, says Olson.

Nobody doubts the need is out there. NPR reported this week that the number of people on food stamps hit a new all-time high; as of September nearly 43 million people were using the program, according to data released this week. "Food insecurity is reaching frightening levels," says Olson. "We believe we can make a difference in our communities by preserving and making healthy food available where it's needed."

Last month, KQED's Forum addressed hunger in the Bay Area. In San Francisco, one of every five children is at risk of going hungry and the numbers are similar in other local counties. During this holiday season, food bank and soup kitchen operators are reporting a spike in the number of families that are seeking food.

"I'd love to see every community in the Bay Area doing its own preserving and feeding their neighbors in need," says Olson, who notes that groups as far away as Minneapolis have been inspired by the Let's Preserve model to can food for the needy. She also points to Anya Fernald's Commando Canning events, Yes We Can Food, in Oakland as a local example of community canning.

In the future, Olson would like to include other preservation methods, such as pickling, drying, and curing, to ensure that good produce -- including vegetables -- finds its way to the underserved. She'd also like to teach families in need preservation techniques so they can can for themselves.

Clearly, community canning events do good. They're also fun. "We get volunteers from 18 on up -- at our last event we had eight young adults from the Coast Guard -- and everyone had a good time sharing stories in the kitchen and around a table at a potluck afterwards," says Olson. "There's nothing like food to build community."

To learn more about how to start something similar in your area or to sign up for future community canning events, visit Let's Preserve.

Do you know of similar efforts in your area? Let us know below.

[Thanks to Jennie Kimmel and Agustin Guiterrez for sharing their photos.]

It's January, which in the Bay Area (and all of California, for that matter) means it's citrus season. While much of the rest of the country is frozen over -- today in Boston the forecast was 34 degrees and snowing -- we're lucky enough to live someplace where winter means fresh oranges, limes, grapefruits and lemons. And queen among the local citrus trees -- at least in my book -- is the Meyer lemon.

Meyer lemons are an amazing fruit. Originally created in China as a lemon and mandarin orange hybrid, it has an appealing sweetness lacking in other lemons. And, with a fragrant and thin rind, barely any pith, and ample juice, it's really the ideal cooking lemon.

I planted my Meyer lemon tree around five years ago, and although it's given me a steady stream of fruit since we first set it into the ground outside our front porch, this is the first year that our tree was crowded with lemons. So what do you do with an overabundance of sweet and tart Meyers? In my case, I had great plans to make marmalade. I pondered how to make it, discussed recipes with neighbors, and deliberated over whether or not I should incorporate other citruses into the jam. But after a couple of weeks with sick kids and a sicker husband, plus a pile of work to wade through, those lemons still sat on the tree: bright yellow orbs taunting me each time I walked up my front stairs.

Thankfully I have talented friends with a can-do attitude (well, one friend in particular). When Kim and Keith Laidlaw came to my house last weekend, I mentioned my marmalade aspirations as we walked past the tree, hoping that one day soon I'd be able to make it. And then something miraculous happened. After walking the dogs in the rain a half hour later, I dried off their mud spattered fur and entered the kitchen to warm up with some hot tea. But instead of finding Kim and Keith relaxing in my family room, I was met instead with the glorious image of Kim sitting at my counter, patiently slicing lemons from the enormous pile she had picked while I was out. A true friend indeed.

After the lemons were all sliced, we set them in a pot and covered them with water to steep overnight. This allows some of the pectin in the pith beneath the rind to release into the water. It also makes the lemon slices more malleable. In the morning, we added some sugar along with a satchel of the lemon seeds, pith and lemon ends (which we had saved and tied in a cheesecloth) to the pot. After simmering for an hour, the mixture was ready to go. It was sweet and tart with a nice mild bitter marmalade edge. If you don't like any bitterness in your preserves, you can omit the seeds from the recipe, but you may end up with a runnier marmalade as the seeds add pectin.

Now normally I would can my jam, but the ennui that has enveloped me all January was still too strong, so Kim and I instead plopped some of the marmalade into washed jars to be used immediately and then I also froze some for later use. I hear that marmalade improves with age, so if you have the time and inclination, it's worth canning.

The next morning after the kids left for school, I sat and ate toast topped with Meyer lemon marmalade while contemplating how lucky I was to have such a lovely jam-making friend. It takes someone special to notice when your life gets in the way of your hopes, even if that hope is simply to make marmalade.

Homemade Meyer Lemon Marmalade

According to Kim, the key to great marmalade is slicing the lemons sliver thin. So be sure to use a sharp chef's knife. Here's what you do:

1. Wash the lemons and set in a bowl.

2. Cut the ends off the lemons and then slice in half length-wise.

3. Slice out the pith in the lemon's inner core and set into a bowl to keep for later use. You should also set the lemon ends in this bowl.

4. Remove the lemon's seeds and place into that bowl of pith and ends.

5. Cut lemons into paper thin slices.

6. Place lemon slices in a large pot, being sure to scrape the juice from the cutting board in as well so you retain the juices. Soak at least over night and up to two days.

Here's the recipe we used. The sugar amount is flexible and should be determined by how sweet you like your marmalade. Kim and I both like ours a bit tart, so we used the lesser amount. When your batch is complete, you can either can the jam in hot jars, freeze it in plastic bags or containers, or refrigerate and then eat within a week or two.

Ingredients
Makes: 6 small or 3 large jars of jam

5 cups thinly sliced lemons with the seeds, ends and inner pith removed and set aside
5 cups water
4-5 cups granulated sugar

Preparation:

1. Place lemon slices in a large pot and cover with water. Let steep overnight.
2. Once lemons have steeped, add the sugar to the pot and mix.
3. Place the seeds, pith and lemon ends in cheesecloth. Tie up and set into the mixture.
4. Bring the lemons to a boil and then reduce heat. Simmer for one hour.
5. Can or freeze.

This is a tale of three girls: an early girl, a dirty girl and a lazy girl. The early girl definitely did not get the worm. She is a luscious ripe tomato with the perfect balance of sweetness and acidity. The dirty girl is often hot and has her own natural beauty...she's Dirty Girl Produce, an organic farm located near Santa Cruz and the grower of those beautiful tomatoes. And the lazy girl? Well, that would be me, but that's a longer story...

Now I'm a girl who loves home-canned foods. Bell jars that have been meticulously sterilized and then lovingly filled with someone's recipe for apricot jam, apple butter, and raspberry jelly make my heart go pitter pat. When someone shows up at my house with a gift of handmade preserves, my esteem for them grows and like the Grinch, my heart grows 10 sizes, bursting with appreciation for their efforts.

I have also been known to do some canning of my own. For years, an old and decrepit apricot tree sat in my backyard, looking scragglier by the year, but producing the sweetest apricots with just a hint of tartness. By far the best apricots I've ever eaten that produced the best jam I've ever made. Thick and sweet, it lay perfectly on freshly toasted challah or in a tart pan. We had so many apricots I made two to three dozen jars of jam each year in addition to making numerous tarts and simply eating tons fresh. We gave away apricot jam at Christmas to family members and neighbors and then had more to keep for ourselves. But then about three years ago, spring arrived and hardly any buds bloomed and the branches lay half naked in summer. We got 5 apricots that year. The next year, the craggy limbs lay bare -- our apricot tree was dead. I've since searched for apricots worthy of canning, but haven't yet found them.

But our apple tree survives, albeit in an even craggier state than the apricot tree seemed to have ever been. Poor tree has fire blight and although I keep saying I need to cut it down, I can't bring myself to actually do it (or, rather, ask my husband to do it). So this year, I am grateful to still have my usual bags of apples ready to be turned into apple butter, waiting in the basement.

What does any of this have to do with the lazy girl? Everything. After years of canning apricots and apples, I'm tired: tired of peeling, tired of sticking produce in a food mill, tired of hot water baths, and tired of sterilizing jars. I love the results, but not the work. So when I bought a 20 lb box of Early Girl tomatoes from Dirty Girl Produce this last weekend, I knew I couldn't bear to can them when I would just have to break out the canning equipment next weekend all over again to turn those apples into apple butter.

So what do you do with 20 lbs of tomatoes and a can-not attitude? What do you do when you have no desire to stand over a boiling pot of tomatoes in 90 degree weather? You roast and freeze. That's right. I let my oven do most of the work and then after that, I'm letting my freezer do the rest.

The roasting idea came from an amazing plate of roasted tomato risotto Kim Laidlaw recently made for me (from her own box of Dirty Girl Produce Early Girl tomatoes). Roasting had given the tomatoes a caramelized intense sweetness that I wanted to replicate. So, after seeding and then roasting most of my tomato haul with some olive oil and freshly minced oregano, the tomatoes were concentrated down into their essence. Each tomato was bursting with a deep summer tomato flavor and the kitchen was filled with a sweet heady aroma. I added in the cooked juices from the seeds and stirred to create a deep red sauce. After it cooled, I ladled equal amounts into Ziplock bags and then set the lot in the freezer. The perfume of summer and sunshine now stored and ready to be used in sauces and stews this winter, accomplished without me burning myself on a hot jar or pressing even one tin lid.

Next week, I'll can; but this week, I'm happy to be lazy.

How to make frozen roasted tomato preserves
1. Wash and dry your tomatoes.
2. Preheat your oven to 375 degrees if using a convection oven and 400 degrees if not.
3. Set up a work area with the following:

• Your washed and cleaned tomatoes
• Pans lined with aluminum foil that have been greased on the top side with olive oil
• A fine-mesh colander set atop a large bowl
• A cutting board
• A knife

4. Remove any blemishes or bruises from the tomatoes and then cut each one in half.

5. Gently squeeze the tomato halves into the colander so the seeds fall inside.
6. Set the tomato halves on the lined baking sheets, cut side up.
7. Sprinkle extra virgin olive oil, kosher or sea salt, freshly ground black pepper, and freshly minced or dried oregano or basil onto your tomatoes.
8. Bake for 50 minutes if using a convection oven or 1 hour if not (or until the tomatoes are cooked through, being careful not to burn them).
9. When the tomatoes have only ten minutes to go, place the juice from the bowl into a pot and slowly boil with some salt and pepper for about five minutes.
10. Remove the pans from the oven and scrape the tomatoes into a small pile using a wooden spatula and then spoon them into a large bowl.

11. Add in the cooked tomato juices and stir.
12. Let cool until room temperature and then ladle into quart-sized freezer bags that have been labeled with the date and contents.

13. Set bags in the freezer until ready to use.

In 2005, Garrison Keillor, that curmudegon of a Minnesotan, wrote a column in <a href="http://dir.salon.com/story/opinion/feature/2005/09/28/keillor_work/index.html
">Salon stating:

"Today, home canning has gone the way of the typewriter, the vacuum tube and the TV variety show. The Ball company sold off its jar division and now makes satellite sensors or something, and groceries stock fresh tomatoes all winter, imported from Mexico, which cost a buck apiece and taste more like tennis balls than tomatoes. But at least you don't have to stand in a steamy kitchen and ruin your hairdo."

How great is it that locavores everywhere are proving him wrong this month? As Jen Maiser mentioned late last month, this year's September Eat Local Challenge is focussed on "canning, preserving, and putting food up for the winter." As the blogs I frequent roll up on my Google reader, I can see that several Bay Area Bloggers have risen to the challenge.

Sam at Becks and Posh starts off her Eat Local Challenge canning project by first making me jealous that she invested in a pressure canner and then giving a hysterical list of "Don't"s for novice canners. As in:

" --Don't embark on a canning project unless you think you will get extreme satisfaction from a loud popping noise in your kitchen that almost sounds like someone has been shot but is, in fact, just indication that your lid has concaved, your vacuum has sealed, you can safely remove the screw band and that the operation was a complete success..."

and

"Don't install the disk of your food mill upside down. It is possible, but not recommended."

Hee. She also appears to be swearing, cursing, and using lots of bad words. But she doesn't recommend that either.

Elsewhere, Cookiecrumb at I'm Mad and I Eat who, rather than canning, has just pickled some serranos and jalapeños, and explains:

"I covered them with a boiling mixture of vinegar (local), salt (uh-uh), sugar (nope), cinnamon (as if) and cardamom (yeah, right). Water from Marin County. No idea if this mixture is chemically balanced for the hot water bath, but it's yummy just the same, and who cares. "

For my part this time around, I'm doing my passive (but LOCAL!) part by discovering and indulging in cold jars of certified organic sour dills from Happy Girl Kitchen. You can buy them as singletons at the Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market and slurp on them as you do your shopping or, if you're a glutton like me, you can grab a whole jar and snack on them late at night while watching The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T and wondering if drinking pickle juice really does give you strange powers.

Canning for me conjures up childhood memories of being in the kitchen with my mom and her friends, usually on a hot steamy Texas summer day, and "putting up" bread and butter pickles, fresh raspberry jam (with seeds!), and ripe whole tomatoes. Even with the sweat pouring down your face, there's no better time to can than in the middle of the summer, at the height of the season, when everything is bursting with flavor: crisp cucumbers, ripe red tomatoes, juicy stone fruits, plump berries. Better still when you can pick that fruit out of your own garden.

We are lucky enough to have a big shady plum tree, right smack in the middle of our little garden, right smack in the heart of the Mission in San Francisco. If you think that isn't fair, then start making friends with people who have fruit trees and vegetable gardens; we always seem to have more than we can eat or harvest and are looking for others who will enjoy it.

Tales of plum wine gone awry (think essence of gasoline) from years past still haunt my flat and the flats above me. And last year we missed the boat and the plums ripened before we could harvest them. Which meant tracking slimy fruit globs into the house, sticky matted fur on the cat, and drunken birds and rats feasting on the fermenting fruit. In an effort to avoid that joyous occurrence (have I not painted a lovely picture?), my roommate Gary (staunch believer in preparing for the revolution) made a concerted effort to rally the troops and plan for the big harvest.

So a few weeks ago, when the tree was bursting with perfectly ripe, big juicy green plums, we set aside our sunny Sunday and three of us--armed with our giant canning pot, a ladder, and numerous plastic grocery bags--plucked all of the plums we could reach.

After throwing around elaborate ideas of jams and jellies and syrups and pickles and more, including drawing up a chart of flavors that go well with plum (including but not limited to cardamom, ginger, and whisky) as well as different preparations (including roasting the plums) we arrived at a consensus: to prepare a simple plum jam that would let the tart yet subtle plum flavor shine, and a more interesting plum and apple chutney.

It took all day, but after a while, the cold beers came out, the sweat started pouring down our faces, and it was all worth it.

G-Street Plum Chutney
Makes about 14 8-oz jars

2 cups sugar (or a bit less if the plums are very sweet)
1 1/2 cups white vinegar
1 cup water
1 teaspoon salt
2 sticks cinnamon, broken into 1-inch pieces
1 2-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and thickly sliced
1 teaspoon whole allspice
Cheesecloth
About 6 1/2 lbs plums, pitted and quartered
2 large apples, such as Granny Smith, peeled, cored, and diced
1/2 large yellow onion, peeled and finely diced

In a large, heavy pot, combine the sugar, vinegar, water, and salt. In a 6-inch square of cheesecloth, tie the cinnamon sticks, ginger, and allspice into a pouch and add it to the pot. Heat the mixture over medium-high heat until boiling, stirring occasionally. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer for about 5 minutes until the mixture becomes syrupy.

Add the plums, apples, and onions. Cook, stirring often, over low heat, until the mixture is thickened, about 40-60 minutes. Remove the spice bag. Seal in hot sterilized jars.

For proper canning instructions, check out:

A very serious and official guide

A good online step-by-step guide

Paul and Bernice, who are awesome!

special thanks to Gary and Keith for the lovely plummy pix