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.)