A Year Of Pickles

It's hard to feel let down, bitter, or cold inside when your own two hands have coaxed a bucket of cucumbers into a year's worth of pickles. Pickles to eat in the dead of winter with cheddar cheese. Pickles to add to potato salad and to egg sandwiches.

It's hard to feel lonely when you are making the most basic thing in life (sustenance) with someone you feel wholly comfortable with and who you'd share your last jar with, if it ever came to that.

A friend who doesn't mind you spazzing out or your quirks and who gets you to try things that sound utterly disgusting* because you know there's a good chance you'll actually like it. Because she says so.

It's wonderful to wake up in the morning, go to a vast farm to pick cucumbers, and after hours of fun work...sit back and know that today you made enough dill pickles to last you an entire year. It's great to be a CEO** (I guess) but your work is so much less tangible or tasty. Your family appreciates the bills you pay but at the end of the day what did you MAKE? Making things is the best boost human beings can give their self esteem.

Homesteaders, housewives, or househusbands who make things, who cook, or garden, who fix things or build things, generally don't sit around feeling inadequate or worry about contributing enough to their family. Money isn't everything, but making things really is. You don't know how to cook? Go learn! You will feel more pride than you ever imagined you could over something so basic. It is the easiest way to make others feel cared for, nourished, loved, and safe. Including yourself.

When I looked at the rows of jars (56 of them!!) I felt capable, industrious, giddy, satisfied, and good about myself. Did you know that preserving your own food could make you feel like that? This was the official opening of my canning and preserving season. I've frozen some cherries and blueberries (in progress) but until the canner comes out and starts boiling and steaming like a locomotive through the thick summer air, it doesn't feel real.

While the dill heads are still ripe and full I have dilled beans to make. There's blueberries to freeze (and send to friends) and make into liqueur. Peaches to make into preserves and to freeze for smoothies when late spring brings every kind of hope but luscious fresh fruit. Tomatoes to sauce and dice and dry. There's eggplant to pickle, soups to can, and wild blackberries to eat straight from the center of a thorny hell.

These are the things that ground me when I don't know what the future holds. When I don't know what will come of us. One thing I can know for sure is that we have one whole year of pickles in the pantry.

*I can't believe I ever thought jalapeno jelly sounded gross.

**I personally can't think of a worse occupation besides being a prostitute. In a way I think prostitution is more honest work. No, that doesn't mean I "approve" of hooking, but as long as us humans need men, it will exist. Because men go in for that kind of thing. I know, I don't get it. For crying out loud though, why on earth don't men get arrested more often for employing prostitutes? And why do they think it's manly but the same men who think it's manly to be a "john" don't respect the women turning tricks for them? It's the johns who are the real losers in my opinion. But this isn't the subject of this post. I've gone wildly off topic with this footnote.

Scary Pickle

What the hell? Do you know what this is? It's pickled eggplant. It was simmered in vinegar and then preserved in oil. I have been storing it in my very cold dark garage pantry. Those little tumorous looking clumps are (I'm 99% certain) oil that has hardened. I have taken this slice out to warm up in my kitchen to see what happens. If these little tumoresque bits don't melt then I think I will not eat this pickle.

So many modern people are fearful when making pickled and canned goods at home. Unnecessarily fearful. Thousands of years of pickling compared to 100 years of government regulation just isn't enough to make me believe that the USDA knows everything. This is a traditional pickling recipe and there is no reason for it to not be safe. I am not going to trash the traditional recipes of the world because my government just isn't sure that people should have been doing it this way for the past two thousand years.

This brings me to the "Joy Of Pickling" one of the books I bought at Powells last week. I sat down last night with a cup of tea and read through most of the recipes and I am fascinated. Who wouldn't be when reading a recipe for "souse" a tart jelly made of the fleshy part of pigs feet or any other pork trimmings? Everyone has heard of pickled herring, but if that doesn't grab you, how about some pickled pig's ears? How many of us have eaten sour grapes?

I was raised as a vegetarian and after trying almost every kind of fish and quite a few kinds of other various fleshy delicacies at different times in my life in an attempt to acquire a taste for meat and fish, I have officially given up the ghost. Eating flesh, to me, is an exercise in repulsion. I don't care if you eat it. Just don't cherish a hope in your heart that if I ate YOUR meatloaf I will change my mind about meat.

It aint gonna happen. Not just because my body has rejected all meat in every way, but because I don't feel I'm missing anything. I used to try to eat meat so I could fit in with the world. Being a vegetarian kid in 1979 wasn't the common experience it is today. My mom had to bring food for me to summer camp when I was a kid and instruct the cooks on what to feed me instead of hot dogs. The world has finally caught up and it's not so hard not eating meat anymore. Now a lot of people are trying to eat less of it themselves.

The truth is, I am uncomfortable eating the flesh of another animal. I don't think it's wrong to do it, I know that it's the natural food chain at work, it just makes me uncomfortable. So I'm happy being a vegetarian all around.

The reason why I mention all of this in relation to pickling is that there is a classic food pairing that I am missing out on by being a vegetarian. Cold cuts + pickled fruit, for example. Reading my new pickling book I see again and again how meats and pickled fruits, or chutneys, or jellies have been paired together harmoniously for centuries. And it sounds good! So I am asking myself what kind of vegetarian meal would pair well with a pickled shallot? Or sour pickled grapes?

Cheese is the obvious answer. Cheese and bread. The ploughman's lunch without the cold cuts. Also, a real mezze spread would be a perfect opportunity to lay out small bowls of pickled delights such as eggplant, mushrooms, and turnips to be eaten on fresh pita* that has been dipped in lebneh or spread with hummus.

On a side note: see that jar of yellow stuff? That is a pickle I am not planning on eating. I am very worried about it. That's the version of piccalilli that I made from the Ball Blue Book Of Canning that smelled like flour when I was done. Not in a nice way. Raw flour is not kind on bellies and that's what it smells like. But sometimes we have to try making things even if they might not turn out so that we can find new favorites. (I hear all my friends laughing in the background...me who eats news things cautiously and infrequently...ha ha ha)**

I heated up my eggplant and the tumoresque bits melted away. It was just solidified oil. I am planning on making pita pizzas today with red sauce, pickled eggplant, and cheese. Yum.

If any of you are planning on getting any food preserving books, now is the time to get them. By the time summer rolls around the bookstore shelves will be very spare of preserving books as will the library shelves. I know this from experience. This is why I bought several titles that I've been wanting for a long time in the middle of winter when there is very little preserving to be done.

So what's the scariest pickle you've ever eaten? What was the best?

*Yes, the pita must be fresh. Do not buy pita from the store. Make pita. Store bought pita is dry and stupid. Fresh pita is fragrant, tender, and perfect for spreading with anything you fancy. The two do not even exist in the same universe so learn to make your own. IT IS SO EASY!!!!!

**I would like to take a moment to address this myth about Angelina's reluctance to try new things. I actually do try new things quite a lot. I admit I try new things with a certain amount of trepidation, but I try them anyway. New things tried in the last six months: beet pickles, jardiniere, tomatillo salsa, peach salsa, pear and ginger jam, pepper jelly, collards, beet greens, bread and butter pickles, yogurt cheese, sheep/cow blend cheese, raw milk cheese, Jerusalem artichokes, quince marmalade, dried sweet cherries, homemade mustard, and today: pickled eggplant. I didn't like all of the things I tried, but many of these things have been added to my cache of favored recipes.

A Pickle Pantry Winter Salad

One of my all time favorite salads is a truly fattening one that includes: three bean marinated salad, pickled beets, lettuce, a liberal application of some sort of cheese, and vinaigrette. This is it. What's great about this winter salad is that all of the ingredients are local (OK, hair splitters, not the oil or spices...) and I made all the pickles myself.

This was the first jar of pickled beets I've opened. When you're canning pickles you have to give them time to develop their flavor and texture. Sometimes they don't turn out very well. The suspense is up: the beets are FABULOUS!!!! Oh yeah. You may also notice how pretty they are? The two bean salad from the pantry also turned out really well. I would make it with more herbs next time, but the reduced sugar and the complete lack of green peppers made it very satisfying. (Why do people put green bell peppers in EVERYTHING?!)

Also new out of the pickle pantry are the dilly beans I made. They are so good! I made some with hot peppers for my family and friends who like spicy, and some without for me. They are so delicious. I'm really happy they turned out well because I have A LOT of jars of them.

My sister Tara: The Pickle Connoisseur. We also tasted the bread and butter pickles I made with Lisa E.. Tara and I did not care for them. The good news is that Philip likes them so much he's already inhaled two jars of them. He says they remind him of the deli pickles from his youth. I think it's funny that we're now at the age where we refer to our "youth" as a very distant memory of a fading time gone by.

A gorgeous turnip. I am not a fan of turnips by themselves. I am a big fan of "nips and tatties" though, a Scottish dish of mashed potatoes and turnips with butter, salt, and pepper. This turnip reminds me of a turnip I once bought at the little farm store in Abberfoyle, Scotland. The turnip was the size of my head and made about three meals. We always travel in winter so there wasn't a lot of produce in the tiny store. Just the one giant turnip, some potatoes, and a few carrots. That's all a person needs anyway, isn't it? With a lot little bit of ale?

Such a sad sight. Empty jars with a forlorn little bit of juice left at the bottom to remind us that our supplies are dwindling already and it's only the end of November. (That sounds dangerously like the talk of a hoarder.)


Now, don't forget to vote on the Food Related Gift tutorials from the previous post. You have until Friday to participate and be entered in the drawing for one of the food related gifts I end up making. Go vote!!

Forty-Two Pecks Of Pickles

Late Thursday morning I got a call from Lisa E. that she had procured two cases of pickling cucumbers and could I come over right away and start canning them up? I had been sitting at my computer kind of staring at it in an abstract way for about a half an hour because I was still getting over the whole stress of the twenty minute bloody nose of Max's. So I wasn't quite ready to jet. I had to gather myself up from the ether where my head was hanging out and eat food and think about how I was going to survive the ride on Highway 240. It was important to take advantage of this opportunity though because this year pickling cucumbers have not been available for picking at my favorite farm (due to crop failure) and it's nearly the end of the road for them everywhere.

You have to understand that Lisa and I both have friends and family absolutely boiling with anticipation for more of the kind of pickles we made last year because they were better than most pickles any of us have ever had. Well, that's what my sister, a pickle connoisseur, thought about them. Then my friend Sid, who I haven't heard a peep from since last April and who I miss dearly, said the same thing. She's another pickle connoisseur. So people want more. Obviously I cannot disappoint anyone.

The scooter ride to Lisa's house would be very pleasant if it weren't for all the cars I have to share the road with. There is a fifty five mile an hour speed limit on highway 240, a small two lane back road to Dundee from McMinnville. My scooter can keep up that speed limit without problems and I manage to hold that speed, sometimes a little bit faster, and yet there is not a car out there that doesn't feel it has to pass me. It makes me nuts. If everyone is going to insist on passing me (something that makes me nervous whether it's legal or not) then I may as well just go forty miles per hour and have myself a pleasant pastoral drive.

I have come to realize that people feel one of two things when they share the road with a shiny Vespa: 1) they are scared that they might run into me and so out of deep concern for my personal safety they must pass my flimsy excuse for a vehicle, or 2) it bugs the crap out of them that my waspy little scooter can go fast enough to keep up with traffic and they must show me that they are bigger and faster and pass me and then go fifteen miles an hour over the speed limit to stay ahead of me. I don't find this relaxing at all.

I may as well say here that I am constantly annoyed with people on the road anyway because I don't understand every one's desperate need to go as fast as the cops will let them get away with. It's like a rule with people that they must always go at least fifteen miles faster than the posted limit. Stop rushing around people. A lot of times people will pass me on highway 99 and I'll continually catch up with them at red lights. They jet ahead (oh how attractive that makes them, really sexy, you know?) and show me what they're made of and then I casually end up at the same light as them. Me, who tries to stick to the posted speed limit.

Speed is not sexy to me. This is so far off topic I'm not sure how to get back to the pecks of pickles in question. I guess the only way is to just dive in.

The day was just a jangle of noise and action to me. I had been contemplating getting into bed because I felt a cold coming on and what sounded good was to just stop working. But you can't ignore a pickle emergency so I gathered myself up and it only took me an hour to get out of the house. Like lightning-that's me. I finally arrived at Lisa's house at around twelve forty am. I didn't leave until eight pm. We put up forty two quarts of pickles. I am nervous of the results. Philip says I'm obsessing but the pickles remind me a little bit of shriveled uncircumcised penises. We couldn't get our hands on the freshest cucumbers so we took what we could get and they were a little old. They tell you in all the canning manuals not to use pickles that are old because they will be inferior. They don't tell you they will look like shriveled man parts, though, I guess that's what I'm here for.

A number of you will be thrilled to know that in addition to the dills, we also made a batch of bread and butter pickles. Just to see. Lisa has tried them before and said that even though she doesn't like sweet pickles, she remembers bread and butter pickles being quite savory and good. We cut the sugar in half though. Was that a big mistake?

I feel relieved to have put up the dills. They were so good last year. Even if they aren't quite as good this year because of not being canned the same day they were picked, I feel that we'll all enjoy them.

Delicate Peaches
(not a dirty euphemism)

Yesterday was a huge preserving day for me. Lisa E. and I got together to can the peaches that we picked a Pihl orchards on Saturday. We learned many lessons about canning peaches, we thought quickly on our feet, and covered the floor with a sticky film. Oh yeah, and narrowly escaped 3rd degree burns.

Mise en scene for pickling my homegrown pickles, which I did yesterday evening with the help of my mom who was wearing a fashionable hospital gown (she's always been such a trend setter). I am now hankering after a pickling crock to do pickles the old fashioned scum-skimming way. I want the ceramic kind but those are expensive both used and new. So I'm trying to convince myself to use the food grade plastic bucket I have. Because I already have it and I need to become the thrifty person I used to be back when Philip and I had to make do with $13.00 for food for an entire week.

I'm prejudiced though, plastic has no romance to it and no glamour. Why shouldn't pickles be made in an earthy looking crock with a little blue bird on it? Like Grandma used to do. Truth be told, Grandma came from pretty poor Missouri folk and if she didn't have a crock but she did have a food grade plastic bucket, she would totally use the bucket. I don't trust plastic not to leak itself into my food though, so if anyone has a five gallon ceramic pickling crock with no cracks in it that you want to get rid of and give to me for free, I won't say no.

After putting up the pickles I capped off the evening by canning the remaining ripe peaches I had in a light sugar syrup. I used the cold pack method and all my peaches have crammed themselves into the top half of the jar. When we did the pears last year we used the hot pack method and this didn't happen. Interesting. Duly noted.

So my preserving haul for the day: 12 half pints of peach preserves, 4 quarts of pickles, 8 pints of sliced pickles, and 8 pints of sliced peaches in a light syrup. Not bad, huh?

So here are some things we learned yesterday:

• Peaches are extremely delicate. I used to think the reason peaches are often packed off to grocery stores in those extravagant plastic doo-hickies is so that we'll all think they're super precious and pay more for them. Turns out that if you stack one layer of peaches on top of another, they will ALL bruise up almost instantly.

• preparing peaches is WAY easier than preparing pears because you can blanch them and the skin just slips right off. Unless you have bruised all your peaches and have to trim off the bruised bits for hours on end.

• If the peaches aren't cling free, they will not be a pretty sight when you try to remove them elegantly from the pit and they don't budge but instead get all smooshy from the pressure you've asserted. It's even more frustrating when they are supposed to be cling free, but aren't.

• Don't pour sugar syrup on the floor, OK? It just makes a huge sticky mess and your shoes will be sticky for days. Even after mopping. Five times. The sound of sticky shoes has been known to make grown men beg for mercy.

• Everyone knows that I'm not a risk taker (except when there's an opportunity to lose everything I own) so you won't be surprised when I advise you not to let your hand wander into boiling sugar syrup as it splashes from the ladle to the floor. It's very painful.

• A mystery yet to be solved: why is it that when you make a preserve using pectin, all the fruit rises to the top half of the jar? Can anyone out there tell me how to avoid this?

Note: I just can't get out of my head Monica's suggestion that canning be called "glassing" since it involves jars which aren't cans at all. Every post I write about canning since she commented on it, I've just had it running through my head like a banner on a plane in the sky flapping in the wind. If you got that, you are a very special person.