As temperatures drop and the arrival
of winter storm clouds underline the inevitable change of seasons, we watch as
snow covers last year’s garden patch, now just a colorful memory. As a young
lad who enjoyed the arrival of winter, I took special comfort in the knowledge
that now, at last, we could start
opening those colorful Ball jars
slumbering on basement shelves which had been “out-of-bounds” for weeks or
months. Of course we had already made a dent in the rows of “common” preserved
garden vegetables in their own quart jars, such as beans, corn, tomatoes,
beets, English peas and such. It was the pickled preserves that seemed to us
kids to be the “jewels” of canning times, partly because we all played a part
in the work that went on in a kitchen filled for days with the mouth-watering
scent of vinegar, spices, and savory seasonings.
It seemed to me that it was usually
a Saturday night, as an accompaniment to tuna salad and Dutch-fried potatoes
that Mom would say, “Oh I think we need some pickles to complete the
table-setting.” Since our family was equally split between Pepper Relish - an amalgam of chopped cabbage onions and peppers –
and Mom’s three-generation-old specialty, Chili
Sauce; a thick sweet-sour tomato, pepper and onion wonder simmered for
hours with a potpourri of cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, ginger and mace tied in its
cheese-cloth cloak dangling from a cotton cord. (Perhaps you can tell where my
vote lay!)
Pickled preserves were held in
special esteem in my growing-up household, and my wife’s New England genealogy
fortunately was not only parallel, but only added some new dimensions to my own
– much to the benefit of our offspring who carry on the tradition. In fact our
extended family (now embracing 4 generations,) value one favorite above all
others, and that is a version of Corn
Relish which was born in our own Vermont kitchen nearly 50 years ago.
I was four years old when our family
visited some old friends at their seaside cottage in South Carolina while we
were breaking in my Dad’s brand new 1937 Oldsmobile. During our stay, I was
often left in the care of the household Maid – a wonderful young black woman
named “Dolly”- who became my constant companion as she went about her duties,
one of which was preparing and putting up a batch of pickled watermelon rind.
Somewhere we have an old photo of the two of us holding hands. Ever since that
experience, putting up my own Watermelon
Rind Pickles (a highly labor-intensive endeavor) is an almost spiritual
experience for me every summer.
Among the extraordinary output of
our old-time family pickling enterprise, I learned to love Pickled Beets and Onions, Green Tomato Piccalilli, Bread and Butter Chips and of course my
father’s incomparable German-Style Dills.
Since we always raised our own bed of
dillweed, we also“dilled” Green Beans, Carrot Sticks, and Mixed
Vegetables (cauliflower flowerets, whole pickling onions and tiny
cucumbers.) There are so many ways of pickling cukes, from Mustard-flavored to Sweet
Baby Gherkins, the variations are almost unlimited, and always worthwhile.
I like to try something new each year.
I don’t have enough space to expand
the subject matter to include Chutneys
and Ketchups, but I must at least
refer to the magic of Pickled Seckel
Pears, Spiced Peaches and Apple Chow Chow to say nothing of the
importance of sugars in producing such standbys as Mincemeat, Devilled Ham
and other Potted meats. And I would
be derelict if I failed to mention preserving with a salt and spice pickling
brine; my perennial favorites being Corned
Beef and Sauerkraut. (By the way
if you add a smoking stage to a finished, black pepper-wrapped corned beef you
can end up with an outstanding Pastrami!)
A display of pickles in a country Farmers’
Market suggests the almost limitless possibility for pickles and relishes to
make the coldest winter tolerable.
Al Cooper Photo
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