200 animal, vegetable, miraclemurderous to women’s freedom and sanity. It’s straightforward, and
for tomato and fruit products doesn’t require much special equipment.
Botulism—the famously deadly bacterium that grows in airless, sealed
containers and thus can spoil canned goods—can’t grow in a low- pH en-
vironment. That means acidic tomatoes, grapes, and tree fruits can safely
be canned in a simple boiling water bath. All other vegetables must be
processed in a pressure canner that exposes them to higher- than-boiling
temperatures; it takes at least 240°F to kill botulism spores. The USDA
advises that pH 4.6 is the botulism- safe divide between these two meth-
ods. Since 1990, test kitchens have found that some low- acid tomato va-
rieties sit right on the fence, so tomato- canning instructions published
years ago may not be safe. Modern recipes advise adding lemon juice or
citric acid to water- bath-canned tomatoes. Botulism is one of the most
potent neurotoxins on our planet, and not a visitor you want to mess
with.
Acidity is the key to safety, so all kinds of pickles preserved in vinegar
are fair game. In various parts of the world, pickling is a preservation
method of choice for everything from asparagus to zucchini chutney; I
have an Indian recipe for cinnamon- spiced pickled peaches. But our Ap-
palachian standard for the noncucumber pickle is the Dilly Bean, essen-
tially dill pickles made of green beans. This year when I was canning them
on a July Saturday, Lily and a friend came indoors from playing and
marched into the kitchen holding their noses, wanting to know why the
whole house smelled like cider vinegar. I pointed my spoon at the caul-
dron bubbling on the stove and explained I was making pickles. I do won-
der what my kids’ friends go home to tell their parents about us. This one
dubiously surveyed the kitchen: me in my apron, the steaming kettle, the
mountain of beans I was trimming to fit into the jars, the corners where
my witch’s broom might lurk. “I didn’t know you could make pickles from
beans,” she countered. I assured her you could make almost anything into
pickles. She came back an hour later when I was cleaning up and my fi n-
ished jars were cooling on the counter, their mix of green, purple, and
yellow beans standing inside like little soldiers in an integrated army. She
held her eyes very close to one of the jars and announced, “Nope! They
didn’t turn into pickles!”