Canning corn relish a Saturday night is not typical. I know. What it does for me, and what cooking can do for us, is re-connect us with those we once knew. Grandma B- wasn't even related to me: only related in the 'mother's second husband's mother' sort of way. She was an amazing Southern lady in every sense of the word: gentle, loving, and as sweet as molasses. Having swept through the South in my youth, I have an affinity for their generosity and grits.
We lived off of Aladdin drive, near Lincoln (in Anaheim), at one point. Grandma B- came to stay with us frequently, after my baby sister was born.
She made exotic foods that I only read about growing up (having an interest in cooking, in a purely theoretical sense, if you know my background of eating potato flakes straight out of the box): fresh baked bread, fried green tomatoes (the only good ones I've ever et) and canned preserves. I hovered around her fascinated.
The canning process is all about cleanliness, that's what floored me as a ten-year-old. Boil this, boil that, use only fresh towels, don't re-wipe, that's not good, that's got to go. Phew. I was exhausted watching her. But. Seeing that homemade apple butter spread was like magic. Apples, sugar, rendered. Huh? How did you get that from that? [emphasis should be there somewhere]
So, like Grandma B-, I hunkered down for about four hours and, come hell or high water, was going to make corn relish. It didn't involve pectin, which I'm a little leery about right now - and only involved natural ingredients. With canning, you really make a commitment to that batch: still fascinating as ever (ok, for those reading this, I should say "me").
You instantly connect with those moments in that hot little kitchen so many years ago. You can almost hear her voice guiding you on. She was patient, let me tell you.
Cooking is amazing in that it is solitary, but, ironically, shared. I am blessed to have so many great ladies in my life who have shown me how to cook well. They've shared great moments and I hope to pass it along to my little ruffians who may say the same one day when I'm gone. Although, I'm not nearly as patient...*woof.
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