Pickle

Instructed by my mother to feed the cats, I would push the door open, inch by inch, watching the sliver of light from the kitchen stab into the darkness, waiting for it to widen gradually into a triangle across the floor, bright enough to reassure me that nothing was going to attack my hand as it darted through the gap to flip on the light switch inside the garage. For a month every year, our garage changed from a dark and hazardous clutter of bikes, chainsaws, and gardening equipment to a truly terrifying place. Even in daylight I avoided the place, but when obliged to enter—such as when forced to feed the cats (whom I’d gladly have let starve), or if I really needed a bike or a skateboard—I kept a keen eye on the cinder block and plank shelves at the back, where malevolent orange enamel pots burped with sinister unpredictability. Days went by. Cobwebs formed (the better to ensnare the cats). Whenever I might show the slightest hint of getting on familiar terms with this horror—of letting down my guard—the pots would burp again, the lids would clatter, the cats would scatter, trailing cobwebs into the attic, and I would fly to my mother’s legs and cling to them so tightly that she’d shriek in alarm. My reward for surviving? A measured respect for the mysteries of fermentation and a tangy mound of steaming sauerkraut bedded with boiled Polish and German sausages. It was worth it.

The Hindus paint a red dot, or bindi, on their foreheads as an ancient form of ornamentation that also indicates a focal point of meditation: the third eye, the site of the bright inner flame that burns in our mind’s eye. People living in the warmer climates of Latin America wear a bindi of another sort, a cucumber slice stuck to their forehead to keep cool on a hot day. This practice has always fascinated me. The sure knowledge that as the afternoon wore on the wearer’s sweat would salt that cucumber also made me hungry. The crisp, acidic rush of tsukemono, or Japanese pickles, brings focus and refreshment as an accompaniment to grilled fish, rice dishes, and sashimi. It can also be eaten on its own in a meditative moment.

A pickle can be a symphony of flavors. Be creative with pickling spices—try throwing in the whole kitchen sink if you like. Experiment with different accents: cumin seeds and coriander for an Indian pickle; caraway, celery, and mustard seeds to evoke Eastern European flavors; ginger, garlic, bruised lemongrass, and a shot of soy for a taste of Southeast Asia. For a crisp pickle start with crisp fruits and vegetables; those that are just shy of ripe work well.

This is a simple pickle with bold flavors. For a variation, try adding fresh herbs, a dash of red pepper flakes, or a wedge of orange.

Banh mi sandwiches are a Vietnamese street food. Instead of the typical pork and mayonnaise, this version features baked tofu, an anchovy-miso dressing, and cucumber pickles. A key element of banh mi sandwiches is fresh bread—day-old bread is too dry. The best bread to use is a thin-crust white flour baguette that won’t overwhelm the sandwich fillings. Try making these sandwiches for a July picnic.

A Southern tradition, chow-chow is a spicy, pickled fruit-and-vegetable relish that utilizes the produce at the end of the harvest. The fruit and vegetables can vary from recipe to recipe, and can include green tomatoes, sweet peppers, onions, cabbage, carrots, and cucumber. Since Meme and Dede had a pear tree in their yard, they made chow-chow with pears. When I called Aunt Louise to ask for this recipe, she started reciting, “A peck of pears, peeled, cored, and sliced.” I laughed. Members of my family teasingly offer loving sentiments accompanied by the phrase, “A bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck.” But that is pretty much the extent of my definitive knowledge about a peck. However, a peck is an actual measurement: one-fourth of a bushel, which is about fifty pounds, depending on what is being measured. Bushel and peck baskets made of curved wooden slats with thin wire handles are still seen at farmer’s markets and farm stands all across the South.

Southerners are almost as fond of pickling as we are of frying. Submerging fresh produce in vinegar or a combination of sugar and vinegar meant there would be vegetables to eat in the winter months. Pickling recipes encompass not just simple cucumbers, but also more unusual ingredients, such as watermelon rind, green tomatoes, and okra. Okra responds very well to pickling; the vinegar virtually eliminates the slime factor, the main reason people don’t eat okra. I like to use one of these crisp, spicy pods instead of an olive for a Southern-style martini.

Dede loved pickled peaches and all manner of preserves. Every year, there was a garden of fruits and vegetables. In the summer, my family would put up quart upon quart of green beans, peaches, and canned tomatoes, and in the fall, golden pears in syrup and muscadine preserves. He’d seal the lids tightly with his strong hands and place them in rows on shelves in the basement. The name of this recipe reminds me of the tongue twister, “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.” Dede would often recite similar silly phrases, play word games, and come up with whimsical names for foods: “cat head” was a large biscuit. “Wasp’s nest” was loaf bread. “Floppy motus” was gravy. And Jell-O was appropriately called “nervous pudding.”

Kimchee is the signature dish of Korean cuisine and a staple in my kitchen. While I certainly love, adore, and crave its stiff aroma and sharp pucker, I understand that it can be an acquired taste for some. It’s quite polarizing—you either love it or hate it. either way, just to be safe, you may want to warn your cohabitants and neighbors of your culinary goings-on so they don’t alert the police to a strange odor emanating from your home.

These crisp, spicy pickles are a summertime favorite. Feel free to experiment with other vegetables, such as okra or asparagus.

Pickled vegetables are great to have in the fridge as a go-with-everything condiment; try them on sandwiches or burgers, in place of olives at a cocktail party, or alongside Falafel with Tahini Sauce (page 29). A quick brine made of rice vinegar, sugar, and water gives your favorite crisp vegetables a sweet-and-sour flavor. They’ll keep for up to three months in an airtight container in the refrigerator, and the recipe can easily be doubled if you want to prepare a bigger batch. The vegetables in the recipe below are my favorites, but feel free to mix it up by adding others such as raw baby corn, zucchini, or beets. One batch of brine will be enough for any one of the suggested vegetables, below.

A staple on the Korean table, kimchi is a pickled cabbage (and sometimes radish) side dish that is pungent and spicy. Traditionally, it has lots of spices and takes months to make, carefully buried in the ground to ferment. Forget all about that . . . this is a kinder, gentler version. The first thing you need to do is buy a bottle of Momoya Kimchi Base, a sweet and slightly spicy red sauce that has everything in it already. Look for it at your local Asian grocer or online. Once you have it in the fridge, you’re set for a while—a little goes a long way. This recipe couldn’t be easier to make but the kimchi needs at least a couple of hours to do its work, so plan ahead. I use the kimchi in practically everything from a topping on burgers to a filling for quesadillas (page 23). Spoon the kimchi into butter lettuce leaves and sprinkle with chopped peanuts for an incredibly tasty and healthy snack.

I love making sauerkraut and wait to do it on a day when I am alone in the kitchen and it’s hopefully raining.

Both the vinegar and peppers (together or separately) can serve as a condiment for soups like the Red Lentil (page 191), for braised greens and stewed meat, or as a bright winter substitute for dried chiles.

These were introduced to the Lantern kitchen by Fuchsia Dunlop’s exhilarating book Land of Plenty: A Treasury of Authentic Sichuan Cooking. The surprisingly simple method lets you carry the heat and spice of late summer long into the winter months, such as in Roast Moulard Duck with Kumquats (page 214). Pureed along with cider vinegar, garlic, and a little sugar, salt-cured chiles become a vibrant hot sauce for raw oysters (page 188) or rice and beans.