I’ve been making and pressure-canning a basic tomato salsa for several years. If the plaudits of family and neighbors are anything to go by, it’s pretty decent stuff. I make a lot of it in the summer, when the local farms are bursting with fresh Roma tomatoes, so much salsa that the supply generally carries me through to the next year. I haven’t actually bought prepared salsa in five years or so.

My neighbor across the street has been telling me for the last few years that I should start actually trying to sell the stuff. I don’t pay that thought any more than lip service, because I left the kitchens years ago for a reason, and besides, I’d eat too much of my own product to make a profit. Still, I wondered: is it really that good? Are the folks who know me just being polite, then pouring the rest of the jar down the drain in disgust when I leave?

This year I resolved to enter my salsa in the California State Fair. I mean, I eat tons of the stuff, but what would a panel of complete strangers think about it? The judges at the Fair wouldn’t care about hurting my feelings. So I paid the four-dollar entry fee and sent a couple of jars off to Sacramento, hoping for the best.

I am proud to report my humble entry won a Third Place ribbon. Sure, it’s not exactly Best of Show, and “I’m number three!” may not be the most spectacular boast a fellow could make, but hey, it’s not bad for a first-time entry. And now I have a year to come up with something even better.