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Introduction
Appears in
Published 2010
When I was growing up, canning was for old folks and cranks and separatists—oh, and for my parents, who spent every summer of my Virginia childhood scrambling to convert overflowing bushel baskets of fruits and vegetables from their garden into a pantry lined with shelf upon shelf of colorful canning jars, not to mention a stuffed-to-the-rim chest freezer or two. Not for me. I had better, far more important things to do. I can’t remember what they were.
When I left home and moved to New York, I happily immersed myself in a project of experiencing every new food I possibly could: seeking out Malaysian braised frog’s legs in