I’m a pickle freak. If I could live off pickles without keeling over from skyrocketing sodium intake, I would. I’ve been known to eat pickles for breakfast.

My friends are well aware of my constant craving for pickles. In fact, one of them made me an entire CD once of nothing but pickle songs. You’d be surprised how many songs she found about pickles, including one called “The Pickle Rag.” I was amazed.

It’s not unusual, either, for my friends to give me pickles of all varieties for Christmas and birthdays.

A couple of weekends ago my roommate and I put up 12 quarts and 12 pints of dill pickles. Took our whole Saturday to do it. We started early that morning, venturing out to the S.C. Farmers Market to load up on Kirby cucumbers. Once there, my roomie began haggling with the vendors, most of whom didn’t speak much English.

I tried to keep up with the conversations but never could figure out whether Lisa or the vendors made out like a bandit. I think the vendors outfoxed her in the final analysis, but I didn’t want to tell her that. She is quite proud of her haggling skills. Nevertheless, we left with more cukes than we had energy or time to pickle.

We transformed our kitchen into a makeshift cannery, lining up canning paraphernalia on the counters. Pretty soon the whole house smelled like it was pickled, with the sinus-clearing aroma of vinegar wafting throughout the place. Even the cat’s eyes were watering.

All in all, the process went smoothly except for the first jar we put up. I forgot to add the salt to the first batch of brine and didn’t realize it until after we’d finished packing the first jar. Numero Uno was pure vinegar with herbs and other seasonings thrown in. We marked “AV” on the lid for “All Vinegar.” I’m sure I’ll eat those pickles anyway because ... well ... they’re pickles!

After we made our pickles, one of my friends, Tracy, decided to make pickles, too. We’re very competitive, you see. She gave me a jar of hers, and I gave her a jar of ours. The pickles are suppose to sit for at least three weeks, but this morning for breakfast ... well, you get the picture. I opened Tracy’s pickles and tried them. Since her batch looked cloudy, I figured, with much conceit, that ours would taste 10 times better than hers. But they were excellent! She had made a sweet and spicy variety like the Wickles Pickles brand that I love.

I couldn’t stand it. I just knew our dill pickles would be superior because ours weren’t cloudy. After all, cloudy pickles are certainly not blue ribbon winners at the county fair. Naturally, I had to try ours for breakfast, too, for comparison purposes.

Okay, I’m officially furious. Tracy’s pickles are better. Ours lack the zing of hers.

Oh, well. I wonder if the Farmer’s Market has any cukes left.

T&D Region Editor Carol Barker can be reached by e-mail at cbarker@timesanddemocrat.com or by phone at 803-533-5525.

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