My Mother and Grandmother had it. And if what I hear in produce sections and at Saturday farmers’ markets is true, it’s an epidemic on Gabriola. Just the other day, I heard one breathless, positively feverish woman telling another that she had just “put up” her zillionth jar of peaches and had to get more jars to start on her beans. Her eyes had that glazed Stepford Wives look about them.

I find it remarkable that even in this time of instant gratification and Costco, each fall millions of women (and men) can be found canning everything from chilli sauce to watermelon rind. I don’t believe that it is truly out of a need for survival, because frankly, man cannot live on rhubarb chutney alone, and I’m not even sure that it is more cost effective than buying canned goods by the caseload. It appears to have more to do with an irrational obsession that can only be attributed to some sort of virus, perhaps one closely related to the computer virus.

            I was sure that I was immune to this infliction, but it seems as though I have succumbed. It must be something in our water. It started innocuously enough. A neighbour brought me a large bag of freshly picked plums and I knew that I would be ill if I tried to eat them all before they started to go bad. I had “canned” before, by which I mean I have put chutneys and pickles in heated mason jars and put them in the fridge. They would either be eaten quickly, or after a year and I could no longer remember what they were, I would toss them out.

            Faking it wasn’t an option this time. I found a recipe that I could modify for plums. I even had the required whole cardamom and I bet not many of you could make the same claim. The house soon was filled with the sensual smell of clove, cardamom and allspice. When my chutney was hot and bubbling, I filled my sterilized jars right to the top, screwed the lids on firmly and set them into a pot of boiling water, where I let them rattle away for “awhile.” I set them out on my counter and waited to hear the lids go “snap!” That didn’t happen, but I thought that the lids looked sort of indented, and I was happy.

            That evening, I gave a jar of my homemade efforts to a friend, who herself is probably deserving of some lifetime achievement award for the most canning performed in one season. She took one look at my jar and said, “You do know that this isn’t sealed? Is it high or low acid? Maybe I’ll just keep it in the freezer.” I was deflated. And what was all this low and high acid stuff about!

So I went home and read about canning. I had made the assumption that if thousands of women can do it, including my own mother, it couldn’t be brain surgery. I was even more ashamed because with a degree in Biology, a dozen years working in medical labs and as many years working in the food industry, I had forgotten some basic scientific principles, as well as some just plain good common sense.

I knew I could salvage my chutney by re-processing it, so I put the jars in the fridge overnight. I would make a fresh start by getting a proper canner with the proper jar rack. The next day I discovered that fall is not the best time to start looking for canning supplies. After trying several spots, I went to a favourite antique shop that has a large selection of old kitchenware. But even here, I only found canners without the rack. This led the saleswoman and myself into a very cerebral discussion as to possible reasons for the disappearance of all canner racks. We came to no conclusion, but she did kindly offer to give me hers.  Apparently, her son had used her canning kettle to clean brake shoes, and it now has a permanent oily smell. I suddenly remembered that I have a pasta pot with a deep strainer that should work fine.

            As soon as I got home I re-heated the chutney, cleaned and re-sterilized the jars and lids. I re-filled the jars, leaving the proper ¼ inch headspace, wiped the rim and finger-tightened the rings. I processed the jars, which were this time not bouncing around on the bottom of the pan and into each other, for 15 minutes, carefully setting them aside to cool. Within an hour, I could hear the most heavenly popping sound. I even resisted the temptation to poke at the lids to test the seal; I left them alone for 24 hours. I removed the rings and found every lid tightly sealed. I was filled with joy.

            I have a new respect for the art of canning. Yes, our grandmothers and mothers did it with apparent ease and as second nature, but even if they didn’t understand the science, they respected the rules. It is important to realize that many things have changed from the time when they were canning. Recipes that they may have used are not necessarily safe to use now. Produce which once was picked fresh that day from our own gardens or purchased from local farmers, may now have passed through multiple handlers and several countries before ending up in our kitchens, increasing the potential sources for contamination. Micro-organisms that cause spoilage such as bacteria and moulds are extremely adaptable, and what once may have been adequate processing time or temperature, may no longer be sufficient.

You can usually keep current with canning techniques by reading one or two new cooking magazines every fall. Many websites carry safety information on canning. The one I found most useful is the one referred to on the Bernardin box: www.homecanning.com. You’ll not only find recipes, but proper canning methods are detailed and explained. And don’t forget that the first-hand advice you can get from a friend who is experienced in canning is invaluable. Don’t be embarrassed to ask!