A month ago, I introduced you to my biggest endeavor to date, my current preoccupation, my new baby: the Lostine Tavern. Every single day, things are happening, especially now that the building is plumbed and wired. (If you’ve ever remodeled your home, you understand that every bit of infrastructure arcana is exciting. Oh, and the baby analogy serves here, too.)
While my biz partner Peter Ferre and I are choosing our light fixtures, finalizing our seating and creating a fantastic menu (go here to weigh in on deli sandwiches and more), I have a pressing need to get into the kitchen and start pickling.
No big deal, right? I mean, I’ve been a devoted pickler for years now. Using Benjamin’s Aunt Lydia’s basic formula, I start with the spring asparagus from Walla Walla and keep that brine happening beyond the beet harvest. I bring jars of spicy asparagus to potlucks, open escabeche for taco night and garnish charcuterie plates with gherkins.
Here’s the difference: I am about to pickle on a scale I have never before imagined. And, I have to produce them in time for our opening, slated for May 15. That is exactly 51 days/1224 hours away/untold 5-gallon buckets of brine from today.
Every backer of our crowdfunding project at every reward level will get an LT pickle. Of our 66 backers to date, some people will certainly want a half sour. For some a pickle is always a cucumber.
You may note, it’s March, a good four months from cucumber season. But running a restaurant is creative problem solving just like this, and it fires me up.
With every donation, another pickle. I am counting pickles, planning for pickles, looking for vegetables to pickle: carrots, beets, asparagus, onions, potatoes and imported cukes. I call my friends in my network of producers. Do you have anything I can pickle?
I am looking into the world of pickles more vast and complex than I’ve known before. Pickle as metaphor?
All of which leads me to this burning question: What’s the most unusual pickle you’ve ever had?