Aunt Connie's Taco Sauce

So, despite the evidence presented in my last post, I can occasionally get something right (even if it's just by dumb luck). In August I tried canning salsa for the first time, using my Aunt Connie's "Taco Sauce" recipe, with very pleasing results.

First, I worked with home-grown tomatoes - some from my own garden, and some from my grandparents.
I loved all the different colors.

The first step of the recipe is to peel the tomatoes, and left to my own devices this would have been a nightmare indeed. But my Aunt Connie is a crafty one, and seems to have a great sense of where the direction "peel tomatoes" would take me, so she provided this great little tip: slice an "x" into the skin of the tomatoes and then boil them until the skin softens. Pull them out of the water and when they cool the skin will slide off like magic. Awesome tomato magic.

After peeling the tomatoes it's a chop fest. I (very sloppily) sliced and diced the tomatoes, onion, and peppers.

I have no idea what kind of peppers I used. I put "hot peppers" on the grocery list, and the hubster came home with .... hot peppers. Our grocery store is pretty terrible about labeling produce, so even he doesn't know what I used. But they were kinda spicy and worked just fine.

With everything chopped and ready to go it was time for cooking. The produce went into the pot, followed by the tomato paste, salt, vinegar, sugar, and corn syrup.

When I first read the recipe that just seemed wrong. Really, Aunt Connie couldn't actually mean corn syrup, right?

Oh, it was right. And it was delicious.

With all the goods in the pot I simmered the salsa while preparing for waterbath canning, and from there it was your standard job: hot jars are filled with boiling salsa and capped, boiled for thirty minutes, and then left to sit for 24 hours on a towel.

And voila! Beautiful and slightly-sweet salsa that is perfect for munching. Yum.

On applesauce and the local fire department

Why the concerned look, Doc?

Because Mommy's in the kitchen.

Smart one, that baby.

Today, I tried to make applesauce. I started by washing and peeling and chopping 6.5 pounds of apples with a steak knife, which is my multi-purpose kitchen cutter-of-all-things.
When Victor started fussing about halfway through I stuck him in the mei tei, and my little quality control guy hung out while I finished the job.

I threw in some water and covered the pot, and started patting myself on the back for being so industrious and slightly crunchy-granola.

And while I was doing that the fire alarm went off.
I walked away at a crucial moment instead of stirring (and removing) the apples, and the ones on the bottom burned like the dickens. And smoked. Smoked so much that our fire alarm went off five separate times (never waking Victor). Max and B glared at me with their hands over their ears, the alarm company kept asking if I was sure everything was ok, and then a fire truck showed up anyway.

The look on the youngest fireman's face told me exactly what he thought about failing housewives like myself, but the one in charge laughed it all off with good grace. I met them outside so they didn't have to hike up our stairs, saying, "I'm so sorry! I tried to have the alarm canceled."
"That's ok, we come out anyway. Is everything ok?"
"Yes, I just burned apples."
"You ... burned apples?"
"Heh, yeah, I was trying to make applesauce, and I burned the apples."
*insert laughter from in-charge fireman, and eyerolls from the whipper snapper. I deserved both*
"Well, ... that's a good way to start apple pie!" He said. (Wasn't he nice?)

"So there were no flames?"
"Nope, just lots of smoke."
"Ok then! Have a good day!"

And they commenced the impossible task of turning a fire engine around in our very small dead-end parking lot.

I would have taken a picture of the big ones standing at the door impressed, but I was afraid it would make it look like I called the poor men out on purpose.