My history with pickles

I have had a thing for pickles since I was kid. My childhood best friend and I would plan our entire afternoon around finding the perfect pickle and taking it back to my house to eat it.

Somewhere along the line we decided my neighborhood had better pickles than hers. The truth is probably closer to we had more privacy to enjoy our pickled delights at my house.

She had an annoying older brother that messed up the vibe. We would go to the store select our pickles, then float back to my house in a thick fog of anticipation. I would sit on the couch and she would sit on the love seat. We would look at each other, then give each other a deep nod before tearing into the pickle. She was way ahead of the pickle game than I was. She started adding salt and pepper to hers. I followed suit, but she lost me when she she bit the head off and buried a peppermint inside of the pickle before devouring it. I have my limits.

Everyone knows the mythic status pickles have around pregnant women. I think the sour taste helps with the nausea. Cravings are just one of the amazing facets of pregnancy. I only began to crave pickles a few weeks ago.  Up until then I was fairly obsessed with grilled and boiled meat, preferably rib eye steak and turkey. Fried deli turkey is my favorite snack and recently I discovered if you wrap a pickle in fried deli turkey, you find new meaning in the word scrumptious.