My pickles stories

Source: http://www.foodanddrinkbuzz.com/

Yesterday, while relaxing after babysitting for a friend of mine, I was reading a very joyous article about the beauty of pickles. Lovely pictures and nice words, but as far as I remember from the old country, every season of the pickles was always very depressing and hot and very annoying, both for us, the children, as for my mother and the other women working in the kitchen.

I will always be honest. My mother, of blessed memory, was never a perfect cooker and I don't remember any single occasion when she was really happy to cook or even more, extremely excited by the result of the cooking. It does not mean that we starved, but we always had the chance of good babysitters or talented relatives that invited us for lunch or dinner. I learned the basics of cooking after 30 and still I have a lot to learn, for the first level. 

But when it was about pickles, my mother, a fine lady and intellectual most of her time, was instantly matching the mood of our non-sophisticated neighbourhoods. Maybe because her husband was an avid consumer of pickles or maybe because she always needed the feeling to belong to a community, be it the big community of pickles ladies. 

From the end of August on - the harvest time - lists and plans were made: the quantities, the categories, the spices, the combinations. Once the list was done and the money made available, the following step was to do a market research of the best prices for a couple of weeks. Another important aspect of the preparation was finding the big jars - the space to deposit them was never considered a problem, and our balcony was winter after winter occupied by the huge colourful jars. After the purchased were done, gargantuesques cauliflowers, mountains of carrots and a lot of small cucumbers were invading the kitchen table. The fire was set, the water started to boil and together with them, the pickles. I was never requested to help and was very happy to do my best to avoid the kitchen till the intense preparations were done. First, I did not like the smell of the vinegar in excess - and even now I need serious reasons to use some in salads - second, and the most important: I never liked pickles. And till now, my situation did not changed. The only sorts that I try from time to time are the cucumbers, that can offer a good balance after a lot of meat-based meals. Otherwise, I cannot give up the pleasure of a fresh fruit or vegetable. 

After a week, the balagan was over and my mother again the beautiful lady. The pickles were eventually added to the table on various occasions but I did not have the smallest interest to taste them. Somehow, my only food memory about my mother is about a kind of food I never tasted.