Apparently elsewhere people will pay forty bucks for a pickling class while I’ve been just giving this stuff away. I am pretty sure this kind of thinking led to the birth of the prostitution, but unlike these enterprising women (and men) I keep doing it for free for the love of the craft. And what’s not to love: pickling transforms ordinary fruits and vegetables that will probably rot in the dark corner of your refrigerator into a delicious food that goes well with everything (especially with hard liquor), keeps well and pretty effortless to make.
If you ever tried revolting, cloyingly sweet, mouth-puckering watermelon pickles you might have seen in the grocery store, you are probably not in a hurry to repeat this horrifying experience, which, if your Mom was right, would have left a permanent grimace of disgust on your face. On the other hand, Russian pickled watermelons are a delicious refreshing treat. Originally watermelons were pickled whole in wooden barrels, but I suggest you start slow before digging up a root cellar in your backyard, buying 100-gallon barrels and stocking up on watermelons.
How many times have you purchased a watermelon that was not so great – pale and not very sweet? You are too tight to throw it away, so you do the next best thing – make your kids eat it, or invite omnivorous guests. Pickling will greatly improve your reputation of an evil parent or a stingy host. For this recipe you will need a jar, a watermelon (thinner rind preferred but not required), water and salt.
By the way, don’t you hate when you buy a seedless watermelon and it’s full of seeds? I guess we differ on our definition of the word “occasional”.
Slice the watermelon in chunks sized to fit in your jar; actually any container will do, pickled watermelon loves creativity. Place in the jar.
Now dissolve 2 tablespoons of (kosher) salt per 1 liter (or quart) of water…
…and pour in the jar until the watermelon pieces are covered. If necessary, make more solution keeping the proportion of salt to water. If you don’t have kosher salt, any salt would work, but iodized salt may affect the color of the end product.
Cover loosely and leave on the counter for 2-4 days; things will start happening, maybe some bubbles, or even a white-looking film will appear on top of the brine. Don’t worry, as they say in the health-food stores: “It’s all natural”; just skim it off the top. After a few days place in the fridge.
Next time you have guests, you don’t have to feed them an unripened watermelon, instead offer them a slice of pickled watermelon with their meal. They will beg to come back again.
If you want to progress to the real thing that looks like this:
Just to think that I just gave this away for free, next time I will ask for a dinner and a movie first.
No place makes life seem so short like a cemetery. Birth, childhood, first steps, first words, school, first love, family, kids, work, feelings, thoughts, achievements, joys, tragedies – everything that makes up a person’s life becomes just a dash between the two dates. Most of the people will never have anything named after them, will not be a subject of a documentary or even have their own article on Wikipedia; no one will want to dress up like them, sell their costumes or posable figures. At the cemetery we promise not to forget, but to the next generation a person becomes just an image on strangely colored photos, a subject of nostalgic anecdotes and a name on a small gravestone. Their children will wonder about the origins of their foreign-sounding middle names, tracing them on a family tree compiled by an aging relative, trying to capture the memories before they are slowly dissolved in time. The only difference between us and our ancestors is that we leave more proof of our existence – photos, videos, blogs, facebook profiles – these things will probably float around somewhere long after the end date is stamped on our gravestones.
No place makes a person want to live like a cemetery…
As the news of an American spy being arrested in Russia with an entire Maxwell Smart spy kit in his possession filled the Russian and American airwaves, I realized that sadly the CIA doesn’t read this blog. Just a few weeks ago I provided a set of instructions for the spy to survive in Russia undetected. Things like putting your feet up, sipping and enjoying cocktails, being too smart and hard-working, wigs, money and compasses will definitely get you found out. Or even a lost button from your pant pocket. Here is a song based on a true story, written in 1939 and performed by some kids.
httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bb_i_48TgpU
*very free translation mine.
A little brown button was lying on the road,
And no one had noticed it in tons of brown dust.
A bunch of bare feet was stomping on that road,
A bunch of tanned and bare feet by little button passed.
The boys walked in a crowd all from a distant village, Alyosha walked behind all and raised the most dust.
On purpose or by accident, he couldn’t tell for sure,
He stepped on little button, and stopped in place aghast.
“This button don’t look ours!” – cried out all the children.
“And weird foreign letters are written very large!”
To border patrol station they raced like wild horses
To show little button to someone who’s in charge.
“Please show me exactly,” – told them commander strictly
And opened map of border he right in front of troop.
He asked the name of village and brown dusty road
Where little boy Alyosha felt button with his foot.
Four days they wasted looking for man on every road,
Four days they looked for him, forgetting any sleep
On fifth day the had found the evil-looking stranger
And gave him very thorough search like very very deep.
They found button missing on enemy’s back pocket!
A button wasn’t present on foreign baggy pants.
And deep inside the pocket – a cartridge from revolver,
A map of Soviet border and other secret plans.
Patrolmen praised the children for bravery and courage
And then the border captain shook all of their hands
They gave the children rifle checkpoint had in storage
And little boy Alyoshka was given drum for bands.
That’s how it’s protected, the Soviet sacred border.
And no evil bastard will ever get inside! Alyoshka kept the button, because he is a hoarder.
A little brown button with praise and lots of pride!
They win 38 gold medals in games marked by many broken records, lots of rain but few quarrels – California beats all except three countries, but Dutch housewife takes top individual honors.
For 17 days – except for one night when there was trouble with the gas line – the torch flamed brightly in Wembley, England. From July 29 to Aug. 14 it was the symbol of the 14th modern Olympiad. Last week, after a brief closing ceremony, the gas was turned off and 5,000 athletes from 59 nations were on their way home.
The ceremonial dignity of the Wembley Olympiad was no match for the neopagan histrionics which characterized Adolf Hitler’s 1936 spectacle in Berlin. But by the athletic standards the show was superb, despite the fact that the weather was the worst in Olympic history (the sun shone only three days). The general decorum of competing athletes was admirable, and only a very slight international tension followed a disputed U.S. victory in the 400-meter relay. The U.S. team of sprinters won the race by seven yards but was disqualified when a British judge ruled that the Americans had passed the baton in an illegal manner. When the film record of the race proved the judge had erred, the U.S. was adjudged the winner in an elaborate show of good feeling. This deprived the British of their only track and field gold medal and gave the Americans another to add to the 10 they had already won.
The U.S. Olympic sweep – 38 first-place medals- was overwhelming. In men’s track and field and swimming the U.S. scored more first and second places than all Europe combined, although the final unofficial point totals reflected the prowess of other countries in such peripheral sports as fencing and Greco-Roman wrestling. Considering comparative manpower and coaching standards, the parade of the U.S. track and field winners to the Wembley Stadium victory platforms was no surprise. And the unprecedented U.S. triumph in men’s swimming was made possible only because the Japanese were not permitted to compete. (Other absentees: the Germans, who were not invited, and the Russians who snubbed the whole show.)
California athletes alone scored more points than any country except Sweden, France and Hungary. The two U.S. sensations were both Californians: Vicky Draves, who won both of the women’s diving championships, and Bon Mathias, a 17-year-old schoolboy who won the decathlon. But the greatest Olympic performer was not an American at all. It was Holland’s Fanny Blankers-Koen, the only person to win three individual championships.
