Sauce, version 2018.01

Took my mom out to a bunch of appointments this morning. Her first one took a lot longer than expected. The TV in the waiting room was set to ESPN, and I had to listen to two scruffy-looking guys in suits shout at each other regarding the finer points of sportsball.* (Last time they had the TV set to HGTV with some reality competition where people would buy random old junk, turn it upside down, spray paint it yellow, glue random things to it, and then try to sell it at a profit, so I guess this was marginally better.) Her next appointment also took longer than expected. At the third stop I took off to squeeze in some quick grocery shopping. After that, we got home and I began to make my tomato sauce.

I started with about six medium-sized and nine small tomatoes. I scalded them (poured boiling water on them and allowed them to sit in the hot water for a few minutes) and slipped off the skins. I then cut them up and put them in a deep pot, removing the stem scars and any thick white parts of the cores. I added about two tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil and began to heat gently. As the tomatoes began to break down, I stirred in half a teaspoon of garlic powder, half a teaspoon of onion powder, a quarter teaspoon of garlic salt, and a quarter teaspoon of onion salt. I wanted to add basil but didn't have any, so I sprinkled in some pre-mixed Italian seasoning. After a bit more reduction, I stirred in a quarter teaspoon of balsamic vinegar.

At this point my mom remarked that we had missed a stop on our outing earlier in the day: we had forgotten to go to the cemetery to observe the thirteenth anniversary of my father's death. So I turned off the sauce and we took a quick run to the cemetery, about five miles away.

I finished the sauce after we got back, while I deep-vacuumed the carpet. I let the sauce cool and poured it off into a deep glass covered container. Perhaps tomorrow we will sample it. And maybe on Monday, I'll be making sauce #2.


*Actually, what they were shouting about was whether preseason football games are relevant enough to put in any effort, or if the primary goal of anyone playing a preseason game should be to avoid getting hurt so they can give their all in the real season. It might have been an interesting discussion, but the two of them were just shouting like a couple of pro wrestlers or Donald Trump wannabees. The argument ended when the feed for one of the two combatants froze. Another feed froze later for another person.

(As I finished this post I heard about Caleb Leone, a high school football player from the small Pennsylvania town of Jersey Shore who sustained a traumatic brain injury during practice last week, required brain surgery, and is still in a coma.)