Kitchen Memoirs are a collection of stories about the people and dishes who have inspired me most in the kitchen. Each month I will share a new story about one of these people accompanied by one or more recipes. This month’s story is about my Aunt Diane and her Pickled Beets.
All In the Family
My Aunt Diane is the 4th born of 12 children. As I’ve shared in my Mother’s Kitchen Memoir, our family is one where some of my cousins are older than my Mother, making her an Aunt herself before she was even born.
With 180 people in our immediate family, gatherings were always held at the one place that we knew we had a private and annual reservation: the Anoka Legion. Up until 2017, every Christmas Day was held here, dating back before I was born. The American Legion has always been “Christmas” to me.
The menu regularly constituted two (sometimes three) large roasted turkeys, mashed potatoes, homemade gravy, green bean casserole, creamed corn, candied yams, cranberry relish, rolls, those weird jello salads, and my favorite: a relish platter. More often than not, I would enjoy two plates of food: the first comprised primarily of green and black olives, pickles, and the family darling: my Aunt Diane’s Pickled Beets.
At The Farm
Diane and her husband, Joe, moved to their ~150 year old farmhouse 45 years ago. Over the years they’ve manicured their 120 acres in to a sprawling site: a massive garden, a silo, a large pole barn, and a large stretch of yard that seems to go on forever (before the corn stalks start).
Sweet memories flit through my recollection of their farm from years’ past. Summer picnics were hosted at their home, along with the wedding of their daughter. I recall barefeet, fluffy dogs, and an ability to run as far as the eye could see.
It’s the type of place that feels like home.
Canning: A Messy Job
Canning is a hobby that my Aunt Diane took up when she and Joe moved to the farm 45 years ago. With a collection of recipes that could rival the most seasoned and frequented cook, Diane could likely can something new every single day of the year and still have recipes to spare. She has a recipe for it all: watermelon rind pickles, fresh packed green beans, fresh peaches, plums, and pears (picked from their yard), hot pickles, saccharine pickles, bread and butter pickles, refrigerator pickles, ALL THE PICKLES. Of all the recipes she has and has made, one stands out in significance: her Pickled Beets.
Pickled Beets
Aunt Diane’s Pickled Beets are something to marvel. They’re sweet, they’re tart, they’re spiced, and they’re tender. They’re not overly acidic or aggressively seasoned: they are the definition of perfectly pickled.
Canning is a skill that Diane has perfected over the past 45 years, and her recipes are rooted in history. The recipe catalog – not a box, an actual catalog – is that of my Grandma Avis’, and houses recipes that have been handed down from generations. It includes tabs for various courses or dishes, offering ease to the cook seeking specificity. I reluctantly have to be dragged away, desperate to absorb every last literal and figurative morsel it has to offer. Luckily, I’m extended a welcoming invitation to dig through the endless source of culinary inspiration another time.
Recipes of Generations' Past
I learn that Diane’s Pickled Beets recipe is that of my Great Grandma Mary’s, who was an excellent canner. “Her canning was beautiful: green beans, yellow beans, beets…They had steps going up to the kitchen, it was a cool hallway to the basement, with shelves that were always lined with jars.” Canning happened to span both sides of the family, as she reflects on my Great Grandma Stark. “My Grandma Stark’s basement was so cool: it was poured cement and rock, but she whitewashed it. It was all white: it looked so clean. I wish I would have had a picture of it, in my mind I have it right there.”
Pickled Beets: Method Versus Recipe
While her recipe is not one to be shared, the way in which these tart and spicy jewels find their canned home is dizzying. The journey begins from a small seed, planted in the ground this year on May 22nd, though they were planted indoors about a month prior. Their newfound home is prepared with care, as Uncle Joe feeds it with compost made from scraps they’ve acquired throughout winter.
“Everything we take out of the garden goes right back in. The leaves that we’re cutting from the beets will be tilled right back in to the soil. In the winter, we keep our kitchen scraps in an ice cream pail, and just leave them out in the pole barn until spring. They too feed the garden”.
And The Beet Goes On
Our day began in the garden, bright and early, picking the beets when they were ready according to Diane’s expert intuition. The beets were pulled, the stems removed (with 1 1/2 inches remaining), and placed into buckets which eventually are dumped in to the bed of a UTV.
They’re transported to the pole barn, outfitted with a kitchen made to be canned in. They’re hosed down, sorted by size, and placed in stockpots ready for boiling. Once just fork tender, the beets are removed from the heat, drained, and allowed to cool slightly.
There’s a sort of mise en place occurring with the buckets, pots, and pans that line the table, resembling an assembly line of beet preparation. Double-gloved hands remove the beet’s skin, halve them, halve the halves, then, depending on the size, slice them 1 to 2 more times. “They’re cut to the size I want: I like them bite sized.”
The sliced beets are then warmed in a seasoned brine, funneled into prepared jars, and sealed accordingly.
And now comes the hard part: waiting to enjoy them!
Farewell For Now
As my time at the farm ends (though there are hours left of work), I’m bid salutations and warm wishes. The process of saying goodbye to my family is one which, similarly to the quintessential Minnesotan goodbye, takes an average of 20 minutes. Today’s farewell seems to pain me, wanting desperately to stay just a few more hours to help finish canning and be part of the buzzing energy that’s present when my aunts and uncles are together.
My Aunt Diane is an incredible woman: thoughtful, goofy, serious (until she isn’t), fiercely organized, militaristic in her approach to canning, always up for a good time, and who’s smile is positively infectious. Our day spent helping pickle beets was such a special memory, one that I will treasure forever. And I have a feeling she and Joe will remember this day, too: this was the first time either of them could remember not staying up past midnight to finish their process! I have a good (and hopeful) feeling that we’ll be invited back next time.
Enjoyed this story? Check out my Kitchen Memoirs series for more delicious tales.
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