Several years ago, I spent a lot of time on the other side of the state taking care of my father when his health was failing. Now, the thing about the other side of the state is it is "MEATropolis." Even with the great Snake River flowing past it, all the fish in the markets is farmed (and, you know how I loathe farmed fish! It's filthy.) As a result, finding veggie things was difficult.
One summer, I was there for nearly a month. I was speaking with the woman who eventually took care of my father. She asked me to stay for lunch. In my brain, I'm thinking, "there is not one thing in this kitchen I can eat. Mmmm, what now? Do you have any tuna?"
"Yes, I do," she said. "What do you like on it?"
"Do you have any pickles?"
"Yes, go out to the garage. There is a big jar of pickles in the refrigerator. Take this jar with you."
So, I head out to the garage, find the aforementioned refrigerator, open it, and . . . whoa! A gallon jar of pickles. Wow! This valley is not only MEATropolis, but also, CANNINGslavania. I fill up the quart jar and return to the kitchen to complete my sandwich.
Even now, as I'm writing this, my mouth is watering!
The long story short is that by the time I left to come home, my sandwiches had gone from tuna with pickles to pickles with tuna. And, I had motored through nearly an entire gallon of pickles. Don't judge me! And, the best part is that I learned how to make my own pickles. Heaven!
In 2009, when I was firmly in the depths of the Depression (thank you, Paul Krugman for calling it what it is), I needed Christmas presents. Dough was scarce. That summer, I had made 10 gallons of pickles. I decanted them into quart jars, came up with a nifty label of Ramses giving Clark a lick massage, wrapped them up in a darling way and as I gave them out, I told everyone all they were getting from me was a Hug and Kiss. Success!
The pickles and my smoked wild salmon were a hit and are now de rigueur for all holidays and other events.
I took a couple of quarts to Robby and Janet's Open House and gave one to them and one to my friend, Zen, boy-genius architect for his birthday. He pronounced them "excellent."
I got this email today from Zen ~
So I
have to relay:
Yesterday was a typical situation where
if I'm just here working & have no meetings scheduled, by about 2:00 I
realize I haven't eaten all day. I got out your jar of pickles, some spicy
mustard, mayo, cheese &, some sliced turkey. I carefully filled every
available space on the bread with pickle slices, bonded to the bread with the
mustard & mayo like placing pebble tiles in a mortar bed on a slab. The slab
(bread) was no longer visible. The turkey then, at this point, became more of a
condiment, as it was now really a pickle sandwich with a little turkey. Quite
delicious actually. Including the extra pickles I placed on the plate for good
measure.
I stopped only momentarily to evaluate
the foreign triangular object discovered when pulling out my mound of superb
pickle slices. What's this??! What the hell??! This isn't a pickle......on
closer examination it seems to be an onion.....more specifically, an onion
taking up valuable space in my now diminishing jar of pickle goodness. But what
to do?? Is this meant to be eaten?? Or is it like the funny leaves in Thai Tom
Ka soup??.....there to add flavor but only an idiot would eat the thing. Who
knows?? Certainly not the gourmet challenged like myself. Where is Mario Batali
when you need him???
I placed a few more on my burger last
night. There was a brief marital discussion on the possibility of dicing some
for a relish. No, I say!! Blasphemy! There will be no brutal dismemberment of
the delicate discs on my watch, damn you......
xoxo, your appreciative &
confused friend,
Whereupon, I thus replied ~
Oh, the humanity! Oh, my Dear Appreciative and Confused Friend ~
Is this like the platter that sez, "Pasta" on it and you daren't use it for
anything else because the "Pasta" platter police who monitor said china will
break down your door and throw you to the ground?
Avast! We must not be held hostage to the culinary despots who feel the need
to label every glazed accoutrement in the kitchen. Go forth! Put q-tips in the
jar marked "Tea." Throw caution to the wind and embrace the feeling of joyous
rebellion as you decide for yourself what goes in that dish or that plate. They
are not the boss of you!
Sooo, while the label sez, "Hug and Kiss Pickles" Yes, I threw some onions
in. And, yes, the onions are toothsome and delicious as well. Don't get scared!
And, taking Jill's side ~ the brine is heaven in potato salad. I'm just sayin' . . . Does this mean you need another jar of pickles?
Enquiring minds want to know.
XOXO
H
Day 53 Everyday Grateful ~
Rainy, drizzly . . . should be doing things.
Was a lazy damn dog all day!
Last week, a friend of mine sent a link to an article in the NY Times (see below). The two things I loved most about the article were summed up in two phrases:
