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We had silly, home-made songs when our kids were young. Rewardingly, they still remember them!One song had the following verse;
'Kiss me quick and don't you tickle,
Or I won't give you a pickle, no....
Oh no, no, no.'
On reflection, that sounds a little kinky, which it wasn't. We like pickles in this family. There were more verses that rhymed fickle and nickle, and bicker and snicker (bar), and so on. But anyways, the point is that we liked pickles, even then.
So, here we are in the present, and it is delightful to learn more about pickling. We found an interesting recipe for green tomato relish, or chow-chow, on the internet. This was handy, because we had two 30 degree nights and needed to harvest the tomatoes before they froze. Much of the premature harvest was green.
While looking forward to the maturation of our green tomato efforts, I learned of something called 'sun pickles'. You mix a brine, add dill and alum and garlic, insert sliced, washed little cukes, and set the jarred concoction out in the elements for three days.
The sun pickles have had their feral adventure, and will now be resting and working in refrigeration for a while before they achieve their highest levels of pickleness. I snuck a taste while they were still warm, and was impressed already.
Seldom one to wither when I can be excessive, I made a little extra brine and plunked in several late season, slightly sorry radishes. They are a cool weather crop, and don't show their best at summer's end, but....After only a day, the absorbent radishes were salty, crispy (from the alum) and savory. I put the jar in the extra 'fridge, which is in our basement laundry room. One consequence of the radish experiment was revealed when I later returned to the laundry room after spooning a portion of the radishes into a weekend lunch-sampler bowl. An area within thirty feet of the 'fridge smelled like the hallway after onion-eating Uncle Fred exits the half-bath, squeezing a well-read newspaper under his arm, and holding a mug emptied of leaded coffee in his fist.
The memory of Uncle may have been nostalgic, but it wasn't nice. I turned a fan on and diluted the fumes in the lower level.
There is another consequence of the pickling process. Michele no longer automatically assumes the source of pungent scents to immediately be me. Now she inquires what I am eating before suggesting remedies, such as being careful of the wind direction before opening containers, and promising to mind how I face toward or away from her during the coming night's slumber. Very considerate of her.
We have heard all about your recipe skills......
they actually look o.k......we're impressed........
Thanks, Midge. That means a lot to me. Hope Tony likes the book.