• crunchy dill pickles

    I’ve given up on the cucumbers. I got sick of picking a large bowlful every other day for weeks on end and last week I decided I was done with them. Now there are a whole bunch of swollen cucumbers loitering in the long row of tangly vines and I could care less.

    I still have one whole crisper drawer stuffed full of cukes, but I’m even losing interest in those and now they’re turning floppy and a sickly yellow.

    We ate a ton of the cucumbers fresh (okay, so not quite a ton), and I managed to put up 17 quarts of sweet pickles and several recipes of pickle relish. My family isn’t overly fond of dill pickles so I just made a small batch of refrigerator dills. Lo and behold, some of the kids actually fell head over heels for them!

    I pulled the jar out of the fridge one night for a bedtime snack when my brother and his friend were visiting (to counteract the glasses of wine and the brandy-soaked piece of honey bread my brother created, GAG), and we plowed through them like we’d never eaten pickles before.

    So I made another batch. I served them along with our grilled hamburgers (done properly this time!)  and hotdogs when my parents were visiting and my mother couldn’t stop eating them. In fact, after the meal she apologized for eating so many which caused me to roll my eyes at her. “You’re supposed to eat them, Mom!”

    Before my picked cucumbers shrivel up beyond salvation, I should probably make another batch or two to carry us through the end of the summer. There are sure to be at least a few more cookouts and late-night cravings for the salty crunchies.

    Crunchy Dill Pickles
    Adapted from Sarah at Recipes for a Postmodern Planet

    Despite my use of the adjective “salty,” these pickles aren’t overly salty. In fact, they aren’t overly anything—not too garlicky, dilly, vinegary, or spicy. Just wonderfully light and crisp.

    You can use any kind of hot pepper. I usually use jalapenos, though I like to throw in a dried red pepper for pretty. For more kick, leave in the seeds.

    24 ounces cucumber
    3-6 hot peppers
    3-4 large heads of fresh dill
    5-6 cloves of garlic
    3 tablespoons kosher salt
    2 tablespoons sugar
    2 tablespoons coriander seed
    1 1/4 cups white vinegar

    Cut the cucumbers lengthwise into quarters. Peel the garlic and cut in half. Cut the peppers in half and remove seeds, if desired. Stuff all the vegetables, plus the dill, into a half gallon jar.

    In a small bowl, whisk together the remaining ingredients until the sugar and salt have dissolved. Pour over the vegetables. Add enough cold water to cover the vegetables.

    Store the soon-to-be pickles in the fridge. Every once in a while, give the jar a shake to blend the flavors. (Sometimes I flip the jar upside down for a few hours). After about 48 hours, the pickles are ready to eat.

    PS. I first titled these pickles “Crunchy Refrigerator Dill Pickles,” but then I thought maybe that sounded like my refrigerator was crunchy. It is, I suppose, but that wasn’t what I was trying to say. I suppose I could’ve written it “Crunchy, Refrigerator Dill Pickles” but I found the comma distracting. So I omitted the word “refrigerator”even though it was a rather important adjective. There’s really no point to this paragraph, except maybe to apologize for the missing adjective. Which you didn’t even know was supposed to be there until I went and told you. So maybe I should just shut up now.

    This same time, years previous: elf biscuits, nectarine red raspberry freezer jam, granola bars

  • the quotidian (8.6.12)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace 



    One morning, when she woke up and walked out onto the porch.

    the supper table

    When you give some girls a bunch of peachy rejects…
    they take them out to the barn and cut them up for a snack.

    Guilty! 
    I gave my older son and his friend permission to have rest time in the clubhouse, 
    but apparently they did not stay put. 
    I caught them as they made their made dash from barn to clubhouse,
     stolen goods in hand. 

    Raw beet salad and grilled cheese: no one liked the salad,
    though four of the six kids bravely finished their servings.
    One of the friends told my child, “In all the years I’ve eaten here,
    this is the first time I haven’t liked something your mom made.”
    Which isn’t totally true but pretty close.
    The kid is flatteringly enthusiastic about my cooking.

    A chocolate beet cake that tasted like soggy, muddy beets. 
    (This one is much better.) 

    Music lover.

    She bought her own CD player.

    Attack of the toys! She was searching for something, she said. 

    There is no more room in our freezers! 
    There are more beans in the garden!
    Help!

    Oops!
     

    Corn Thief
    She goes out to the garden, picks an ear, and then comes up on the porch and stands there waiting, tail a-wagging, until someone takes the ear of corn out of her mouth, husks it, and hands it back. And then she trots off to a corner of the porch or a shady spot in the yard and happily eats her snack. 

    On our way to somewhere.

    This same time, years previous: why I am recuperating, Indian-style Corn, dishes at midnight, quick, quick, quick, preparations, hamming up Luke, seasonal regret, quiche

  • gingerbread

    In my latest newspaper column I wrote about our recent applesauce-making day. What follows is a photo story of that saucy party.

    Gingerbread
    Adapted from Cook’s Illustrated Cookbook

    This cake is quite spicy. The ginger flavor is much more pronounced in
    this cake—both ground and fresh!—than in the cake I grew up eating. For a gentler cake, omit the fresh ginger.

    3/4 cup strong, dark beer such as Guinness
    ½ teaspoon baking soda
    2/3 cup molasses
    3/4 cup packed brown sugar
    1/4 cup white sugar
    2 eggs, beaten
    1/3 cup flavorless oil such as canola
    1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger, optional
    1½ cups flour
    2 tablespoons ground ginger
    ½ teaspoon each, baking powder and salt
    1/4 teaspoon each, cinnamon and black pepper

    Bring the beer to a boil in a small saucepan. Remove from the heat and
    stir in the baking soda. Pour into a large bowl and whisk in the
    molasses and sugars. Add the eggs, oil, and fresh ginger.

    In another bowl, combine the flour, ground ginger, baking powder, salt,
    cinnamon, and black pepper. Add the dry ingredients to the wet in three
    parts, whisking until smooth after each addition.

    Pour the batter into a greased 8×8-inch pan. Bake at 350 degrees for
    35-45 minutes. Serve with fresh applesauce or a dollop of whipped cream.

    This same time, years previous: dam good blackberry pie, dimply plum cake, caramelized cherry tomatoes, down in the peach pits