These pickles are where it’s at!
I’ve never made my own pickles before. Except for pickled onions, but I feel like they are in a whole other category of their own. I mean you literally peel and dump some small ass onions in some balsamic vinegar and then wait two-three months and you’re done. It couldn’t be easier. Or slower. They’re a long-term investment. I love them, and really really recommend, but my good God who waits three months to have a snack?!?
These Thug Kitchen bad boy pickles are near-instant gratification. Just make them the night before and come morning, they’re good to go. Come morning, they’re ready to burn away your taste buds, like laser eye surgery burns away your retinas.*
*I have no actual knowledge of laser eye surgery, and don’t even know if it’s got anything to do with your retinas. This is just how my crude imagination thinks it works. I did try to Google it, but reading the gory details of how it actually works made me feel like passing out, so a couple of sentences in, I decided it just wasn’t worth it. Who needs facts anyways? We are entering the era of Trump, I think it’s safe to say that facts have been slung out the window.
(See how I segued nicely there? #orangelikeTrump)
(P.S. Yeah, that is the correct way to spell “segwayed.” Look that shit up)
Anyways my husband’s colleague had given him a home-grown chili pepper so I thought, YES! What better way to try this recipe out! I know it calls for 2 jalapenos, but I can’t find those fresh over here, so hey, you work with what you’ve got. So, not knowing the strength of this crazy fiery red-orange fucker I got out some disposable gloves.
Why the gloves you ask? You know why the gloves. We’ve all had that, I-thought-I-washed-my-hands-enough unfortunate eye-itching/nose-picking/private-part-wiping incident when it comes to hot hot chili peppers. Am I right, or am I right? Nothing says hot chili peppers like suddenly thinking you’re going blind coz you foolishly wiped your eye. Nothing says hot chili peppers like having to submerge your danglies in cool water in the sink for twenty minutes at someone’s party where you thought you’d be nice and help the host whip up a salsa. Embarrassing? Yes. Something you wish to repeat? No. Hence the motherfuggin’ gloves. Capich?
So I chop this tiny bastard into even tinier slivers. I’m very careful with any chili juices spraying out as I do this. I get a bit on my face. I quickly wipe it off. At some point I get a bit curious. How hot is this pepper? I give it a tiny sniff. I’m not sure what I thought I would achieve from doing this. I don’t know how spicy peppers smell. Do they even smell different? I shake my head and keep chopping. But soon I grow curious again…So I decide to have the tiniest, tiniest lick, just to see how hot the pepper is. I lick it, and….Nothing. So I lick it Again, still nothing. I take a daring bite. I wait for the heat. Nothing.
Hmm. How anticlimactic.
I get out an already opened jar of jalapenos from the fridge and throw a few in. Done. I move on and complete the recipe. It looks awesome. I’m a bit reluctant to get too excited though, after the non-heat of the previously quite exciting red-orange chili. It had even had that habanero shape, you know?
Anyways, the next day after work, so nearly 24 hours later, I have a taste. Yum, they’re really good. They are so unmistakingly ready. They are screaming out to be eaten. The carrots still have some crunch. These pickles are as hot and spicy as Satan’s balls! And really….Isn’t that what everyone looks for in a pickle?
5 Comments Add yours
Ha! I see you and I have a very similar sense of humor.
Hell yeah! 🙂
where’s the fucking recipie?
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In the fucking cookbook! 🙂