Ribbons

I am an addict.

I have aspired to this state since I was about nine years old. On the outside, looking in. Eyes mesmerized by bright lights reflected off glass, wanting what others had. Plotting, planning, scheming how I, too, could come to glory.

Shelf after shelf loaded with bottled beauties. Tables of creations which able and amateur hands had made. Some worthy, some unworthy of the accolade draped upon them. Accolades that could be, would be, mine. Ribbons, of course. Prize ribbons at the State Fair are what we are talking about. And the first one sets a person on the path of obsession, nay, addiction to wanting more.

I had many nonstarters. First with my favorite bread to make called Sally Lunn-baked in a bundt pan. But the entry deadlines are months before the fair and I didn't develop a fever for it all until too late. The DT's hit during the fair itself, when sadly nothing could be done. A successful victor knows patience and when to strike. [This also describes terrorists, but we aren't going there.] My last year in Ohio saw my perfect opportunity to achieve goal. I was canning peaches when I had a vision. A dozen or so of the peaches were of equally small dimension. They twinkled. They winked. They waited without complaint while I carefully peeled and placed their worthy fruit into a mason jar. They held their shape and heads high when the blue Christmas ribbon I placed on the lid was replaced with a first place ribbon by the judges. They had delivered my dream.

But what to do in Perth? The Royal Show had different rules and the preservation method itself was different. I checked out the competition on my first Show here. Ha! This wouldn't be just a ribbon, this was going to be ownership of the competition. The fever never left. I measured peaches at the grower's market so they would fit my jars perfectly. OK, they gave me a funny look when they spotted this until they heard about my plan. I was then escorted to the nonpublic sorting room to have my pick of the harvest. I also carefully selected tomatoes for judge-blinding shape and size. My pickled pepper relish looked like heavenly confetti. Ammunition ready, I reached for the application.

Problem. The rules seem to indicate that every entry must have a twist-off lid to allow the judges to taste the contents. All well and good for jams & chutneys, but one never opens vegetables without using or refrigerating afterwards. I called the Chief Steward who agreed that was an issue and said to enter my canning jars as they were. Indeed.

But, in fact, my tomatoes were not rule-compliant. They were not pickled. The judges could/would not taste them...and I would not have expected them to. But who uses pickled tomatoes in their spaghetti sauce? Who pickles tomatoes? This requirement may be the entire reason that only three entries were turned in for the vegetable class. The other two were bread & butter pickles and a jar of pickled mini peppers. My red beauties were destined to be fourth in a three horse race.

My tomatoes won a red ribbon--second prize--untasted. Gosh, how bad were those peppers? You might notice that re-using commercial jars is perfectly OK here at the Royal Show. An absolute no-no at State Fairs back home.

I happened upon the Chief Steward during my day at the Show. She had the grace to look repentant. She realized about an hour after talking with me on the phone that she had given the wrong advice and had no way of correcting the information.

One can't function without a few extra fixes during the year. So during the off season, I enter a few creative contests-either ideas or writing- to scratch the itch. When one pays off, you'll be the first to know.