In A Pickle

My discussion with a six-year-old this week:

Me: What's that in your lunch?
Him: My favorite thing.
Me: What is your favorite thing?
Him: Butter bread.
Me: A sandwich?
Him: (rolling eyes and giggling) Nope! Butter breads.
Me: (eyeing the pickles) Pickles?
Him: No! Butter breads! They are so good!
Me: Bread and butter pickles. I like those, too.
Him: (no longer thinking any of this is even remotely funny) They aren't pickles! I don't even like pickles! These are butter breads and my dad put them in my lunch!
Me: (also ready to be done with this analysis) Okay.
Him: Do you want one?

Ah, pickles. Such a convoluted food. Such mystery! Such confusion! And to think that they started as cucumbers. Why, it hardly makes any sense at all! It's as confusing, in fact, as the bread-becoming-toast phenomenon or the potatoes-becoming-fries phenomenon. One moment it's one thing, and the next moment, it's a new thing with a new name. Not to mention this really weird business with the names of some pickle varieties (specific variety names withheld here to protect their identity).

Long story short, I like pickles.

And, now, short story long, my history of pickles goes something like this:
At first, I would only eat sweet pickles, with a preference for the tiniest little gherkins. My brother liked dill pickles (if you are a devout Red Table reader, then you will understand this preference completely). My grandmother would serve large sweet pickles on the relish tray at Thanksgiving, but here's the thing that blew my little mind -- they were cut up. Quartered. Lengthwise. Sometimes halved. Who on earth does that? Ah, presentation. The pickles seemed so much more special, so much more delicious when they were cut that way. Those pimento-stuffed olives next to them were basically total losers in comparison. Not to mention that when I became an adult and I got to own pickles myself, I tried quartering and halving them, and it was a total pain in the ass. Plus, they just weren't as good when I cut them myself.

I didn't graduate from sweet pickles until later, when I discovered bread and butter pickles, and I didn't care about dill pickles until high school, when I experimented with them in grilled cheese sandwiches at Steak n' Shake. And, get ready to be astounded -- I didn't like pickles on a hamburgers until this year. But, relish. Relish! I've liked relish for awhile now. Do hot dogs have a purpose other than carrying relish? I don't think they do. Could mustard ever be happier in its whole life? Certainly not.

Making pickles has become my new favorite thing. It all started a few years ago, when I realized that A.) pickles are really easy (and cheap) to make, B.) you can fully control the flavor of your pickles, C.) they usually end up crunchier than most kinds of store-bought pickles, D.) they have way less salt than store pickles, E.) you can use the the juice to store more things (like, uh, other cucumbers). Not to mention that pickle juice is really good at stopping hiccups.

I never really got into the whole pickled-vegetables revolution (okay, so maybe there wasn't an actual revolution). But people really like to pickle things besides cucumbers. Think of all the crazy things you've seen trapped in jars like lab specimens! Okra, onions, asparagus, carrots, cauliflower, eggplant, mushrooms, watermelon rind. All of these things need to be set free immediately! Beets are allowed in jars, though, as are olives. Even eggs. I will allow eggs to soak in brine. But this thing with vegetables sitting around in salt water, getting wet and salty and mushy. I just think that there is a better, less soggy place for vegetables. They don't want to be made into a pickle, I know it. In a pickle, indeed.

Here's the thing about pickles. I like sweet pickles, I like dill pickles, and I like bread & butter pickles (um, butter breads I mean). But what I really like is to have all the pickle varieties combined into one magical pickle. The thing about making your own pickles is that you can have full control over your flavors, which is very, very special for a pickle-lover. The recipe below has qualities of all the pickles, and I think they are really, really magnificent. They actually end up tasting a bit like Thai-style cucumber salad, which I have no problem with at all.

Best of All Worlds Pickles

1 cup white vinegar*
6 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 cup water
1 long, seedless cucumber (Japanese cucumbers are great for pickles, if you can find one)
3 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
onion slices
dill sprigs
salt and black pepper

*Use a combo if you want! A good standby is half white wine vinegar and half distilled white vinegar. For my batch today, I used half distilled white vinegar and -- get this -- half pineapple white balsamic vinegar. Flavored vinegars are usually mild enough that they won't warp your pickles tremendously, but they're bold enough to give your pickles a fancy flair.

Make your pickle juice:

Combine the vinegars, sugar, salt and water in a small saucepan. Bring to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. When it's fully dissolved, simmer for 5 to 10 minutes until the mixture becomes somewhat syrupy. Let cool to room temperature (or less, if you are pickle-impatient like I usually am).

While the pickle juice is cooling, slice the cucumbers into rounds. You can use a mandoline or the slicing attachment of your food processor for this, but I am partial to an old-fashioned knife.

Start layering the cucumbers in your jars, adding onion slices, garlic, and dill sprigs as you go. Pour in your pickle juice slowly, until it just covers your cucumbers. Refrigerate until you can't stand it anymore, and then indulge your pickle-tooth.

I doubled this recipe because I had two cucumbers and lots of pickle-need. It made two jars of pickles.

Put them in the fridge, let them soak up the brine, and watch them levitate:

See? Magic.

ALONSO:
And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where should they
Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em?
How camest thou in this pickle?

TRINCULO:
I have been in such a pickle since I
saw you last that, I fear me, will never out of
my bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing.

The Tempest
(You know, by Shakespeare? Now that guy knew all about pickles.)

Dear Sun, You're Hot

Wait a second. What season is it again?

Okay. 100 degrees outside...100% humidity...blistering sun...the smell of sweat and charred meats in the air...hmm. Beats me.

If you had visited my kitchen lately, you'd be confused too. Yesterday, I churned out an impossibly large vat of chili, then it was breakfast cookies full of dried fruit, and now, today, it was granola, another conference of dried fruit. That's right -- kitchen-steaming, wintry, wintry things. Wasn't it, um, me who was complaining her head off five minutes ago about the pain and suffering that winter was causing? I have no idea what's going on around here.

Okay, okay, so I do know. It strikes every summer. It gets so bloody hot outside in this city, and I panic. I revert back. I decide summer isn't so great after all! and summer is gnarly and vicious! and I never really liked summer, what was I thinking! and then I think that I will just cook my way back to cooler temperatures. If I can consume cooler weather, then I can become it. If I can pretend to mourn the absence of real fruit and the necessity to warm ones hands, then I can summon the strength to get through the next 100 degrees. And, really, that is the pioneer spirit that is going to keep me alive. Right?

This granola has been a long time coming. I've made many a granola in my day, and I've never been thrilled with the end product. Well, that is, until now. This recipe appeared in Bon Appétit magazine a few months ago, and that Molly Wizenberg made it seem so lovely and so heavenly that I was sold before I even made the first batch. She was right -- this stuff is outstanding. It it THE granola recipe. You will never, ever need another granola recipe. Ever. This is the one for you. When baking it, look for an amber color, and remember to always add your fruit after baking it, unless you like to sharpen your teeth on pebbles. Use any combination of nuts and fruits that you can think of. Sometimes I even make a batch of plain granola, or just with the coconut and some pecans, and it's still so good. I like it with a scoop of thick yogurt, or maybe with some milk. Or, you know, maybe with both the yogurt and milk, all eaten outside in the boiling heat as my skin roasts and the dairy curdles in the sun. Whatever it takes to remind myself how much I, uh, you know, love summer.

Perfect Granola
extracted from Bon Appétit and then changed up a tiny little bit

3 cups old-fashioned oats
1 cup coarsely chopped pecans
1 cup sliced almonds
1 cup shredded coconut
3 tablespoons (packed) brown sugar
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon (generous) salt
1/3 cup honey (use the best honey you can find -- I swear this will make a huge difference!)
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 cup assorted dried fruit (totally optional -- I really like the coconut/almond/pecan combo with dried blueberries or cherries)

Preheat oven to 300°F. Line rimmed baking sheet with parchment. Mix first 8 ingredients in large bowl. Stir honey and oil in saucepan over medium-low heat until smooth. Pour honey mixture over oat mixture; toss. Spread on prepared sheet. Bake until golden, stirring every 10 minutes, about 40 minutes. Place sheet on rack. Stir granola; cool. Mix in fruit. Store in an airtight container.

Madness For Monkeys

I figured this out, all by myself, without the help of a primate or a professional chef! You know how sometimes you need mashed bananas for a purpose, like muffins or bread or, in my case, breakfast cookies? And then you put the bananas into a bowl and mash them with a fork and it's sort of a pain, and you end up just mashing them with your hands because the tines don't quite reach the bottom the right way and then on top of all that there's an extra bowl to wash? Well, for crying out loud, mash your banana in its handy yellow case! I don't know why it took me so long to figure this out. And also for crying out loud, if you already figured this out on your own, go ahead and look as smug as you want, but don't tell me! Don't crush my high! I'm sort of proud right now.

Throwback

June, thanks for visiting. It was nice having you.
July, welcome aboard!

July, I know that you put forth a lot of effort to make delicious things for us to eat. Corn is coming, and watermelons and tomatoes, and a million other terrific things. In fact, you have a very important holiday coming up, and I am proud of you for hosting it all these years. July, I love your offerings, and I love my Midwestern roots, but if you could please close your eyes and do some loud humming while I sing the praises of something decidedly un-Midwestern and non-American in origin, that'd be appreciated.

I've been sick this week with a nasty virus that seems to mimic strep throat, and I just have this complete aversion to water when I'm sick. Regularly, I swoon for water, but when I'm ailing, I'd rather drink lighter fluid. So it's been other liquids -- and lots of them, just like mama said -- juice, iced tea, hot tea, a grape vitamin water here and there. And, the newest kid in town is this incredible thing, coconut water. Granted, coconut water has been around for ages, though it seems to have recently gained popularity as a "hip" alternative to normal water and other fashionable drinks like açaí and pomegranate juices. In my defense, however, I did not discover this beverage when I was reading Glamour magazine, or even US Weekly for that matter. I discovered it all on my own, and therefore I now feel like the coconut water inventor.

Coconut water is sometimes called coconut juice, and sometimes it comes with pulp (in this case, little shards of coconut) or with lime juice added. I usually buy the kind in the can, but I've also seen it in boxes (like the kind rice milk and soy milk come in). It's clear, and it's absolutely nothing like cream of coconut or coconut milk -- except, of course, that it tastes like coconut. Obviously. It's refreshing and entirely delicious, and nutritious to boot! And quite versatile. I would be lying if I said I had never attempted to mix coconut water with vodka (this house of mine is the the vodka-mixing capital of the world, in fact). If one is to mix vodka with coconut water, mint, and a little simple syrup, one will immediately enter heaven! Listen for the clanging of angel wings and the fluttering of golden gates, because it's really outstanding.

The thing that most intrigues me about coconut water is the fact that I approach it with the sort of sheer delight that is usually reserved for a prison inmate's release into the light of the real world, or a child's first popsicle. You know, the whole where've you been all my life sort of feeling. There's a brief history of me and the coconut. We go way back. We haven't always been this close. Listen.

Yes, listen: dolls do all the suffering. When I was four, we tumbled into the yellow, wood-paneled station wagon, on our way to Family Vacation. Several hours into the (very long) trip, I ate a coconut candy bar. I promptly threw up all over the yellow-yarned head of my Cabbage Patch Kid doll, Patrice Yvette. While my parents were probably thinking, damn it, these car mats are ruined, they lovingly expressed nothing but sympathy for me and my ruined doll. I was devastated and embarrassed and so, so worried that Patrice was eternally and irrevocably damaged.

We later decided I must be allergic to coconut, which turned out to be a myth that I believed well into adulthood. Nevermind the fact that everything made me puke when I was little, especially car trips. I am, in fact, still a total backseat wimp (not a myth) who can't travel in the backseat for more than a minute without throwing up. But coconut -- coconut is not a problem. In fact, I love it with all my heart, and I have no side effects, except for, you know, drooling and pure joy. Coconut makes many appearances around here. Oh, and Patrice cleaned up just fine. To this day, she is very proud to display her battle wound, a stained patch on her yellow yarn hair.

So as it turns out, I'm part of the coconut fan club now, and I may be part of the coconut water trend, but that's okay. I mean, who could resist? All the models are into it! It has electrolytes! It's a healthy alternative to ALL other liquids! It's as pure as the tropical winds! And I guarantee that when I'm done with being sick, I'll likely take the practical and stylish approach by mixing it with (very healthy) vodka once again. I mean, if that's not a nutritious alternative, I don't know what is. Granted, too many of these cocktails may cause you to throw up on your doll's head, but don't
worry -- it doesn't mean your allergic.