So remember about two weeks ago when I went to the lake with some friends?
No. You probably don’t.
I went to the lake a couple of weeks ago with some friends. And when we arrived my friend Jen Hatmaker gave us all our own cute little jars of pickles.
That she made.
Like from cucumbers she grew in her garden.
(Side note: Jen has a book out called 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess. Maybe you’ve heard of it. If not, you need to buy it and know it may change your life a little bit.)
I feel like I need to clarify she didn’t make the jars from scratch. Just the pickles. Although for all I know she may have some sort of glass-blowing set up in her garage.
Anyway, the pickles were delicious. I’m pretty sure we ate most of them before we ever made it home and I wasn’t even a little sad that Sophie and Angie were afraid to try to take their jars home on the plane for fear of the airlines throwing their luggage and thereby wreaking pickle juice havoc on all their clothing.
I think I may have said, “Oh, I’m so sorry you can’t travel with them” as I packed them in my car and drove away. Because I have a weakness for a good bread and butter pickle.
Which is why I was amazed when Jen explained that they were easy to make. Up to this point in my life I’d always believed making your own pickles was for people who fell into one of two categories:
2. People who would rent a shovel and think it’s fun.
But it turns out there is a way to make pickles that doesn’t involve the traditional canning method. Not that I know what the traditional canning method is. I just think it involves things like a pressurized device that could blow up your house if you use it wrong.
So when I got home I got on the Google to find this easy way to make bread and butter pickles. And then I went to the store and bought actual mason jars and celery seed and something called turmeric.
I also bought cucumbers.
(Rome wasn’t built in a day, my friends.)
(I’m going to see if I can keep the plants on my front porch alive for a whole summer before I subject a bunch of innocent vegetables to homicide.)
And on Sunday I made pickles.
Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I felt this level of accomplishment.
Which might be a sad commentary on my life, but whatever because, dude, I MADE PICKLES.
(And apparently now I say “dude”.)