Hamburger Relish

So often it is a smell that takes you back. For me, when I was making relish this weekend, as soon as it began cooking on the stove, I was transported back to Bethany, Connecticut, when I was just a child.

Although my father was New Yorker born and bred – he never lived anywhere else except during college and law school – he also loved the country. When my sister and I were young, my parents bought a country house near my grandparents in Connecticut on three acres of land where we spent many weekends and much of our time in the summers.

My father, eager to enjoy everything that house had to offer, put in a garden, and soon we were growing vegetables. (One summer he also decided that we should raise chickens, but that is another story. Suffice it to say, the fox was happy; we were not.) Of course, as is typical with things like cucumbers and zucchini, we quickly found ourselves with way more than we could eat. So my father decided to start canning pickles and relish.

I’m not sure how he came upon this idea. I’m pretty sure no one was canning in the apartment at 1049 Park Avenue where he grew up. But somehow he learned enough – mostly from the Ball® Blue Book, I think – and he would take over the small galley kitchen in Bethany and spread out the canning equipment, and my sister and I became his sous chefs.

He would set us up with cutting boards at the dining room table with a pile of vegetables and instructions for chopping. I’m pretty sure we were a bit young to handle knives, but he needed the help. I’m not even sure I really liked any of the pickled products we made at the time, but we helped him chop vegetables for many, many years. Although I’ve made jam, until this weekend, I hadn’t made any relish since then.

At our CSA on Saturday, we got two cucumbers and two red bell peppers (among other things). To be honest, we’re a bit tired of cucumbers (having gotten them already once in our farm share and from a friend as well) and my husband is not a fan of peppers. So I got to work chopping, and tossed the cucumbers, peppers, and an onion into a pot with some cider vinegar, sugar, and seasonings.

When the relish began to boil and the smell hit me, my eyes welled with tears as I remembered how much my father loved being the city boy who also knew how to grow a garden and to can pickles and relish. I think he’d be pleased with how it turned out.

Hamburger Relish

Makes four to five ½ pint jars

N.B.: This recipe requires you to process canning jars in a water bath. If you are not familiar with this method, please do some research online or send me an email!

• 2 large cucumbers, seeded and diced fine, about 3 cups

• 2 red bell peppers, seeded and diced fine, about 2 cups

• 1 medium yellow onion, diced fine, about 1 cup

• 1 Tablespoon kosher salt

• 1¾ cups sugar

• 1 cup + 2 Tablespoons cider vinegar

• 1 Tablespoon whole mustard seed

• 1 teaspoon celery seed

• ¾ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes, or more to taste

• ⅛ teaspoon turmeric

• 2 teaspoons Ball® classic pectin

Before you begin cooking the relish, wash 2-3 pints worth of canning jars (you can use pints, half pints, or quarter pints), and place them, filled with hot water, onto a rack in a canning pot, also filled with hot water at least 1 inch above the jars, and bring to a boil. Place the lids (but not the rings) in a small saucepan filled with water and bring to a boil. You can turn both of these down once they are boiling but they should stay hot.

Combine all the ingredients except for the pectin in a large saucepan and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer vigorously for 10 minutes, stirring from time to time.

Add the pectin, stir to combine, raise the heat, and bring to a full boil. Boil for 1 minute.

Follow standard directions for filling and closing the canning jars. Process in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Remove the jars from the water bath and allow to cool. As they cool, the center “button” on the lids should “pop” when the jars seal. If any jars fail to seal properly, store the relish in the refrigerator.