For some it was a tradition to be endured then ignored; for others it's a logical conclusion to the bounty of summer produce. For me, it's a ceremony just begun, for my own fulfilment.
Tomato Day
The idea of chopping, seeding, cooking and canning tomatoes at the end of summer has appealed to me for years. I've read and heard numerous accounts - positive and otherwise - of traditional family days that produced cases of lustrous red sauce. Truth be told, it's a tradition deserving of company, of allocated roles, and a matriarch to direct proceedings.
I didn't even have a tomato plant.
The lack of produce wasn't a problem. All year I'd planned to head to Gateway Estate in Coldstream to pick up one of their 10kg, end-of-season boxes of roma tomatoes, grown on site. Gateway's store is dwarfed by their greenhouse, which is vibrant with capsicum, eggplant and tomato plants. The small retail area is crammed with firm, luscious fruit and vegetables, as well as local preserves, oils and sweets. It's also the cellar door for their own wines. These eggplants, grown on site, were magnificently firm, weighty and glossy:
While up there we headed to Gruyere, for lunch at the Red Shed Cafe, a thoroughly recommended spot.
Back home, it was time to take a knife to this lot:
In the course of the day I cooked four batches, each with a slightly different preparation. One decision to make when preparing tomatoes is to skin or not to skin. It's quite fun getting the skins off, but does add time and effort to the process. Aunty Stephy doesn't skin, but she does pass her sauce through a food mill, so she gets rid of them at the end. There's nothing wrong with leaving them on, but obviously you'll end up with a chunkier sauce.
Skinning tomatoes is quite fun, if you have the time and inclination. Cut a shallow cross in the bottom, then drop each tomato into boiling water for 10 seconds. Dunk them in cold water, then peel the skin right off. If you cut them in half after taking them out of the cold water, it's even easier to get the skin off. You're left with something that closer resembles a ball of watermelon:
Once they're peeled (or as the first step if you're leaving the skins on), cut the top (the calyx end) off the tomatoes, then cut them into quarters. Use a small knife to cut out the core, taking the seeds with it. Discard core and seeds. It can feel like you're getting rid of a lot of tomato, but you keep much more than you throw out. (Leaving the seeds in can make the sauce too bitter).
For each batch I sauteed onion in plenty of olive oil, then added the tomatoes and chopped garlic, along with a dash of red wine vinegar and plenty of dried oregano. That bubbled away to itself in a simmer for 40-60 minutes, before I added some seasoning at the end along with torn basil leaves. After that, it was time for a whizz in a food processor, then an awkward funnelling into recycled, sterilised passata jars.
A note to aspiring saucers: heat is an important part of sterilising. Add hot sauce to hot jars. If you're boiling your filled jars to form a seal, they need quite a while in the hot water (and the 'button' should pull down to indicate it's sealed).
Batch 1 was skin on, so came out a deeper red, and quite chunky. Batch 2 was skin off, and notably smoother. Batch 3 I passed through a 'sieve' (actually just a very fine strainer), creating quite an impressive jar of passata. The skins and extra bits from Batch 3 went in the food processor with Batch 4, making a last lot that stayed in the fridge for use that week.
The idea of chopping, seeding, cooking and canning tomatoes at the end of summer has appealed to me for years. I've read and heard numerous accounts - positive and otherwise - of traditional family days that produced cases of lustrous red sauce. Truth be told, it's a tradition deserving of company, of allocated roles, and a matriarch to direct proceedings.
I didn't even have a tomato plant.
The lack of produce wasn't a problem. All year I'd planned to head to Gateway Estate in Coldstream to pick up one of their 10kg, end-of-season boxes of roma tomatoes, grown on site. Gateway's store is dwarfed by their greenhouse, which is vibrant with capsicum, eggplant and tomato plants. The small retail area is crammed with firm, luscious fruit and vegetables, as well as local preserves, oils and sweets. It's also the cellar door for their own wines. These eggplants, grown on site, were magnificently firm, weighty and glossy:
While up there we headed to Gruyere, for lunch at the Red Shed Cafe, a thoroughly recommended spot.Back home, it was time to take a knife to this lot:
In the course of the day I cooked four batches, each with a slightly different preparation. One decision to make when preparing tomatoes is to skin or not to skin. It's quite fun getting the skins off, but does add time and effort to the process. Aunty Stephy doesn't skin, but she does pass her sauce through a food mill, so she gets rid of them at the end. There's nothing wrong with leaving them on, but obviously you'll end up with a chunkier sauce.Skinning tomatoes is quite fun, if you have the time and inclination. Cut a shallow cross in the bottom, then drop each tomato into boiling water for 10 seconds. Dunk them in cold water, then peel the skin right off. If you cut them in half after taking them out of the cold water, it's even easier to get the skin off. You're left with something that closer resembles a ball of watermelon:
Once they're peeled (or as the first step if you're leaving the skins on), cut the top (the calyx end) off the tomatoes, then cut them into quarters. Use a small knife to cut out the core, taking the seeds with it. Discard core and seeds. It can feel like you're getting rid of a lot of tomato, but you keep much more than you throw out. (Leaving the seeds in can make the sauce too bitter).For each batch I sauteed onion in plenty of olive oil, then added the tomatoes and chopped garlic, along with a dash of red wine vinegar and plenty of dried oregano. That bubbled away to itself in a simmer for 40-60 minutes, before I added some seasoning at the end along with torn basil leaves. After that, it was time for a whizz in a food processor, then an awkward funnelling into recycled, sterilised passata jars.
A note to aspiring saucers: heat is an important part of sterilising. Add hot sauce to hot jars. If you're boiling your filled jars to form a seal, they need quite a while in the hot water (and the 'button' should pull down to indicate it's sealed).
Batch 1 was skin on, so came out a deeper red, and quite chunky. Batch 2 was skin off, and notably smoother. Batch 3 I passed through a 'sieve' (actually just a very fine strainer), creating quite an impressive jar of passata. The skins and extra bits from Batch 3 went in the food processor with Batch 4, making a last lot that stayed in the fridge for use that week.
Thanks for sharing your tomato sauce day: I have one, too, with my friends. But I make tomato sauce the condiment.
ReplyDeleteI look forward to reading your future reviews of the Melbourne food scene
Cheers Sarah! After Tomato Day's inauguration this year, it'd be great to get some friends round next year. They filmed a couple of local families' Tomato Day for Food Safari on SBS, which totally put my effort to shame :) (They had some good tips though!)
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