Most kids growing up like sweet pickles. (I guess some places call them bread and butter pickles or something innocuous like that.) I thought they'd be awesome, after all- I like bread and butter.
Yuck. Icky. EW.
Hand me a kosher dill pickle any day of the week. That salty goodness, a nice snappy crunch, and the brine is heavenly.
Even better, hand me one of the type of pickles my Mom religiously puts away every year. She grows her own grape leaves to put in the jar! They have that perfect crunchy goodness that just makes my mouth water to think about them.
Growing up, Mom used to give us a "family night" of sorts. Usually, Dad would be off working somewhere and Mom would make a huge tray of cheese, olives, homemade baby pickles, and then a ton of those chicken flavored crackers and my brothers and I would sit around, late into the night, watching Dr. Who. (The good Dr. Who- you know the series I'm talking about- there was a wild-eyed guy named Tom Baker running about in a scarf...) I think I was about seven or so, but I still remember the series finale.
And those were salty pickles.
And that's why sweet pickles seriously suck a purple gannon.
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