Ode to the Pickle

I've wanted to try it for years.  I've studied the opinions of experts on how to do it, how to spice it up, and how to make sure it doesn't go bad after a few months.  And it's not my love life I'm talking about!

I'm talking about making kosher dill pickles.  I used to help Mom make dill pickles, and remember stuffing those cucumbers into the jar, finding every spare nook and cranny to cram more into.  I remember the sound of the cucumber squeaking along the side of the jar as it slid into its permanent place, or at least permanent for a month or two until we'd eat them.

We'd have a jar of pickles on the table at every meal other than breakfast.  That and a plate of white bread (don't ask me).  If we couldn't reach the pickle with our hands, we'd stick a fork in the jar, cursing as we tried to hook on and bring it out and into our mouths.  That salty, garlicky sensation, so unlike the taste of the original cucumber, would make my taste buds shrivel up in delight as I sucked the juice off the pickle before my first bite, just a tiny bit off the tip so I could curl my tongue around the inside and get all of the juice before I took my first big bite.

I think that understanding how dill pickles were made was one of those "aha" moments in my life.  Something so ordinary transformed into a taste sensation.  I have 5 quarts of my own tonight.  Mother would be so proud.