A very, very, very long relationship with a pickled cucumber
The artist was in a very, very, very long relationship with a pickle. If you are wondering how long exactly “very, very, very long” is, she will tell you that “very, very, very long” begins with a “start” that is impossible to forget, and that does not exactly end, but instead results in a space you reside in, in place of closure, that others expect you to display.
He was not always a pickle. At the time they met, he had a freshness and kindness in his eyes that would serve the artist as a reference to later measure her lovers against. Nothing has ever been more valuable to her than kindness in the eyes of others: the kindness in her mother's eyes, the kindness that she never saw in her father's eyes, the kindness in the pickle's eyes, and the kindness that manifests through people's selfless acts towards strangers. Nevertheless, she was able to understand the difference between kindness and goodness; the pickle was never good, but always kind. Goodness can be oppressive, but kindness always redeems people.
The pickle was never good at anything, not even before he became a pickle. This statement might shock you, and you might even sympathize with how hard it must have been for someone to be described as such. You might also think that the artist is extremely harsh. You would be right on all counts; indeed, those are the facts that fed her emotional rollercoaster and subsequently turned a man into a pickle.
The silence of the artist's man was oppressive; it would push her to build her own prison. He would let the artist wallow in her insecurities, laboring her way through those heavy blocks of disappointment, and disappear without walking her out of it, without interrupting her. He would just be there, fermenting.
Those fermentation sessions would last the whole night. She would boil with anger and words, in hot, salty tears, while squeezing expectations out of her pores—and his. Tormented with restlessness, she would ask him for a reaction, for an act, for a protest, for any sign that he cared. Instead, he would just stand there, with dead eyes and silence. He would then sleep, leaving her to reach the bottom of the pit of sadness and disappointment, and with a persistent thought to end on: to leave it all behind—him and her life—not that there was a separation between the two on such nights. In the morning, he would wake up and make her forget it all with a smile; he would hold her close and carry her through another day with his love fix. The artist would not realize that her man was fermenting a little more with the passing of such nights. She would be too drained to feel anything—neither sadness, nor despair, nor the pain that his silence inflicted.
The pickle was not good at being angry, not good at forgiving, not good at giving, not good at keeping friends, not good at sharing, not good at taking care of himself, not good at taking care of others, not good at creating a career, and not good at contributing to any cause. The pickle thought: to be is to survive.
Pickled Cucumbers
Ingredients:
2 kg small cucumbers
Spices (to taste): garlic (1–2 cloves), chopped lemon, green chili, grated horseradish (1 tsp), black peppercorns (1 tsp), allspice (1 tsp), mustard seeds (1 tsp), dill (leaves and umbels)
Optional: vine leaves, bay leaves, oak leaves, or a small amount of black tea (for tannins, which help keep the cucumbers crisp)
For the brine:
3½ teaspoons salt per litre of water
25 ml unpasteurised vinegar or brine from a previous batch
2 teaspoons cane sugar (optional)
2 teaspoons olive oil
Method:
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Wash the cucumbers thoroughly. Make a small slit (1–2 cm) in each one to prevent them from absorbing excess water during fermentation and to enhance flavor and texture.
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Pack them tightly into a jar with the spices and herbs. Pour in the brine so that the cucumbers are covered by at least 4 cm of liquid, leaving 1–2 cm of space at the top.
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Add the vinegar, then pour a thin layer of olive oil over the surface to protect against mold.
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Turn the jar upside down and leave it overnight to release trapped air bubbles. Turn it back the next day and leave to ferment at room temperature in a shaded place.
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The cucumbers can be eaten after two weeks, but their full flavor develops after about a month. Once opened, store in the refrigerator.
Pickled Green Beans
Ingredients:
Green beans were the legume he most often cooked for her during their very, very long relationship.
1 kg green beans
For the brine:
2½ teaspoons salt per litre of water
25 ml unpasteurised vinegar or brine from a previous batch
Spices (to taste): garlic (2–4 cloves), black peppercorns or allspice (1 tsp), mustard seeds (1 tsp), dill, bay leaves
Method:
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Wash the beans and trim the ends.
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Pack them tightly into a jar with spices and herbs. Pour in the brine so that they are covered by at least 4 cm of liquid, leaving 1–2 cm of space at the top.
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Add the vinegar, then a thin layer of olive oil to protect the surface.
-
Turn the jar upside down and leave overnight to release air bubbles. Turn it back the next day and leave to ferment at room temperature in a shaded place for about a month. Once opened, store in the refrigerator.
