As promised (see Potato Salad)…Pickles.

I DO NOT LIKE PICKLES. Did I say that strongly enough for everyone to get it? Perhaps one more time – I DO NOT like pickles. Or pickle residue that might be left by the pickles on bread, on a plate, on a hamburger, etc. I would use the “H” word, but will refrain from such strong language, although that is how I feel about pickles.

Sweet. Dill. Slices. Chips. Whole. Relish. It does not matter; I feel the same about all of them. My issue is not a texture-thing for me (like it is with mushrooms). It’s a taste-thing, and even more specifically, it’s a memory-thing. Let me explain…

When my cousin and I, you remember SS, were young we loved pickles. One summer day, I think we were about six years old (maybe seven or eight), we were at Nana’s house (our grandmother) enjoying the day. It was lunch time and Nana fixed us whatever we were having for lunch that day, with a side of a few sweet baby Gershwin pickles. SS and I went out to the backyard to enjoy our lunch and the breeze under the avocado tree on a warm summer day. We ate our lunch and savored our pickles.

We finished, but still wanted more pickles. Nana was sitting in the living room watching one of her soaps, probably As the World Turns at lunch time, we asked if we could have a few more. She said yes, so SS and I went to the refrigerator and helped ourselves to what was left in the jar, not much since there was only about a 1/3 of a jar left. This round was more delicious than the first round! We wanted more!

We knew Nana was distracted with her soap opera, and we also knew there was a brand new jar sitting in the cool refrigerator calling our name. We snuck in the back door by the refrigerator (on the back porch) and helped ourselves to the new jar! We went back out to the backyard, opened the jar somehow and polished it off in no time! I think I ate more than SS, because to this day my memory of the “pickle incident” is stronger than hers.

The problem came a few hours later when we both had such bad stomach aches that we were miserable! I just remember being on the couch in the living room and rolling around clutching my swollen, aching belly moaning from the pain of the pickles!

Since that day, no more pickles for me. I don’t care what type they are. I think SS is back to eating pickles, but not me.

I have tried this technique with other things that I have wanted to stop eating – chocolate cake, chocolate chip cookie dough, Cheez-Its – but it just doesn’t seem to work. Although I may regret the quantity I have eaten in one serving of these things, I still have the crazing down the road. It’s only worked with pickles.

So that’s the pickle story from all those years ago, I do think the memory is probably worse than the taste at this point, but I’m not willing to take the chance.

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