Preserving Tradition

It’s 9 a.m., already a hot day and looking as if it might turn into a real stinker. At the Pomona Fairgrounds, the hopes and fears of a lot of California cooks hang in the balance. The Preserved Foods judging of the Los Angeles County Fair is under way.

Fraught with consequence though it may be, the process is quite placid. Just inside the door of the Home Arts Building, an area as large as a living room is lined with shelves and divided by two islands of glass cupboards containing more shelves, all crowded with pickles, jellies, relishes and conserves. In the aisles between the cupboards, five teams of judges sit at tables methodically peering and prodding at the jars’ contents.

Each team consists of two judges plus a recorder who writes down the winners in the record book. The team works at the table nearest the shelves holding the current categories being judged, and as the morning wears on, it periodically shifts to the next table down the aisle, leaving behind a slowly expanding blaze of prize ribbons on the shelves.

One team consists of Sara Cina, a former agricultural extension agent, and Elizabeth Wright, formerly of Chafee College, now a consulting home economist. Their province is the preserved fruits and vegetables and the juices.

“Sara has been judging for 45 years,” says Silvia Bishop, coordinator of the Home Arts competitions.

“This’ll probably be my last,” says Cina, with a wry smile. Nobody appears to believe her.

Sheryl Heavin and Caryl Gonzalez are judging jams and jellies, also pretty large categories--29 strawberry jams have been submitted and 37 peach jams. This is the first time they have judged together on the same team--rather amazing, since they’re not only sisters but twins.

They even talk like twins. When Sheryl says, “You identify very quickly . . .” and pauses a second, Caryl finishes her sentence: “. . . what doesn’t bring the flavor out.”

Kyle Kimbel and Chuck Finnegan are judging some of the biggest categories: the pickles, both fruit and vegetable, and the sauces and relishes. Two other teams divide the preserves, marmalades, fruit butters and conserves.

Every entry consists of two jars, one for judging and one for display. When the judges open one jar, the other is behind it with the name of the exhibitor facing away. (“I really don’t want to know who made them,” says Kimbel firmly.) As the jars are opened, the air fills with the smell of applesauce or bread-and-butter pickles or apricot-pineapple jam.

The first thing the judges test for is a good seal on the jar, of course. In pickles and preserved fruits and vegetables, the seal actually counts for 10% of the score. The judges very sensibly don’t taste any jar with a bad seal, and because of the risk of botulism in home canning, they open but don’t taste non-acid vegetables such as corn or peppers. Those are judged on appearance alone.

In fact, appearance counts a lot in county fair judging. According to the judges’ guidelines, 25% of the score of a preserved fruit or vegetable should be awarded on the basis of fullness, neatness, uniformity and clearness of pack. Fully 65% of the score for pickles and relishes is supposed to be on the basis of appearance, broken down by sub-categories such as color and size of fruit or vegetable. Even fruit juices have to look good--25% of their score is on the basis of appearance, mostly color.

Some exhibitors (as the fair calls entrants) are tempted to go entirely for appearance. Cina questions whether one corn entry was really pressure-cooked, as low-acid foods have to be in order to prevent botulism, or just put in a water bath long enough for the lid to seal. “You can tell,” she says, picking up another jar. “Look at this one--see the milkiness at the bottom? That shows it was pressure-cooked. The other jar is better-looking, but I’m going to disqualify it.”

The judges hold up the jars and scrutinize them, they dig through the contents with their spoons to check the texture, they put samples on a plastic plate and poke at them some more. Finally they taste tiny spoonfuls (by the end of the day they’ve gone through hundreds of tiny plastic spoons). “This is too dry,” they say, or “Not ripe enough.” “Cracked fruit.” “This has better color.” “Limp, too salty.” From time to time, the judges cleanse their weary palates with water, soda crackers and slices of lemon.

“You know, it’s not like the old days,” says Cina, “when everybody had their own fruit from their own gardens. These days people have to use fruit from the markets, and it’s just not ripe enough to make good preserves.” This is obvious with the apricots she’s judging, some of which actually have a greenish tinge.

In some cases judges write comments on a label, such as, “Fruit should be suspended in a jelly-like syrup.” Even cooks who win a lot of prizes might get such a reminder of the standards the judges are looking for.

But despite all the things that can go wrong, there are some really remarkable entries. Finnegan is impressed with a bread-and-butter pickle of astonishing crispness. You can just about hear the crunch when somebody bites into a slice.

A product that its exhibitor calls watermelon honey has been entered as a watermelon pickle. Finnegan decides to reclassify it under Assorted Fruit Butters. This raises troubling questions because of the new category’s different requirement of jar sizes, but the problem is worked out and the entry wins a ribbon its maker never expected.

Most categories have a catch-all sub-category with some name like “other fruits.” These are often the home of failed inventions, such as a pickle of pineapple with red peppers, but there are unexpected successes, such as dilled carrots. “Nice,” says Kimbel. “Sweet, a little vinegar, dill. A nice carrot flavor. This is a nice product.”

The Home Arts Building’s air conditioning is just an old-fashioned swamp cooler, which doesn’t have much effect on a muggy day like this one. The lucky judges are those working at tables that get a little draft from its fan. The judges’ sense of humor takes on a faintly dogged quality by mid-afternoon.

But by 2:30, all the walls are bravely arrayed in colored ribbons. First prize is blue, of course. Then come red, white, pink, yellow, dark green, light green and--well, the eighth prize ribbon is another shade of pink, not the same as fourth.

What do those ribbons mean? They mean premiums. The county fair handbook lists not only the categories of judging but the premiums--what most us would call the cash prizes--in each. Fair regulars still refer to the handbook as “the premium book.”

It looks as if the premiums haven’t changed in 30 years. For jams, jellies, preserves and marmalades, a blue ribbon is worth $3; in canned fruits and vegetables, juices, pickles and relishes, a first prize winner takes home a big $2.50. A special collection, for which you have to submit six different samples (say, six different jams), might win you as much as $5.

And for the mere chance at all these riches, the exhibitor pays 50 cents per entry. “Actually,” says Bishop, “most of the exhibitors are surprised when they find out there’s a cash prize at all.” Clearly, the people who compete at the fair are in it for the glory alone.