Pickling

One plan for the summer is to pickle things.

Several months ago I read 'Salt: A World History', which got me excited about preserving things. I'm not much for canned food, nor frozen; I can walk three blocks to the overpriced organic supermarket and buy fresh food any time I have $3 for a pear.  But pickles are different. This is not preservation for the sake of preservation.  This is transformation for the sake of tastiness.

I checked out books from the library on the topic. The older edition of 'The Joy of Cooking' had an entire chapter on pickling, but the newest edition has moved on, emphasizing fresher foods and updated methods. Fortunately, Ethan Becker and the rest of the Rombauers have put out a book on pickling. I checked this out, as well as 'Creative Pickling'.

I wanted to start with basic cucumber dill pickles. There are two main modern pickling methods, which my books dubbed the indirect and direct methods.  Unfortunately, I have taken the books back to the library, so I can't remember which is which.  One is the traditional method: you put cucumbers in salt and let them ferment.  The salt inhibits bacterial growth during the fermentation process, and eventually mixes with the acetic acid the cucumbers produce, leaving you with tasty, salty, vinegary pickles.   The modern method involves mixing salt and vinegar and immersing the cucumbers in the mixture for a few weeks.  These modern pickles retain more of their nutrients, are ready to eat in less time, but don't have the subtle complexities of those produced by the long brining process.

I decided to start with the modern method.  I went to the Farmer's Market one Saturday morning with Lawson, where we picked out some cucumbers and garlic.  Pickling cucumbers are small and firm, with those classic lumps all over them.  I bought about 3 pounds of cucumbers.

Back in my kitchen, I scrubbed the cucumbers and cut them into the classic 'spear' shape.   I peeled garlic.  I washed three old jars and filled them with boiling water, also immersing the lids in a bowl of boiling water.  Then I started on the vinegar mixture.

I had some white vinegar, but it wasn't enough -- I needed three cups.  I added a little balsamic vinegar, but still fell short.  I had approached the recipe entirely unprepared.  Remembering Ethan Becker's somber warnings not to alter his recipes, I sighed and drove to the Piggly Wiggly.  There I bought an enormous jug of cider vinegar, some pickling spice, and some dill seeds.  I'm not sure how I'd been planning to season the pickles -- I think I was going to substitute cumin seeds for the dill, but since I had the opportunity to buy the right ingredients, I did.  But I will try cumin pickles soon.

I mixed vinegar with a quarter cup of salt.  Pickling salt contains no iodine, since iodine can cloud liquid, and you want pristine, clear pickle juice.  Pickle juice you'd want to bathe your newborn baby in.  Pickle juice you'd pour seductively over your face and neck in a perfume commercial.  Pickle juice like the stream in the Coors commercials.*

I stirred the vinegar, salt, and water until they boiled.  Into each jar (emptied of water and dried) I put a clove of garlic, some dill, some pickling spice, and six peppercorns.  Next, I packed the cucumbers into the jars.

Boiling vinegar sends up lots of fumes.  It was hot in my kitchen, and the fumes made me a little woozy.  I had to lean against the counter as I poured the vinegar mixture into each jar, making sure to cover the cucumbers all the way.  Garlic floated to the top, and I had to jam it back down between cucumbers to hold it in place.  I capped the jars and left them on the counter to cool.

If I were making traditional pickles or planning to store them at room temperature, I'd have had to can them, which requires official jars and seals and either a water bath or a pressure canner.  Since these are short term pickles, I just waited until the jars cooled and moved them to the refrigerator.

It's hard to open the fridge without wanting to taste my pickles.  But I will be patient.

* Having grown up in Golden, Colorado, I can assure you that the stream in the commercials is not 'somewhere near Golden, Colorado'. Clear Creek, which runs through town, is heavily polluted, and Golden's city water system has been shut down for entire summers due to cryptosporidia contamination. The entire town smells of warm hops, which smell like vomit. And yet Coors had the audacity to run those ads IN GOLDEN.

Update 1: Two weeks later
I opened my first jar of pickles this weekend; it's been two weeks.  They are wonderfully crunchy and have turned a pickly ochre color.  They taste good -- a little sharp, with lots of clove from the pickling spice and a definite cider vinegar huskiness -- but they don't taste like classic dill pickles.  The flavors are all separate.  So now I am committed to trying the traditional method. 

I'll wait another few weeks before opening the next jar.  In the meantime, my jalapeno plants are starting to produce.  This weekend, I will pickle jalapenos.  

Next time, I will turn off my flash.

Update 2: One month later
My pickles have become a little soft. I've been eating them steadily for the past few weeks, and the flavor has not changed since I opened the first jar. This is exactly what the recipe predicted, but somehow I was hoping I'd transcend the limitations of the quick method, creating lastingly crunchy pickles without firming agents and perfect flavor without long brining, but Ethan Becker turned out to be exactly right, as always.

No matter. My next project will be watermelon pickles. My mom sent a photocopy of my father's mother's recipe, very neatly printed, with the measures in pints and pounds. I'll just have to find someone to eat the insides of the watermelons -- I need seven pounds of their pink, green, and white rinds, and am not actually that fond of watermelon.