Pickle Love

Years ago, if you asked me to name my favorite food, I would have said dill pickles. I still love the sterile and jarred cucumbers quite a bit. (I was at the Old Market's La Buvette a week or so ago and ate all their pickled mini gherkins before anyone else had the chance.) In fact, it's been four years now, but my 16-year-old sister Emily and I had our biggest and only fight over a pickle.

One of her friends gave her a big jar of whole dill pickles for her twelfth birthday. Whole pickles. The good kind. We only ever got kosher spears or chips in our house, so these were quite the treat. I got hungry for a snack one day while she was at school. Surveying the fridge, I went straight for the goods, thinking she wouldn't notice, and truthfully, she didn't say anything until the moment was right.

Later, we were arguing with my mom over who should get the cell phone the next day. Never had I ever had to share something with this sister 10 years my junior until I came back from Thailand and she had hajacked my phone. (Indeed, she was erasing my address book on the drive to the airport.) I came home early from Thailand, and she, the only (and thus coolest) sixth grader with a cell phone, found herself in joint custody of the electronic.

We were debating about who needed the phone more. Me: I need it in case someone calls me for a job interview. Emily: Brian asked if he could use my phone today, and I couldn't give it to him. Mom and I probably both laughed at that response and out of desperation she cried out, "You stole one of my pickles, too!" We argued on for a moment, and as mom says, I backed her into a corner with my superior wit at which point she shouted, "I hate you!" ran upstairs, slammed her door shut and wouldn't talk to me.

I ended up buying her another jar of pickles as a peace offering, and my dad went out and got her a new cell phone (insert comment about spoiled youngest children here). And that is the argument we still talk about today.

At the moment my garden is a hot freaking mess. There are uncontrollable weeds hiding behind a wall of thorns from a rose bush gone wild. The tomato plants are falling over on top of themselves and each other and everything (including that hideous gargoyle). The cucumber plant has grown into places I can't even reach and there is fruit hidden under practically every leaf. This week will be an exercise in the creative use of the cuke. One harvesting of cucumbers produced 10 pints of beautiful vinegary, dilly, salty pickles.

These pickles are actually supposed to brine for six weeks, but after a mixup with the proportions of vinegar and water and salt, I went ahead a sampled the pickles just to make sure. Once I sampled, oh, I just couldn't stop. There's an audible crunch when biting into the chips; they just reak of freshness. And I just love the pucker of the vinegar. My mouth is starting to water just thinking about it.

Pickles: recipe thanks to my friend Caitlin O'Hare
quart jars
cucumbers (the pickling variety have thinner skin, great for soaking in the brine)
1 scant teaspoon dill weed
1 garlic clove, peeled
3/4 cup apple-cider vinegar
2 tablespoons fine kosher salt (or pickling salt)
1/8 teaspoon alum

Arrange half the cucumbers in the quart jars. Add the dill and garlic clove (I chopped them into a couple smaller pieces). Fill the jar the rest of the way with cukes. Pour in the vinegar, salt and alum, which serves to keep the cukes crispy. Fill the jar the rest of the way with cold water. Put the lid on and shake it up, making sure the salt dissolves. Brine in the fridge for six weeks (or you know, a week--I chopped mine so I figured the flavoring didn't have to go through the skin before soaking the cucumber with goodness). These pickles need to stay in the fridge because they are sealed or properly sterilized for that sort of thing.

I'd Probably Dress Up in You

Yesterday, I saw that it got up to 84 degrees on one of those bank thermometers: I love it. Love it. Can't get enough of it. Soon enough people are going to start whining about how hot it is, but not me. I'll gladly bask in the sun on a sweltering day. We've got glorious things like popsicles, ice cream, cold beer, sun dresses, salads and swimming pools--all ready to make the heat fun.

By the time lacrosse practice was over, you could see the thunderhead rolling in. I pulled into the driveway and immediatly heard that our downstairs neighbor's air conditioner rattling. I thought, "ah how foolish, it's going to rain and cool off by 10 tonight." It happened before that. It started raining around 8, but the fire display didn't really kick into gear until later when you could swear for a minute or two you were enveloped in the cloud and only luck was keeping you from electricution. It's strangely so soothing: the beat of the rain, the clang of thunder and flashbulb of light. Ah yes, amid oil spills and mine explosions, at least God working as Mother Nature is consistent. You can't stop the rain.

Now that I've discovered a light and tangy (I hate that word) dressing, I predict this will be the summer of salads. The radishes were the best part of this medley. I never used to like them arranged whole with a side of ranch dressing--it's like a bitter bite of garlic. But sliced in this medley, it was just enough. Next time I would have used feta cheese instead of parmesan, and I would have been more mindful of my fingers when running the radishes up and down the side of a grater, but no blood was spilled in the making of this salad.

Cucumber-radish Salad:

1 cucumber, peeled and sliced

5 radishes, sliced

1 green onion

handful almond slices

feta cheese crumbles

turkey

this eggless parsley mayo

Slice the vegetables. Toss together with dressing. Enjoy.

Cucumber Salad -- It's Like Pickles!

Megan's boyfriend Eric sent me to the New York Times when he heard I wasn't feeling much like cooking these days. Let me take a moment away from this blog's focus on me to say "thank you" to Eric. The story, by Mark Bittman and called 101 Simple Salads for the Season, is really a list of easy salads that don't involve a lot of standing over the hot stove while it's 100 degrees outside. Bittman reassured me that no one wants to cook soup right now, no one wants a stew, and even though every vegetable and fruit is currently at its peak, all anyone wants is to eat a cold watermelon and spit the seeds as far as they can.

The story is especially good because it gave me a nice list of things to make with the overabundance of cucumbers I currently have growing in my mess of a yard (which thankfully, has been mowed). I was wrong about the cucumbers floundering, it's actually the zucchinis that are struggling along and the cucumbers that are growing a vine up the side of the house. Much to my disappointment. I love zucchini, but the only thing I love about cucumbers are pickles. I cucumbers alright, but we're not in love. But pickles, well, we have quite the romantic history. Fortunately, number 3 on Bittman's list of salads involves cucumbers marinated in vinegar and Dijon mustard, so like pickles without the pain of canning. Cucumber Salad: by Mark Bittman 1 cucumber, thinly sliced 1/4 red onion, julienned (so cut into matchsticks) salt pepper 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard Combine sliced cucumbers and julienned onion with salt and pepper and let sit for 20 to 60 minutes. In a small bowl, combine mustard and vinegar until smooth. Pour over salad and toss to coat.