Pickles have always been my nemesis. The first year I
learned to can, I put up nearly 15 quarts of pickles. They were “bread and
butter” pickles which makes absolutely no sense to me because why would pickles
be associated with bread and butter? Once upon a time did people eat butter and
pickle sandwiches? All that aside, bread and butter is not sweet and sweet is what
these pickles were, plus mealy and more of a brown color than green. I worried
with every bite that they’d gone bad. I had a new baby at the time and like
most new parents I was stricken with a paranoia that everything was out to kill
me or my babe. So I placed the jars in a neat row above the bulkhead in my
kitchen and they stayed there for nearly five years until we moved. They looked
really nice up there and people often commented on how clever and quaint I was
to can pickles. Luckily, no one ever asked to taste those pickles.
In our tiny kitchen at our next house there was no bulkhead
so when I finally came across the jars (packed by the movers three to a box
with insane amounts of paper and bubble wrap), I promptly opened them up and
dumped their contents in the compost bin.
I took another shot at pickles a few years later and created
beautiful dill pickles that were so bitter they left an aftertaste that didn’t
go away until hours after I’d dumped the last jar in the compost. The next year
I tried a new recipe and the pickles turned a completely unappetizing watery brown color which was fine since they had no taste at all. So the
next year I went out and bought a kit. (Yes, they do make pickle kits.) The pickles looked gorgeous, but once again they were
mealy and super sweet. I didn’t dump those jars and pulled them out on occasion
to make egg salad, but they certainly weren’t the pickles I’d been dreaming of.
(Yes, some people do dream of perfect
pickles.) I’m fairly sure I still have one of those jars in the back of my
cabinet.
I moved on to sun pickles, refrigerator dills, and sweet
pickles marinated in an old fashioned crock to mediocre results. A few years
ago I tried using the recipe out of the Ball Jar cookbook which is my go-to
cookbook for all my canning adventures. The pickles turned out so salty they
became a family joke. My oldest son was about 14 at the time which is just the
right age to eat something for the sole purpose of freaking out the people
around you. He ate several to prove he could, but then decided he liked them. “They’re
so bad, they’re actually kind of addictive,” he said. I decided he had a salt
deficiency and finally hung up my pickle hat. (No, there is no such thing as a pickle hat.) I was really good at
applesauce, salsa, pizza sauce, pepper jelly, and tomato-basil soup. Who needs
homemade pickles?
My decision to quit pickle-making was affirmed when I
discovered the pickle stand at Eastern Market. Oh, those pickles! Sweet-hot, Garlic-dill, Jalapeño, so
many wonderful crispy delicious pickles! Never mind that they cost $8 a quart
and I had to drive nearly 30 minutes to reach the stand which was only open on
Fridays. Problem solved.
And then this summer a new pickle stand opened at Central
Market, the market I frequent weekly. Lancaster Pickles makes delicious, fresh
pickles and gives free samples. The owners were friendly and fun to talk to.
One day while making my purchase of fresh garlic-dills and Sweet horseradish
chips, I shared my pickle problem with them. I told them of my salty, bitter,
mushy attempts. Kate, one of the owners (and a serious pickle master. And Yes,
there are such things as pickle masters.)
asked me a few questions and then gave me a five minute tutorial on how to make
crispy, delicious pickles.
I hurried home, picked my cucumber vines clean and set to
work. And guess what! YES! Finally – crispy, delicious, perfect pickles! Now,
before I share the secret with all of you, you must promise me that you’ll stop
by the Lancaster Pickle stand at Central Market. Say hi to Kate – she is my
hero.
