With patience comes pickles

Working for a weekly magazine, my Friday nights at the office are very late. We don’t put the issue to bed until 9:30, so I often don’t get to leave before 10. I’m usually too tired at this point to do anything but sprawl on the couch—forget about mustering the energy to eat.

This past Friday was no different, and while the couch beckoned my empty stomach more loudly insisted that I fill it with food before I lounge. As I stood staring into my fridge, I was dismayed that I had no leftovers, which left me with only a few easy choices: scrambled eggs, peanut butter on a spoon, or salad. None of these options called out to me, but ordering take-out didn’t appeal either. I recently read Anthony Bourdain’s thoughts about bad food, and to paraphrase—bad food is anything made without love. Perhaps it’s the influence of these words, but it’s true, you can really taste that lack in so many restaurant’s offerings. Not all restaurants, of course, but many of my late-night delivery options are not, shall we say, the pinnacle of carefully prepared, creative cuisine. I just couldn’t bear to suffer through an over-priced, mediocre meal.

As I was nibbling on a curly red lettuce leaf, a Mason jar on the lower shelf in the fridge caught my eye. How could I forget? There sat my first attempt at making refrigerator dill pickles and after six days of shaking the jar and keeping them cool, they were finally ready.
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