LICENSE TO DILL

My house stinks these days. You read that right: It stinks.

But it’s a good stink. A delightful stink of vinegars and herbs and spices — garlic, dill, cumin, cardamom, caraway — the olfactory evidence of my new passion: pickling.

Well, not exactly a passion. When I was a kid, I would drop by the local deli, where fat green-and-yellow kosher pickles bobbed in a wooden barrel filled with vinegar and spice brine. I would stick my nose into the barrel and sniff the brine, then fish a promising pickle out with tongs, put it in a wax) served with sushi. That’s the short list. I’m definitely a sour-not-sweet guy, taste buds-wise at least.