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Things that are on my mind,
besides drafting (and drafting) my novel, of course.
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Are you really a pickle expert?
Yes. And here’s the best pickle.
I’m not an expert at making pickles. I’m an expert at eating them. I’ve considered hanging a pickle lid around my neck, sommelier style. But, after decades of eating ALL the pickles, I qualify as expert through experience — I would challenge any one who says they’ve tried more pickles, and it would at least be a strong fight. In the vein of Cash’s “I’ve Been Everywhere:”
I’ve eaten spear pickles, sliced pickles, chunk pickles, flimsy pickles, pickle chips, crispy pickles, brined pickles, sweet pickles, hot pickles, kimchi pickles, bread-and-butter pickles, gherkin pickles, kosher pickles, probiotic pickles, cornichons, Carolina Reaper pickles, mixed pickles, quick pickles, sour pickles, sweet pickles, half sours, Polish pickles, German pickles, flea market pickles, farmers’ market pickles, craft pickles, I’ve eaten lots of pickles, man.
And I have a favorite: Sechler’s Candied Sweet Lemon Chunk Pickles.
I started as an adamant savory-sour-dill-pickles-only person. After eating and eating and eating pickles, I slowly flipped over to the sweet-sour-balance side. You’re entitled to your opinion, but that’s mine.
I also only eat pickles straight from the jar, and if I have one on a sandwich or a burger, it’s the straight-up humble Vlasic dill slice. So, for snacking, I find the roughly one-inch chunk pickles best. Spears never get crispy enough. Too thin are also flimsy. The thick slice is the right slice.
Chill your pickles before eating for optimal crispiness. Overnight is best.
Something Sechler’s does makes theirs super crisp. Ice bath? Brining? Sorting? Don’t care — it’s magic. They’re the best.
But, really, like wine, the best pickle is the one you like, and this post is all in jest (see my Unlearning in My 40s post).