Pickled Tink

How is it that so many of us draw no association between the salty, crunchy tidbits from Granny’s relish tray and fresh cucumbers that came from the earth? Is it possible to get so far away from a once-common practice that we no longer even recognize the result? Pickling used to be a seasonal activity that families undertook to ensure a decent food supply once the growing season was over. Generations gathered around a harvest and, using age-old recipes, created a tradition. Balancing salt levels, choosing spices, painstakingly cleaning and processing jar after jar—all of this was simply assumed to be necessary for survival. Now there’s no need to pickle; when it gets cold, we go to Arizona. So it is that another domestic art falls by the wayside, while companies who can do it faster and cheaper—if not necessarily better—take on production.

So stands our relationship with pickles, whether you have a lonesome jar lurking in the back of your Frigidaire, with one or two thick greenies bobbing in their murky water ever since who knows when, or whether you excitedly grab a jar at the market and bring it home to three other jars that you were once equally excited about. Nevertheless, there is a level of pickle passion that runs deep in this country, even in our own state. For proof, one need only visit the Creative Activities building at the State Fair to see that the pickle-packing process has been passed on to a new generation. What drives someone to willingly spend hours up to their elbows in brine, cramming jars with cucumbers and closely guarded spice mixtures and briny liquids? They must share something with the alchemists of legend, turning what is plain and ordinary into gustatory gold. Moreover, this passion for pickles is not limited to state and country fairgrounds. Boutique brands and innovative pickling practices are surfacing in the food world, on stylish shelves and restaurant kitchens around the country. For as long as pickling has been going on, there is no other renaissance more deserved.

Cleopatra believed that pickles contributed to her legendary health and beauty, while Julius Caesar found them invigorating, if you know what I mean. The men who built the Great Wall of China sustained energy for their long workdays by snacking on pickled cabbage. Pickles found their way to the New World with Columbus, as they were known to last for long journeys and, like the more commonly known but also far more perishable citrus fruits, to help prevent scurvy. (By the way, the businessman who stocked Columbus’ ship with said pickles dreamed of becoming an explorer himself and leaving his pickle-packing days behind. Amerigo Vespucci would eventually realize his dream and be the first pickle man to have a continent named in his honor.)

When we say “pickles” in the United States, we most often are referring to pickled cucumbers, whereas for the Brits, it’s pickled onions. Gherkins, or cornichons as the French call them, are simply immature, midget cukes that have been pickled. But there’s a vast world of pickles beyond cucumbers and onions. Koreans pickle cabbage to make kimchi; you’ll find pickled duck eggs in China and herring (sil) in Scandinavia. Japan’s astounding array of misos are basically pickled soybeans. Peter Piper had nothing on the Italians when it came to pickling peppers, and American colonists had a grand old time pickling everything from beans to mushrooms and asparagus to get them through the winters.

While the choice of food to be pickled is nearly unlimited, it is the process that calls for exactitude. Pickling may be one of the trickiest forms of canning. The journey from raw food to skillfully flavored and preserved delicacy is seldom recognized as the art form that it is. At its most basic, pickling a vegetable (or some other food—pigs’ feet, say, or salmon) in an acidic, biting liquid—either brine or vinegar—kills off the “bad” bacteria that makes food rot. This may sound simple, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to do. Those who decide to join the elite order of picklers must be prepared for a long journey to perfection. The type of solution, the addition of herbs and spices, the amount of soaking time, and even the temperature of the room will all have an effect on the final product. These variable elements impact the process of curing, during which colors and flavors will change as acidity increases. Not all pickles go through a rigid fermentation process, however. Fresh-pack or quick-process pickles (as in the recipe here) use an initially high-acidity vinegar or brine solution to preserve the food.

Maybe that dual nature of the process is the thrill that is driving the food-obsessed to rediscover pickles. In one sense, pickling poses a challenge for would-be kitchen masters, and yet Granny did just fine, so it can’t be too hard, can it? Another factor to consider is how the pickle, with its longstanding reputation as a plain-Jane food, is just ripe for glamorization, like a sweet Norma Jean Baker waiting for someone to unleash her inner Marilyn.

Sure enough, chefs and artisans have responded with jalapeno-lemon pickles, red-hot cinnamon cukes, saffron-infused pickled asparagus, and pickled beets in rosemary brine. Rick’s Picks, one of the new faces in the pickle game, has concocted what it calls Windy City Wasabeans—green beans in a soy-wasabi brine. The Indiana-based Sechler’s is raising eyebrows with sweet pickled orange and lemon peels, and Mad Pat’s Hot Fire & Ice Pickles start out with a hint of sweetness but end with a habanero-worthy burn. Locally, the 112 Eatery and Tryg’s both offer zesty house-made pickles on their charcuterie plates, a natural setting for pickles (as a snappy starter, pickles aid in the digestion of other foods). Stella’s Fish Café has overnight pickles as a side dish, a prime opportunity to shun the carbohydrates and grease of fries and crunch into some salty freshness instead.

Since future grannies will be more likely to teach their progeny about spreadsheets and conference-calling than pickling and canning, the practice will be left to enthusiasts of all types who seek it out and make it their own. Be they chefs, small-batch artisans, or gardeners overwhelmed by a bumper crop of snaky cucumbers, those who excel at the art of pickling will most likely find it addictive.

112 Eatery 112 Third St. N., Minneapolis;
612-343-7696; www.112eatery.com
Tryg’s 3118 W. Lake St., Minneapolis; 612-920-7777; www.trygs.com
Stella’s Fish Cafe & Prestige Oyster Bar 1400 W. Lake St., Minneapolis, 612-824-8862; www.stellasfishcafe.com
Rick’s Picks 212-358-0428; www.rickspicksnyc.com
Sechler’s www.gourmetpickles.com
Mad Pat’s Hot Stuff www.madpatshotstuff.com

Zippy Refrigerator Pickles

12 pickling cucumbers
2 cups water
13/4 cups cider vinegar (at least 5% acidity)
11/2 cups packed coarsely chopped fresh dill
8 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
1 cup finely chopped red onion
11/2 T coarse salt
1 tsp. mustard seed
1 tsp. crushed bay leaves
1/2 tsp. turmeric
11/2 tsp. fennel seeds
1 tsp. dried crushed red pepper

Combine all ingredients in large bowl. Stir, let stand at room temperature two hours until salt dissolves. Transfer four cucumbers to each of three sterilized 11/2-pint wide-mouth jars. Pour pickling mixture over to cover. You may wish to place a few dill sprigs in each jar. Cover jars with lids and close tightly. Refrigerate for a minimum of seven days; go ten days for real zippiness. Pickles will stay crispy-fresh for about two months. Keep refrigerated. Makes three 11/2-pint jars.