Slow-Cooked Peach Salsa

August is almost here and the garden is producing like it's trying to prove something. Tomatoes, peppers, okra, herbs — more than two people can eat, which is exactly the point. I've been taking bags of produce to church, to Miss Corrine, to the teachers at Hodge who are already back setting up their classrooms. There is something holy about growing more than you need and giving the rest away. Hattie Pearl taught me that. "Plant more than you can eat, Dot. God doesn't bless a stingy garden."

The peppers are ready for hot sauce. I did my second batch of the season — cayenne and habanero, with garlic from the garden and apple cider vinegar. The kitchen smelled like fire for two days and Earl said his eyes were burning from the living room, which is an exaggeration, but I opened a window anyway because forty-two years of marriage is forty-two years of strategic concessions.

Kayla is finding her rhythm at Memorial. She came over Tuesday and told me about a patient — a man, seventy-something, came in with chest pains, his wife in the waiting room wringing her hands. Kayla was on the team that stabilized him, ran the monitors, administered the medication. He made it. His wife hugged Kayla in the hallway afterward and said, "Thank you for saving him." Kayla told me this and then she got quiet, and I knew she was thinking about Earl's heart attack in 2003. She was seven then. She remembers the hospital. She remembers me in the waiting room. She said, "I keep thinking — what if there had been a nurse like me there for Granddaddy?" I said, "Baby, there was. And that nurse is the reason he's sitting in that recliner right now watching the Braves lose."

Earl, from the living room: "They're not losing. They're building character."

That man. That impossible, stubborn, beautiful man.

I canned the hot sauce — twelve jars, each one labeled by hand with the year and the pepper variety. I'll give them as Christmas gifts, same as every year. People in Savannah expect Dot Henderson's hot sauce at Christmas the way they expect carols and lights. I am a brand, baby. I didn't plan it. The peppers planned it.

Now go on and feed somebody.

The hot sauce is already put up and labeled, but as long as the garden keeps giving, I keep going — and when the peaches came in heavy right alongside the peppers this year, it only made sense to do a batch of this slow-cooked peach salsa. It has the same spirit as the hot sauce: garden-grown, slow and patient, and better in a jar with someone else’s name on it. Hattie Pearl would approve. This one is sweet where the hot sauce is fire, which means everybody at Christmas gets both.

Prep Time: 30 minutes | Cook Time: 3 hours | Total Time: 3 hours 30 minutes | Servings: About 9 half-pint jars (approximately 72 servings of 2 tablespoons)

Ingredients

8 cups fresh peaches, peeled, pitted, and coarsely chopped (about 10 medium peaches)
2 cups Roma tomatoes, seeded and chopped
1 large white onion, finely diced
3 jalapeño peppers, seeded and minced (leave seeds in for more heat)
1 red bell pepper, finely diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup fresh lime juice (about 2 limes)
3 tablespoons honey or light brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1/2 cup fresh cilantro, roughly chopped

Instructions

Prep the fruit and vegetables. Peel, pit, and chop the peaches into roughly 1/2-inch pieces. Seed and chop the tomatoes, dice the onion and bell pepper, and mince the jalapeños and garlic. Combine everything in a large slow cooker.
Add the liquids and seasoning. Pour in the apple cider vinegar and lime juice. Stir in the honey (or brown sugar), cumin, salt, and red pepper flakes. Give everything a good stir to combine.
Cook low and slow. Set the slow cooker to HIGH and cook uncovered for 2 1/2 to 3 hours, stirring every 30 minutes, until the salsa thickens and the peaches are very soft and the liquid has reduced by about a third. The kitchen will smell wonderful.
Finish with cilantro. Stir in the fresh cilantro during the last 10 minutes of cooking. Taste and adjust salt, heat, or sweetness as needed.
Prepare jars for canning. While the salsa finishes, sterilize your half-pint canning jars and lids in boiling water for 10 minutes. Keep them warm until ready to fill.
Fill and process the jars. Using a wide-mouth funnel, ladle the hot salsa into sterilized jars, leaving 1/2-inch headspace. Wipe the rims clean, apply the lids and rings finger-tight, and process in a boiling water bath canner for 15 minutes. Remove and let cool completely on a towel-lined counter — 12 to 24 hours undisturbed.
Check the seals and label. Press the center of each lid; it should not flex. Label with the year and contents. Any unsealed jars should be refrigerated and used within two weeks. Properly sealed jars will keep in a cool, dark place for up to one year.

Nutrition (per serving, approximately 2 tablespoons)

Slow-Cooked Peach Salsa — Put Up Something Sweet Before the Season Slips Away