Pickles and an apology

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know that Tuesdays usually involve me presenting a new recipe. Except today.

Let me give you the string of excuses: I haven’t really cooked anything of note in the last week. I went a little overboard with cooking during the flooding and then had people over for dinner the next weekend and sort of overdid it. I chose to watch a movie and nap on Saturday instead of baking. I’ve been busy.

OK, enough of that, right? While all of them are true, it’s a combo of all of them that leads to the reason there’s no food post today. Namely, I’m tired; I’ve been really busy; and last night, I went to a live recording for an album and medicated a bad mood by eating Sonic for dinner.

So there’s no new recipe for you to try this morning. I apologize! But instead of a recipe, let’s just talk about food. And I’ll give you a topic: fried pickles.

Yes, fried pickles are a southern delicacy that as a Midwestern girl I never really had until I moved to Tennessee. My friend Mindy introduced them to me in so random sports bar restaurant we ended up in one time in Lebanon, Tenn. I thought they’d be gross, but I was wrong. They were delightful! Crunchy, salty, delightfully pickle-y.

So last night, some friends and I got to the venue for the album recording and were looking over the menus. We needed to make at least a $5 food purchase (no cover charge) and most of us had already had dinner. I ordered chips and queso, but they were out. My friend Mindy ordered fried pickles. I’m not going to lie: I stole quite a few. And they weren’t as good as the first fried pickles I ever had, but they were good. The sauce left much to be desired though. If you’re going to eat them with a sauce, Ranch dressing is the way to go. Not mayonaise-y weirdness.)

So before you turn your nose up to fried pickles and call all southerners crazy for insisting they’re good, try them. Even better, make your own with this recipe.

You can thank me later.