Dill With It

Pickles. What are they, really?

That is the question I found myself pondering this morning while seated in my favorite chair in the apple barn, enjoying a modest wedge of Gruyère that I procured at no personal expense from a gift basket sent by an admirer. Koko was staring at me from the top of the refrigerator with an intensity that suggested he already knew the answer. He usually does. Yum Yum, meanwhile, had knocked a jar of cornichons off the counter with surgical precision, which I can only interpret as a commentary on the state of fermented foods in Moose County.

Do we take pickles for granted? I believe we do.

My moustache began to tingle as I considered the subject further, which in my experience means something significant is afoot. The last time it tingled like that, someone had committed arson at the Old Stone Mill, which was the fourth suspicious fire in Pickax this year alone. In a town of three thousand, one might find that statistically remarkable. I do not. These things simply happen wherever I reside, and I see no reason to examine that pattern more closely.

Pickles, of course, have a long history. They are cucumbers that have been placed in brine. This is a fact. Some people prefer dill. Others prefer bread-and-butter. Who can say which is superior? Not I, though Koko once pushed a jar of dill spears off a shelf and onto the precise spot where I later discovered a forged receipt from the K Fund’s annual charitable disbursement. Coincidence? I think not.

Speaking of expenses, I was appalled to learn that a single jar of artisanal pickles at Toodle’s Market now costs four dollars and seventy-five cents. I made a note to have the K Fund’s accountant explore whether pickle procurement might qualify as a cultural preservation write-off. It seems perfectly reasonable.

Yesterday a squirrel attempted to access my bird feeder again. I suspect it was after more than seed. One cannot be too careful. Yum Yum watched from the window with the quiet vigilance of a creature who understands threat assessment on an instinctive level.

But I digress. The point is that pickles are a food, and they are eaten by people. Is there more to say? Probably. Will I say it? I will not. The citizens of Moose County are fortunate I have written this much.

Pickles.