In a Pickle

This was supposed to be a delightfully charming post about homemade pickles.

Can't you just see my DIY-smugness radiating out of that mason jar? Oh wait, that's my cat's whiskers, photobombing.

We signed up for a CSA again this year. Nichols Farm & Orchard, if we're being all specific. It's awesome. We get a huge box (3/4 of a bushel if we're still being all specific) with veggies and fruit every week. The Little Dragans call it "Vegetable Christmas," which is perhaps less a commentary on the bounty of offerings from Nichols and more an indication that Santa might need to step up his game around here... but I digress.

A few weeks ago we got a bag labeled "Pickling Cucumbers." So we decided to make pickles, naturally! How hard can it be??

I will state for the record that we did research and choose a recipe. You will note that it is not linked here and correctly assume that this means that it turned out horribly. Since I don't know if it was my fault or the recipe's, I'll not drag the name of the recipe's author through the proverbial pickle brine here, but suffice it to say that she is well known for her own brand of DIY-smugness and apparently wears potholders so she never has to "Drop it Like It's Hot."

With B as my witness, we dutifully followed that recipe to the letter. Here's the finished product.

Promising. So promising.

The recipe said to let it sit for two weeks. So we just sat there for two weeks staring at it.
Finally, the big day arrived!
B took a class last year with an organization called Purple Asparagus in which she was exposed to many exotic fruits and vegetables and instructed to always take a "polite bite."
This pickle taste test represents a type of final exam:

I give her an A! That is very convincingly polite disdain.

Little Guy--having not yet benefitted from the Purple Asparagus curriculum--offered this response:

He turned to me and deadpanned: "Pickle fail, Mom."

Obviously I had to try them. Gentle reader, what follows is perhaps the worst collection of photos of me any human ever posted on the internet, but I am publishing them because JOURNALISTIC EXCELLENCE. You have been warned.

Mmmm....pickles, this should be fun.

Something is not right with this pickle.

Something is--in fact--desperately, offensively, terribly wrong with this pickle.

Why did I go back for another pickle?? Oh no, there it is, the existential dread setting in...

So this post will not be about charming, delightful homemade pickles at all.

Sorry about that.