Why ‘Pickle Jar’?

It was the 1960’s. My mother was a little girl sitting wide eyed between her brothers, kicking her legs anxiously as she awaited the arrival of dinner on the table. Her immigrant parents could not afford much, but they always made sure to deliver a hearty supper seasoned with Eastern European chutzpah.

Finally it came! A modest sized roast, a small plate of roasted potatoes, a side of steamed green beans, and… the pièce de résistance… the pickle jar. She ignored her brothers’ mad dash for the meat, and watched as her father pulled a single pickle from the brine. She could almost taste it now. He sliced it meticulously into 5 even portions, placed my mother’s piece on the edge of his fork and extended it toward her naked plate, which sat elevated in front of her kid-in-a-candy-shop lit face. She brought it close to her so she could smell its vinegary bite, and then divided the meager slice of pickle into small strips that could be savoured between each forkful of meat.

Her family was not wealthy enough to give my mother her own pickle, but all she needed was that amuse bouche to feel like she’d won the lottery.



I have grown up living through food. It has been my marker of milestones, my cultural tour guide overseas, my link to those whom I have loved and lost, and now I’m trying to figure out how to make a future out of it!

 How far we’ve come since divvying up a brined cucumber so many moons ago!

What I share on this site is what I consider to be my pièce de résistance; you might find what I made for dinner last night, or something spotlighting food in the media, or even just a quick tale that I think is worth sharing with whoever is reading.  Just as my mother was thrilled with just a quick bite from the contents of her family’s pickle jar, I hope you all enjoy the short entries posted on my Pickle Jar!

Welcome to my cyber supper table! Feast your eyes and enjoy!


One response

19 09 2009

wow this is so informative and i love the witty commentary

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