After my giant cucumber harvest a few Sundays ago, I was on to the next adventure/crisis. I had all these cucumbers, and one day left in town before a 4 day business trip. And I didn’t know how long the buggers would keep on the counter, or how long my sweetie’s patience would last with cukes all over the kitchen counter top. It was time to take the plunge and make pickles.
First I consulted my Nancy Drew cookbook (yes, I’ve had it since I was 10 and it’s the best because each recipe has less than 5 ingredients and takes only 4 steps – combine/mix/pour/bake). No pickles recipes there. That’s a bad omen, since that means it’s more complicated than a 5th grade level.
Second, I flipped through the 3 ring binder of cooking magic that my mother left me when she passed on to the big kitchen in the sky. Here I found beef stroganoff (never liked that one), spaghetti sauce (with celery), bbq sauce smokey links (ok, you really need a recipe for “open package, dump wieners in crock pot, stir in bbq sauce, go), and various other clipping she amassed over the years. Nothing for pickles. I distinctly remember afternoons in Iowa with the smell of dill and garlic and hot peppers. And we weren’t Italian.
It was time for the Internet, my go to source for all important information (did I mention that I’ve diagnosed myself with malaria after following the symptoms questionnaire on www.webmd.com?). Here I discovered tons of pickle recipes. Even better, I found that I could just buy a mix to make pickles. No muss, no fuss. This was starting to sound like a Nancy Drew recipe after all…
Off to the store for jars, lids, jar grabber tongs, giant pots, and the magic mix. They have bread and butter and dill and I bought both. Why not? Lugging my $90 in supplies to the car, I realized I forgot vinegar, which, along with water and sugar are the only ingredients on the package. Back in the store, $3 later, and I’m headed to my test kitchen.
Back home, I assume my Chef persona and don my apron just in case there are spills and splashes. I consider opening a bottle of Schramsberg Brut Rose to christen my limitless potential as a domestic food goddess, but there might be knives involved, so I opt for the sober, although not necessarily more focused, route.
There are three steps on the mix pack:
0. Prepare jars
1. Prepare cucumbers
2. Make pickles
Piece of cake.
Jar prep means sterilization. I pop 4 in the dishwasher on fast cycle, figuring that’s 15 minutes to done. Cuke prep means slice in circles or spears. Flip a coin (best of three) to decide circles or spears and circles won (heads, of course). Slicing’s easy – I totally could have had the sparkling wine. Make pickles entails combining mix with vinegar and sugar in a pan and brining to a boil. I can do this!
I start with the new big, giant, huge canning pot half full with water on the stove on high. Leaving this to boil, I start stuffing cuke slices into the jars. They say pack ’em in tightly, so I started jamming them in every way I can – horizontal, vertical, diagonal. No method to this madness and my ADHD is in its happy place. Cukes stuffed and pickle mix boiling on the stove – all is well in the world.
Pouring the pickle mix with my brand new large mouth funnel (I love this gadget!), my 4 jars are prepped, packed, and ready to seal. Tops on, lids finger tightened, time to process. Nancy Drew could totally master this!
Turning to my monster-sized canning pot, ready to plop the jars in, but……the water’s not boiling. It’s been at least 30 minutes, probably more like 45. Please tell me I turned the right burner on (I hate when that happens) and that it’s still on (I really hate when that happens). Yes to both. Well, now what. I stick my finger in (I never learn) and the water’s hot, with little bubbles, but not boiling. Puzzled, yet remembering that water boils at 212 F, I figure the meat thermometer will know how close I am. Holding it in the hot pot, it reads 127. That’s not good.
I pop the jars in anyway, not realizing that this will cool the water even more (yes, I took AP Physics and Chemistry in High School – I just didn’t pay attention). And watched. And watched. And watched. I finally turned away, now completely believing the “watched pot doesn’t boil” adage and sat watching Judge Judy, stumped as to what to do next.
An hour later (yes, it was back to back Judge Judy’s), the water still not boiling, I decided it’s been enough time. Worst case, the jars don’t pop and seal and I have to eat 4 jars of pickles. Best case, I can give them away to unsuspecting friends (just kidding, really…). I take the jars out and carefully put them on the counter (I do remember my Mom saying something about they can explode, and I cannot imagine cleaning pickle mush off the ceiling). Now they have to sit for 24 hours before they can be touched. Patience is a virtue, right?
