The recipe:
Wash cucumbers, place in ice water overnight.
Sterilize canning jars and lids in boiling water for at least 10 minutes
In a large pot bring water, vinegar and spices to boil
In each jar place cucumbers to fill jar
Fill pickle jars with hot brine
Seal jars
Process sealed jars in boiling water bath. Process quart jars for 15 minutes
Store pickles for a minimum of eight weeks before eating. Refrigerate after opening. Pickles will keep for up to two years if stored in a cool dry place.
The optimist sees opportunity in every danger; the pessimist sees danger in every opportunity.
– Winston Churchill
Confident in my ability to create tangy crisp kosher dills fit for a New York deli, despite never having “pickled” anything myself, nor seen any pickling and being completely unfamiliar with pickling supplies and processes, I embarked on my latest slow food adventure.
Some time ago, I announced my intention to “can”. There is a general theory in the household that announcing intent is often sufficient to bring results.
And so it goes; one day a box of Ball brand jars with coordinating two-piece lids was dropped off, then I was in a 100-year-old hardware store with point-of-sale “pickling spice” packets, a recipe arrives via email, and last week, my local garden share contained three of the cutest cucumbers ever imagined.
Lo! The Gods have spoken, the very earth has produced fruit for my creation, and it is time.
Gathering my mise en place (or things needed to make pickles) I put the jar and coordinating lid pieces into a large pot added water and set it to boil. While that was taking care of it’s self, I brought a pot of water, vinegar and pickling spices to boil. Then let it cool because it was much quicker to boil than the large pot with the jar. So I went to check email to give the jar time to boil and be sterilized.
Eventually a dubious voice asked if I was cooking something… After adding water to re-cover the jar in the pot, I set a timer.
Moving the now sterilized jar pot to the kitchen sink, especially cleaned for this event (the sink that is), I engage my salad tongs.
Now, pulling a jar filled with boiling water out of a large pot also filled with boiling water is not as easy as it sounds, particularly if one is trying to avoid both botulism and burns. The jar is filled with boiling water and is too heavy to conveniently lift with salad tongs, and turning jar upside down in the pot (also filled with boiling water) didn’t release any water from the jar. I eventually triumphed using a sideways kind of hold so enough water drained out so I could lift the jar into… dropping the jar back into the pot, I found a potholder and gently tipped as much hot water as I safely could from the large pot into the sink. Then lifting the jar with the salad tongs, I tipped the rest of the water out of the pot.
Setting the large pot with the “sterilized” jar on an unlit stove eye, I put the potholder down next to the sink and turn my attention to the cucumbers (still in their bowl of ice water for a total “overnight” of 16 hours). The three fit into the jar a mite too handily, filled wasn’t the word. Luckily, though the Gods had spoken, Time, as it were, was a week later and I had two large cucumbers in the most recent garden share. Slicing those for “pickle chips”, their addition filled the jar enough for me.
Bringing the brine to a boil again, I poured it over the cucumbers and retrieved the two-part lid from the large pot using the salad tongs. Uneventfully the flat lid piece dropped onto the top of the jar and the threaded lid piece sealed the whole thing. Now to “process” the pickle jar for fifteen minutes:
Carefully (the jar is now filled with very hot brine and glass is an efficient heat conductor) returning the sealed jar to the large pot, I return to the sink to fill what is now the pickle jar processing pot. Using hot water about ½ way up the side of the pickle jar, I set the processing pot down next to the sink to check the recipe and assess my progress.
Lee drifted into the kitchen and notices I do not actually have “canning” instructions as part of my recipe; and further notices my “sterilized” jar of pickles is sitting in a ½ full large pot of warm water next to the kitchen sink.
Pulling the Fanny Farmer cookbook from its place on the kitchen shelf, she politely asks if I have reviewed the (obviously unreferenced) tome for detailed canning instruction. Much to my edification and appreciation, she commences to read the “canning process”.
Sidebar: Lee can cook. Also garden and “can”. In fact, my slow food journey is only possible because of her significant efforts. If she didn’t till the earth, plant the garden, compost leftovers into nutrient rich soil, weed, water (from the rain barrels she installed), harvest, clean, cook and serve the food, I would only have my intention to make a slow food journey, and maybe some pickling spice.
By now, I have returned the ½ filled pot of water containing the pickle jar to the stove and set the eye on High to get it “processing”,
While Lee is making some critical point, I notice an enormous flood of chalky grey smoke coming from the stovetop under the processing pot. Flying, I turn off the heating element, throw open the back door (I have set many dishes aflame and know to open the back door ASAP), return to the stove with hot pads, lift the burning pot from the stove, where something thick is stuck and burning a greasy acrid smoke.
Putting the pot down, I set the hot pads on the counter next to the stove, grab the nearest utensil (a large plastic serving spoon) and quickly, carefully, quickly march the offending item to a table outside on the back deck.
I can’t help but notice it was formerly the hot pad I had set down next to the sink when working to extricate the “sterilized” jar from the large pot. Realizing I must have set the processing pot on top of the hot pad on my way to ½ filling it with water, I unknowingly moved the hot pad stuck to the bottom of the processing pot to the stove. Upon my return to the kitchen, the still smoking logo: Certified Humane Raised & Handled is etched into the stovetop.
Luckily, the rest of the household knows the fire drill (this is not my first day) so by the time I return to contemplate the damage, all the windows are open, a fan is placed in the window closest to the stove to draw smoke outside, and the stovetop fan is engaged.
Undaunted, I returned to finish “pickling”. Lee finished reading the canning process to me, and thank goodness she did, because apparently one does not set a glass jar on direct heat, also, the water has to cover the lid one inch, and something about a lid button not popping. Anyway, I fashioned a clever platform for the pickle jar using a disposable cake tin, I also used Lee’s recommendation of the tall pasta pot (with lid) for “processing” (one inch, ¼ inch, tomato, tomahto) found a meat thermometer that went to two hundred degrees and waited for that pot to reach 212 degrees. The pot had been boiling for thirty minutes and finally reached one hundred ninety degrees on the meat thermometer, so I called it “processed”.
A summer garden share from a local farmer, pickling spice packet, water, vinegar, 3 pots, a serving spoon, a potholder, a stove, electricity for: stovetop, hot water, various fans, and re-air-conditioning the house, plus four volunteer-hours price: $1,572.80 My jar of dill pickles: priceless
























