On Being Southern and Other Identities

I have lived in Texas since I was ten. Thirty-two years. And 24 of those have been in Austin. It's the longest I've ever lived anywhere. I love Austin but my early years as an Army brat were formative, I think. In that, periodically, I have a strong desire to move. This happens most often when the temperature is in the high nineties (or higher) or during election years when I actually contemplate moving to another country. However, my good husband refuses to live any further north and I refuse to live any further south so we seem to be stuck at this latitude.

The really funny thing is that whenever I meet new people, they think I'm from the Midwest --the one area of the country in which I HAVEN'T lived. Maybe it's because I try to really enunciate since I have this voice like a Smurf on speed and I'm afraid if I don't enunciate, no one will understand me. (You think I'm joking but people routinely call my house and when I answer, ask me if my mommy is home. I know I shouldn't but I usually tell them to call her in Dallas and see. Click.)

I started thinking about this whole thing of regions and their identities because I don't really have a geographical identity, I don't think. I'm not Southern (my pie crusts suck) and I'm not Western (only went skeet shooting once and never hit anything. Plus I've never branded anything except a corporation). I'm not Eastern (although I'd like to live up that way about half the year --good knitting. But I don't walk near fast enough.) and I'm not Californian (no surfing, no manicures, no tan--ever. I do like California wine, though.)

I guess I don't know what I am.

I guess this doesn't surprise anyone.

But yesterday, I did something that many Southern women do every year. I have to admit that I have NEVER been so nervous. I don't mean to alarm you, but I, um, HOVERED. I called my father-in-law, who is an exceptional Southern cook.

Um.

More than once.

Ladies and gentleman (my husband, I'm not sure any other males read my blog), I present to you the pictorial of my adventures into Southern Womanhood.

I made Tomato Relish.

Here is the scene being set.



I used the recipe from the Bible of Southern Cooking (also a present from my FIL):


I won't detail the entire laborious process but I did want to note here that I had to PEEL the tomatoes before I cooked them. Nine pounds. If you blanch them in boiling water for a minute or so, you can take the peels off super-easily (another tip from my FIL.)

Anyway, here's what it looked like while it was cooking:


Here's the part where I got really nervous that maybe not enough liquid had evaporated and I took this picture to send to my FIL.

But he was playing golf and couldn't receive photos at that time. So I just bottled the stuff. And then I put it in the ten minute water bath--very important in the process.

And then, after I got those incredibly satisfying PINGS that happen when your jars vacuum seal properly, I put them in our narrow and hilarious pantry.


A good day's work--and it freaking takes about that long.

PS: My husband did a taste test and declared it perfect. I thought maybe I cooked it too long and that it needed more vinegar. We won't know until we eat it with black-eyed peas and cornbread.