Trending
In the process of ‘cleaning out’ the family home, I found one of my grandmother’s masonry pickle crocks. I have claimed it as my own at the request of my son.
Surprisingly, my son wanted one of my grandmother’s pickle crocks – not because he remembers her pickles, but because he wants to learn how to make my grandma’s pickles. (The child teethed on pickles so, naturally, he wants to know how to make his own.) After years of collecting dust in the basement, it needs a good scrubbing, but we will persist in making a batch of pickles.
First, we had to find the recipe. I have one, my sister has one, and my cousin has one. The only problem is, the recipe is, shall we say, ‘quaintly incomplete’. (Her recipe for pie crust says to ‘knead until it feels right’. Seriously? You get the idea,) Most of the ingredients for making the pickles are listed. It’s the quantities of those ingredients that are missing. Yes, I know what I need, but just how many pickles, grape leaves, and dill bunches do I need? Hopefully my cousin can fill in the blanks as he’s made the recipe before. If not, I guess we’ll punt.
In looking at the pickle crock, another family tradition came to light. My husband asked where the lid was. Lid? What lid? The crocks never had a lid. What they did have was a dinner plate, of which I have three, weighted down by a mason jar filled with water. He persisted in asking why it didn’t have a lid. My answer was simple – “Because that’s the way Grandma did it.” How many of those reasons do you have with your family treasures? It may not be the ‘right’ or ‘accurate’ answer, but it was the best I could offer. “That’s the way Grandma did it.”
I don’t know just how long the pickles have to stay in the basement in the brine. (I’m hoping that will be in the recipe my cousin forwards as well.) What I do know is Grandpa could never let them in the crock long enough to get ‘dill-y’ enough. Way too soon he would be traipsing down to the basement to remove the jar and plate and dig down through the leaves, the dill, and the brine to nab the first pickle. He always told Grandma how good they were, although I don’t know how he knew because they were never dill pickles at the stage of the game when he ate them!
Once the pickles are ready, it’s time for the meal – corn on the cob, tomatoes, and dill pickles. Will my family buy that one? It’s doubtful, so it may have to be a lunch for me. I only hope those pickles taste as good now as they do in my memory.
***
Sue Sampson is a longtime columnist for the Parkersburg News and Sentinel.