The Brine Of My Life

There’s something wildly satisfying about pulling a jar of homemade pickles out of the fridge. Maybe it’s the bite of vinegar and spice. Maybe it’s the crunch you’ve curated to perfection. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the fact that I, a modern dad, am participating in a tradition that dates back thousands of years.

I got into pickling as a way to justify my gardening habit. The yard budget was stretching thin with seed packets, bags of dirt, and raised beds. So I told myself, and more importantly, my wife, that if I could at least turn a few cucumbers and peppers into something we’d eat, then maybe it was worth it. The verdict’s still out on whether that math checks out, but at least I’ve got something crunchy to show for it. Besides anything deemed a failure becomes a compost “experiment.”

Most of what I’m doing right now are quick pickles—simple recipes, no heat sealing, just fridge time and vinegar. I’ve mostly stuck to cucumbers and peppers (banana and jalapeño are the current favorites), but I’ve dabbled a little further. A sweet pepper and onion mix last year turned out… well, too sweet. Ranging to my most daring attempt of peaches with habanero. Yes, it’s weird. Yes, it’s spicy. No, I don’t recommend it as straight canned. I can however vouch for it to be blended down and reduced in to a sweet heat sauce.

Still, the joy in pickling isn’t just the flavor—it’s the process. The repetition. The little jars lined up like proud trophies. It’s made for fun gifts to neighbors, small bites to bring to potlucks, and tiny victories that I didn’t know I needed. A slow and steady task that rewards you for taking time in a fast paced world.

What blows my mind, though, is that this same act of slicing, soaking, and sealing is something humans have been doing for most of our known history! I’m talking about all the way since Mesopotamia. Archaeologists have found evidence of brined cucumbers going back thousands of years to the Tigris and Euphrates cradle of life. Ancient sailors and traders used pickling to preserve food for long voyages, which helped spread the technique throughout the Mediterranean and Middle East. The Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians all picked up getting pickled. I’m sure you’ve heard of those cultural influences right? They’ve rippled through history into modern kitchens around the world.

That’s the part that gets me. I’m in my kitchen with a cutting board and a pot of vinegar, and somehow I’m tied to every human who ever pickled a vegetable out of necessity, ingenuity, or boredom. Something about that feels profound. To be another link in this massive chain of human existence. My own little note in this unbroken tradition through time.

I remember watching the food show “Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner” where the hosts, David Chang and Chrissy Teigen, visited Marrakesh in Morocco and explored the markets and street food. Jar after jar of vibrant, pickled everything. It wasn’t just food; it was art. Preservation as culture. Generations perfecting balance and spice. For many people, it’s a necessity. For others, a medium to explore like paint or clay. For all of us though, it’s connection. Across distance. Across time. Across generations of people just trying to make something last a little longer.

It is part of why I love it. Not just because it’s a good excuse to keep gardening or because it makes a killer sandwich topping. But because it’s a way to slow down, to do something with your hands, and to make something that has just a little more meaning than what comes from the store.

No, my homemade pickles aren’t changing the world. But they’re changing my day. They’re connecting me to something bigger. And hey, they taste pretty dang good, too.

One jar at a time,
K