Peas and Prosperity (and Chutney)

I almost titled this post, "Love, Peas and Happiness," because when it comes to that old southern standard, black-eyed peas, most people either love 'em madly or don't like them at all. Me, I'm a lover.

Cooked plain, according to the soak-overnight package directions, with a meaty smoked ham hock buried in the middle of the pot, black-eyed peas are my ultimate comfort food. (I stint on the salt and simmering liquid because I like them less soupy and briny. And don't cook them too long - about an hour is good - or they'll be mushy.) Add a couple spoonfuls of tomato and pear chutney on the side, and you've got manna from heaven.

Maybe this explains how the dish, along with the requisite mythology and superstitions, became a New Year's Day tradition in most of the southeast; or maybe it's because that's about all they had to eat in the dead of winter back in the day. Either way the black-eyed pea (a bean actually) is another culinary gift from the dark side of our heritage. Brought into southern ports from Africa with the slave trade, black-eyed peas were initially cultivated exclusively for the consumption of livestock and slaves, but, when times got hard, white folks found they made mighty good eating.

Exactly 365 peas. Yes, I did.

Today we eat them on January 1st, seasoned with a little chunk of preserved pork, to assure luck and prosperity throughout the coming year. A more arcane tradition specifies that we eat exactly (or at least) 365 individual peas, one for each day of the year, to assure the continuity of all that love and happiness. This is what 365 peas looks like.

When I was growing up in south Georgia black-eyed peas were commonly served with chopped raw onion (not my predilection) and/or a particular ground-pear relish, which I adored, and whose secret formula I'm still looking for. In the meantime, I've found a completely satisfactory, maybe even better, alternative: fire-roasted tomato and pear chutney. Were I given to hyperbole, I'd call it the condiment of the gods.


FIRE ROASTED TOMATO AND PEAR CHUTNEY

2 cups roasted tomatoes, seeded and chopped
2 cups cubed pears
1 yellow onion, chopped
1 cup raisins
2 cups brown sugar
1 cup cider vinegar
3 tablespoons peeled and grated fresh ginger
2 tablespoons mustard seeds
2 cinnamon sticks
2 teaspoons red pepper flakes
2 teaspoons kosher salt

If you want to do it up right and have the where-with-all to grow your own, an assortment of heirloom tomatoes, cut into quarters, roasted in a hot oven, peeled, seeded and chopped, do it best. When homegrown tomatoes aren't available, I go with a good canned variety, such as Muir Glen Fire Roasted tomatoes, and still have a really outstanding chutney. (Seriously, don't bother with store-bought 'fresh' tomatoes. The process is more trouble than they're worth, and the result won't be any better.)

Combine all ingredients in a large, deep saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring frequently. Reduce heat and boil gently until reduced by half.

Ladle hot chutney into sterilized half-pint jars. Place filled and lidded jars into canning vessel, (I use my tamale pot, no joke), cover with water and bring to boil. Process at a boil for 10 minutes. Cool in water, remove, store and enjoy! (For more detailed canning instructions see: http://nchfp.uga.edu/how/can_06/chutney_principles.html)

I customarily make the recipe in triplicate and end up with around 12 to 15 half-pint jars. Sometimes I do a few pints because this stuff goes fast, and you don't want to run out. (Try it with pork, rare beef, lamb, butter beans; the possibilities are endless.)

And keep some on hand for black-eyed peas; which should always be served with the style and respect they deserve. Kudos to Jacob Preston for the black-eyed peas bowl. I happen to think it is just right.