Roasted Tomato Sauce

"Many women have been born who found for themselves no epic life wherein there was a constant unfolding of far-resonant actions; perhaps only a life of mistakes, the offspring of a certain spritual grandeur ill-matched with the meanness of opportunity, perhaps a tragic failure which found no sacred spot and sank unswept into oblivion."
George Elliot, Middlemarch

My daughter and I worked out this recipe to make the most wonderful tomato sauce. So, I've got that going for me.

5 lbs tomatoes, coarsely chopped
1 medium onion, coarsely chopped
6 cloves of garlic (more to taste)
1/8 cup olive oil
1/8 cup balsamic vinegar
sea salt and pepper to taste

I use only the best organic ingredients.Toss ingredients in a bowl to coat with oil and vinegar. Spread in a single layer in roasting pan. The secret to getting a sweet sauce is to roast at 250F for at least 4 hours, until the ingredients caramelize.

Cool and put through food mill, medium grater. For this recipe, I started with 5 lbs 2.8 oz of tomato/onion/garlic and ended up with just over 4 cups or 16 ounces of sauce.

Heat and top homemade pizza or pasta.

This recipe may not constitute a constant unfolding of far-resonant actions, but the taste evokes a certain spiritual grandeur, particularly when used to top a pizza using homemade pizza dough. So, notwithstanding the relative meanness of opportunity I may have experienced, this sauce may be all that stands between me and a life of tragic failure that will sink into oblivion.

To can, put in sterile jars. Ball Blue Book says leave ½” at top of tomato jars, but I left a bit more room and managed to almost fill five 8-ounce jars. Boil in canning pot 35 minutes.

Herbs: if using thyme or oregano, chop fresh herbs and toss and roast with tomatoes. If using basil, I put a few whole leaves on top of sauce before sealing jars to boil.

Sacred Spots

“Many women have been born who found for themselves no epic life wherein there was a constant unfolding of far-resonant action; perhaps only a life of mistakes, the offspring of a certain spiritual grandeur ill-matched with the meanness of opportunity, perhaps a tragic failure which found no sacred spot and sank upswept into oblivion.”
George Elliot, Middlemarch

I once had a boss named Skippy, an insecure little martinet, who was every bit as incompetent as his name sounds. Looking back, that job, all two years, three months and eleven days of it, was the worst job I ever had, mainly because it sucked the spiritual grandeur out of my soul like a hyena sucks marrow out of zebra bones somewhere on a parched African plain.

I quit that job about the same time I decided to stop bothering with the upkeep of a saltwater aquarium filled with yellow tang, leaving me with a perfectly good plastic, fish tank sized castle to dispose of. Because my back yard is dominated by some gigantic granite boulders, I had a number of possible mountain passes in which to situate the retired fish tank castle. It will always remind me of Skippy and his ilk who personify the meanness of opportunity afforded to the women George Elliot writes about.

So, there my castle sits, high in the mountains, representing a sacred spot to meditate on, a spot more suited to my lofty spiritual grandeur than Skippy’s corner office. I can imagine that someday I will retreat to my mountain stronghold to write the story of my epic life, detailing all the obstacles I had to overcome, and all the mistakes, like The Skipper, that I survived.

I might even go so far as to say I was saved from oblivion, and from a life of tragic failure, by a plastic aquarium castle.