Pickles

Genius, is what pickles are. I know that Korea, Japan, and Mexico have a pickling culture. Germany, too, I suppose with that sauerkraut. The US does, sort of, but it's limited in the mainstream, isn't it? I mean, you say "pickle" to Joe on the street and the picture in his mind is of a cucumber pickle. And he eats it with or on a sandwich. We have relish for hot dogs, but the hot dog eating world is divided on its application. The aforementioned countries, however, have some serious pickling of a wide variety of items. Well, does Germany do more than kraut? Is there a plethora of kraut flavors? I understand that, in Japan, it's customary to have something pickled with breakfast. I assume that kick starts one's digestive system. Genius.

I have a mental block for pickles in the morning. Now, that is. I also had a mental block for fried rice and samosas in the morning - then Beijing happened. So, I could do it, I'm sure. Fried rice, one of those black (tea-boiled?) eggs, and some pickles. Yum.

What has me waxing philosophical about pickles, you ask? And where is the photo?

First, I just had some lovely and picante pickles of the Mexican variety. I LOVED them. Cauliflower, carrot, and peppers that are softened ever so slightly by the vinegar. You get the satisfying crunch and then the spice hits you. I could eat a plate full of just those. My respect and admiration for a taco joint surge when I get a scoop of pickles on my plate. This recent one was a meager scoop, but the establishment scored points nevertheless. I had to contain my excitement, sitting there with my mother, sister, and Sam, so that I could gush it all to you, fair readers.

Second, no photo because we are on the road and this computer is no where near what I am used to. It keeps telling me, in fact, that my blog is very complicated and I really should update software. Not happening.

I do have an excellent pickles recipe that I will include once I get home. And I'll pickle something and take a picture.