It's the best time of the year again, folks. Pickling time! The time when culinary artists like myself get to shine, while the rest of you chumps suffer through jar after jar of Vlasic's monstrosities. Really, what kind of world are we living in where a company like Vlasic still exists? I know there is a lot of shit going on in the world right now, but after we deal with COVID, racism, and voter suppression, we need a pickle revolution in this country. The other day I poured myself a bowl of Rice Krispies, and then I accidentally fell asleep in my breakfast nook. When I woke up two hours later, they were still crunchier than a Vlasic pickle. You might as well just dip a banana in vinegar and leave the cucumbers for the rest of us. Jesus H Christmas.
Anyway, this year I told my granddaughter Tina she could do some canning with me, with two conditions. The first was that she read this book ahead of time so we could talk about something other than animal rights and her endless, nonsensical dreams. Tina, I don't give a shit what the centaur with your father's face represents! The second condition was also important, but I'll be damned if I can remember what it was. Curse my gin-addled brain. Anyway, my rabbit issue reduced my yield a bit this year, but I still had enough cucumbers for a couple dozen quart jars, and I had some new breeds of spicy peppers to try out, so I was hopeful of a good time.
But no sooner had we begun than my neighbor Margaret showed up at my door, uninvited (obviously). She said she had extra cucumbers that she would gladly give me in return for a taste of the final product [insert sinister grin]. I told her in no uncertain terms exactly what she could do with her extra cucumbers and reminded her what they used to do to spies in the Old Country. But then it dawned on me, how did she know I was low on cucumbers? Could she and Tina be in cahoots?
I didn't want to believe it, but I couldn't afford to take any chances. I got out my old metal detector that I used to use on the beach to avoid spending time with my family on vacations (noteworthy finds included a nearly complete set of dentures, a krugerrand, and a leg shackle with a bone still in it), and I gave her the full TSA treatment. She wasn't wearing a wire, as far as I could tell, but I'm not sure that proves anything. She did briefly stop talking during the search, so that was a win. When all was said and done, we ended up with 13 varieties of pickles, which was acceptable. The frisk and search may have put a damper on the bonding a little bit, but at least we both liked the book!