Who invented the pickle?

Here you see my candied cucumber curls and a jar of fourteen-day pickles. I just put the peaches in this line-up because they're pretty.

I've had cucumbers (and watermelon rinds) in some stage of pickling off and on for the last month, and I can't help wondering who comes up with these formulas. My mother's fourteen-day pickles, for instance. Who figured out that seven days of soaking in brine was exactly the right length of time? Or that fresh alum-water needed to be poured over the cucumbers for exactly four days?

My sister and I agreed recently that a person could no doubt fudge on those times by a day or two either way.

My Ball Blue Book has a recipe for watermelon rind pickles, but I recall years ago using a recipe that required a lemon, and the lemon actually did impart some of its flavor to the end product.

Once again I thank God for the Internet, because I googled up a recipe that suited me.

What on earth do people do without the Internet?

As of tomorrow, my pickling will be over for the year; possibly for the rest of my life, because who knows what sort of wild hair will overtake me by then? (By the way, where did the expression "take a wild hair/hare" come from? Hmmm.)

Until this season, I had not made pickles for at least twenty years.

There are two reasons why I will not buy brand new quart canning jars, even though I could use some now: first, I gave dozens of them away last year, and I refuse to re-buy something I gave away; second, who knows if I'll want to can anything next year?

And now, on to the history of the pickle. Here's what Professor Google taught me today:

The history of pickles stretches so far back into antiquity that no definite time has been established for their origin, but they are estimated to be over 4,000 years old.

In 2,030 B.C., cucumbers native to India were brought to the Tigris Valley. There, they were first preserved and eaten as pickles.

Cucumbers are mentioned at least twice in the Bible (Numbers 11:5 and Isaiah 1:8) and history records their usage over 3,000 years ago in Western Asia, ancient Egypt and Greece.

In 850 B.C., Aristotle praised the healing effects of cured cucumbers.

Cleopatra attributed a portion of her beauty to pickles -- though we're not sure which portion.

Pliny's writings mention spiced and preserved cucumbers; in other words, pickles.

The Roman Emperor Tiberius consumed pickles on a daily basis.

Julius Caesar thought pickles had an invigorating effect, so, naturally, he shared them with his legions.

The enjoyment of pickles spread far and wide through Europe. In the thirteenth century, pickles were served as a main dish at the famous Feast of King John.

Pickles were brought to the New World by Christopher Columbus, who is known to have grown them on the island of Haiti.

In the sixteenth century, Dutch fine food fanciers cultivated pickles as one of their prized delicacies.

Cartier found cucumbers growing in Canada in 1535, and they were known to the colonists of Virginia as early as 1609.

Queen Elizabeth liked pickles. And Napoleon valued pickles as a health asset for his armies.

Samuel Pepy's diary mentions a glass of Girkins as something to be highly appreciated.

In 1659, Dutch farmers in New York grew cucumbers in what is now Brooklyn. These cukes were sold to dealers who cured them in barrels and sold them from market stalls on Washington, Canal and Fulton Streets. As it turns out, these pickle purveyors started the nation's commercial pickle industry.

A fondness for pickles has always been a national characteristic of the American people. It's a good thing, since our country's namesake, Amerigo Vespucci, was actually a pickle peddler in Seville, Spain. He supplied ships with pickled vegetables to prevent sailors from getting scurvy on long voyages. While Columbus is credited with discovering America, Vespucci was apparently a better PR man. We're named for him. We became the United States of America -- instead of the United States of Vespucci. And that's probably a good thing, too.

George Washington was a pickle enthusiast. So were John Adams and Dolly Madison.

Pickles inspired Thomas Jefferson to write the following:
"On a hot day in Virginia, I know nothing more comforting than a fine spiced pickle, brought up trout-like from the sparkling depths of the aromatic jar below the stairs of Aunt Sally's cellar."
We're still trying to track down Aunt Sally's recipe.

In colonial America, the pickle patch was an important adjunct to good living. Pickles were highly regarded by all of America's pioneering generations because, under frontier conditions, pickles were the only zesty, juicy, green, succulent food available for many months of the year.

In colonial times, and, much later, on farms and in villages, homemakers expected to "put down" some pickles in stone crocks, and to "put up" some pickles and pickle relishes in glass jars.

In 1820, Frenchman Nicholas Appert was the first person to commercially pack pickles in jars.

1926, however, stands as perhaps the most momentous date in pickle history. You see, in that year, the Mt. Olive Pickle Company was founded.

The pickles are pickled.

Yes, Mother's 14-day pickles are done. Cliff ate two with dinner and said, "Your time was not wasted!"

Actually, this batch should be called 15-day, cream-of-tartar pickles. Last weekend during the time I was supposed to be putting alum-water on them each day, we went to the lake. I was going to have my daughter babysit my pickles for me, the one day we were gone. Then I said to Cliff, more or less thinking out loud, "How much difference could it make to let them soak for two days in the same alum-water?"

He agreed.

When I got home, I did the final boiling-water-and-alum thing... I thought. Next morning I realized I had put cream of tartar on them instead of alum. They're both white powder, and look identical.

I believe I should have used smaller cucumbers, but all in all, they are crisp and good. I'll be doing this again next year, if the good Lord and I are both willing.

Yesterday I dug out my old pressure canner to can some beets... not pickled beets, these are to use in Harvard beets. Who knows, they might even work in borscht.

Ah, the memories brought back by that big canner. We bought it back around 1970, when it was the sort of expense that put a dent in our budget for weeks. I was so proud to have it.

My canning jars evoke the same feelings. Many of them were passed down by my mom. Some of them are plain old Miracle Whip jars, which supposedly were unsafe. They worked fine for my mother and me, and will still work for me; the old ones, that is. Nowadays they're made of plastic. I also have jars I bought in the '70's, made by manufacturers that sprung up overnight when there was a canning jar shortage.

This was when I had two small children, and I still managed to have huge gardens and can the produce and milk cows. "Mother Earth News" was my bible, and "Organic Gardening" was my catechism. And I thought the "Whole Earth Catalog" was the most wonderful thing I was ever privileged to read. At that time, I wished I had the nerve to be a hippie and join a commune. I'm not sure what I would have done with Cliff had this dream come true. But you know, when you're daydreaming, who cares about the particulars.

I know, I know. Pathetic. I imagine had I been dropped in the middle of a commune, I'd have run screaming for the outside, shocked by the behavior of the inhabitants.

But I digress.

I didn't sleep well last night, and then I did all this canning stuff. My kitchen is a mess; there's sticky sweet-pickle-juice residue all over the counters, the stove, and even the floor. I hope I get it cleaned up this evening, but don't bet on it.

From here on out, the only thing I intend to can is tomatoes. Lots and lots of tomatoes.




As I was typing this entry, a crop dusting airplane circled the house several times.

of garden stuff, pickles, and squash bugs

The garden continues to produce. I'm going to have to start taking a container out with me when I pick the grape tomatoes; up to now I've simply brought in a handful at a time.

There are still plenty of beets. I brought these in to boil for Harvard beets.

I planted bush cucumbers, which aren't suitable for pickling.

However, when I went to Cliff and Rena's garden, I found all these, almost a milk bucket full!

I've never been much for pickles, but I think I'm in the mood to try my mom's favorite fourteen-day sweet pickle recipe. My sister tells me they're also known as "Iowa Sweet Pickles". Here's the recipe, word for word as my mom wrote it down:

FOURTEEN DAY SWEET PICKLES

Wash peck (two gallons) nice size cucumbers. Leave them whole. Put in stone jar or enameled pan. Put 1 1/2 cups pickling salt over them and cover with boiling water. Weight down and let set for 7 or 8 days. Drain off salt water. Wash cucumbers in cold water. Split each one and pack into stone jar or enameled pan and cover with 1 gallon of boiling water with 1 tablespoon of alum. Weight down. Next day drain and ad new alum water. Do this 4 days and next day drain off and mix:

10 cups sugar
5 cups vinegar
18 drops cinnamon oil
18 drops clove oil
2 tablespoons celery seed tied in loose mesh bag.

Bring all to a boil. Pour over the split pickles. Weight down. Each morning for 3 mornings drain the pickle syrup off and bring to a boil and pour back on split pickles. Third morning while syrup heats, pack cucumbers in jars. Cover with the heated syrup and put in cold pack canner. Cover with warm water and bring to a boil for 10 minutes for assurance of good seal.

You have to buy the cinnamon oil and clove oil at a pharmacy. My sister tells me it's very expensive.

I've been hearing people rave about my mom's sweet pickles all my life, so I think I should try making them at least one time.

There's some bad news in Cliff's garden: squash bugs are killing the zucchini plants, in spite of the fact we've been spraying. If things go as they have in the past, once the zucchini vines are dead, the bugs will move on to the cucumbers. This is why I totally gave up vine crops for years. There must be something more effective than Sevin, because commercial growers have no problem raising big crops of squash. I just wish I knew their secret.

My butternut squash vines are looking so good, and are loaded with tiny squash. Now I'll be holding my breath, waiting to see if the squash bugs kill them.

I'll have to buy some alum when I grocery shop. Thinking of alum reminds me that when I was a kid and got a sore on my tongue (swollen taste buds is what my mother called them), I'd put some alum on the sore spot and it seemed to help.

Grandma always said if you got sores on your tongue, it was because you had been peeing in the middle of the road!