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Who wants pickles?

My parents were in town last week. While Dad geeked out at MacWorld Expo, Mom and I embarked on several projects. We sorted through wedding photos ten-plus years after my wedding. We went to the Legion of Honor to admire Marie Antoinette's home decor. We browsed through ceramics at the Asian restaurant-supply store on Clement in search of perfect coffee mugs. And, at my request, we made pickles.

My mom makes excellent bread and butter pickles. She made a fresh batch right before Christmas, and while I was visiting I copied the recipe with plans to make some as soon as I got home. Then I broke my wrist. Which makes it difficult to do much cooking without an extra pair of hands to do most of the chopping, lifting, and twisting.

I was generous to give myself partial credit on the label. Mom really did all the work, although I paid for the ingredients and jars and provided the kitchen. I observed closely and helped pathetically where I could -- wiping jar rims, putting on the flat lids, stirring the big pot. Yay.

And, of course, I made the labels.

January 22, 2008 9:37 PM