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Show C r 4 JCIST STUFF f BY JflN Vl As I have mentioned before, kitchen craftiness is not my cup of tea. When it comes to the domestic duties, I deserve a D. Despite my deficiency in Betty Crockerease, I decided to go forth and conquer. About this time last year my mother, who has the patience of Job, gave me a crash course in turning cucumbers into pickles. It was supposed to be Mom Teaching Jan How to Put up Pickles. Pick-les. It turned out to be Mom Putting up Pickles and Letting Jan Pour in the Hot Water and Sprinkle the Alum. But that was enough. I figured if the Vlassic stork could do pickles, so could I. I stirred through my recipe pile and found the one marked Mom's Pickles and, with a jug of vinegar tucked under my arm, a package of dill clutched in one fist, some garlic cloves clutched in the other and a half bushel of cucumbers on the drain board, I started my task. Since Kraig is the pickle popper in Patterson place, I decided he could help, so I put him to work scrubbing the cukes. While he was doing that, I decided de-cided I would get (he jars ready for them. I ran into trouble right off the bat. The recipe called for "some dill". Was that a few springs, one stem and a couple of seeds, or a big clump of stems and a handful of seeds? It also called for "some garlic". gar-lic". I must say, when my dear grandmother wrote down this recipe, she was very explicit. But all was not lost. I rummaged rum-maged through the refrigerator and found one of the last bottles of pickles from last year's batch that "mom and I did". I pulled out the pickles, counted the garlic and did an inventory on the dill, then shoved the pickles back in the bottle. bot-tle. At least I had a ball park figure as to what was "some". After I distributed the dill and doled out the garlic, it was time to put the cukes in the jars. The recipe said to pack them rather tight. Well, my years before's example jar was half empty, so it was no help. I had to wing it, so I really squished them in. After the cukes had been jammed in the jars, it was time to mix the secret sauce, which boiled down to vinegar and salt and some boiling water. That I handled with no problem. I even managed to get i , the lids from the boiling water onto the jars with little difficulty. The tough part came when it i was time to seal the jars. I had borrowed my sister's cold packer and had been given easy instructions instruc-tions on how to use it. "Just bring the water to a boil and put in the jars. There should be enough water to almost cover the jars, but not quite." I thought I could handle that. But when I took the packer off the stove to put the jars in, the water stopped boiling. Did my five minutes start when I put the jars in, or when the water started boiling boil-ing again? Well, I had three batches of jars to do, and I used a different rule for each one. I figured if the jars didn't seal, I'd put 'em back in the packer. Later that evening I counted the "pings" as the pickle lids popped. Much to my surprise, and relief, I counted seventeen pings; they all sealed. The tell-tale-time will be in a few weeks when we crack the first jar. The proof will be in the pickles. |
