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Cream of Mutant Soup

mutant

It’s the funniest things that throw you, when you’re a immigrant. Like pickles. If you think pickles is pickles, then you, sir or madam, are a booboo.

My hankering for a big fat kosher dill ran into a brick wall of gustatory mixed metaphors when I bit into my first British pickle. I did not know the pickles I’m accustomed to are preserved in garlicky brine with just a soupçon of vinegar. British ones? 100% vinegar. Looks like a pickle, tastes like what the fuck??

Hence, Uncle B very kindly grew me some gherkins for pickling. So, ummmm…any gardeners out there grown gherkins? Google was no help at all. Do they turn orange when they’re overripe? Like Ticonderoga pencil orange? Like, line-down-the-middle-of-the-highway orange? Because I plucked a mutant off the vine this afternoon that looked like a knobbly safety vest.

I ate it, of course. I cut it up with a couple of the ordinary green kind some herbs and junk from the garden, and I made soup. And very tasty it was, too. I feel okay so far.

Only, my farts could strip wallpaper.

sock it to me

July 28, 2009 — 5:55 pm
Comments: 30