How much is in a peck, again?

So pickles...

It's possible I've gone slightly pickle crazy. First I read this and then I read this, and then I found some pickling cucumbers and our house hasn't really smelled the same since.


I have eaten a dill pickle and sharp cheddar cheese sandwich nearly every day of this pregnancy. Early on, that (or a cheeseburger) were frequently the only things I could even think of eating without throwing up. Now, I can get by okay on a steady diet of peaches, plums, watermelon, snickers and cinnamon toast- but I still like my favorite sandwich at least every few days. I prefer it toasted, on my homemade bread, if I can get it. And on HEB bread with lots of mayo if I can't.

Yeah I'll pause here so all you non-pregnant people can gag quietly to yourselves. The pregnant women are either thinking "Yum" or "It could be worse. I craved red Georgia clay, dryer lint and yak butter tea."

Moving on. Pickles. I love them.


Look at all that dill! And that pepper! I don't think I'll be able to bring myself to actually can them, in case the water bath takes away some of the crispness.

Which is fine because preserving food is really only necessary for foods that have a slight chance of going bad, and these poor pickles are not long for this world.


Here's the bread and butter pickles in process, before I gave them their little ice bath. These are more for my dad than for me. Every party growing up at my grandparents' house had the mandatory tray of black olives and bread and butter pickles. I remember putting the olives on my fingers and walking around pretending I had shut my hand in a door...probably not actually as hilarious as I thought at the time, but ANYWAY- my dad loves bread and butter pickles, and I love my dad, and he is (possibly?) coming to town to visit us for Janey's birthday in a week or two!

I gave my mom the results of our less than stellar salsa making experiment, so I'm going to give my dad some pickles.

Sidenote: the salsa was not stellar from my perspective, because it ended up tasting exactly like Pace Picante Sauce... but it was absolutely great from my mom's perspective. Since it tastes exactly like Pace Picante Sauce. So there you go. Different strokes, or whatever.


Aren't the bread and butters adorable? Posing there next to bruised bananas and an empty cookie jar? I think it's a good illustration of how my priorities become skewed as I enter the home stretch of this pregnancy. Two months, and many many pickles to go.

Another sidenote: I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to our new housemate Molly, for the pervasive and constant pickle odor in our shared living space. I'm just waiting for the dills to get -slightly- dillier before I jar them.

I wish I could say that this is temporary insanity, and in fact the smelly pickle part probably is very temporary. But I don't want to lead her to expect a general level of normalcy that my family is not capable of providing. This morning Molly woke to Ramona panting longingly and loudly two inches from her door, and walked into a bathroom that was mysteriously scattered with various tiny ponies. I see no point in raising unrealistic expectations.