By August is approaching and with it the beginning of the end of summer, which I resist every year with the futile determination of a woman who knows that September means school and lesson plans and the annual confrontation with a new batch of sixteen-year-olds who have been told that reading is obsolete. It is not obsolete. I will make this case again. I will make it for as many Septembers as I am given.
I pickled cucumbers this week — the small, knobbly kirby cucumbers from the farm stand, done up in a garlic-dill brine that is Sylvia's recipe, which is also every Jewish grandmother's recipe, because there is essentially one recipe for Jewish pickles and it has been unchanged since the Lower East Side in 1905. Half-sour, the way God intended. Full-sour is for people who have given up on joy. I made twelve jars and lined them up on the counter and felt the satisfying weight of preservation — of taking a thing that is good now and making it last.
Marvin and I watched a movie on Saturday — an old one, "Some Like It Hot," which Marvin has seen possibly thirty times and which still makes him laugh. He laughed at the same jokes he has always laughed at, and the laughter was real and full and Marvin, and I sat next to him on the couch and laughed too, not because the movie is that funny (it is funny, but I've also seen it thirty times) but because his laughter is the sound of him, the essential Marvin sound, and I want to hear it as many times as I can. He fell asleep before the end. I watched the rest alone and left him sleeping on the couch with a blanket over his legs because waking him felt wrong — he was peaceful, and peace is not something I interrupt.
Standing at the counter with twelve jars of half-sours lined up like a small battalion against September, I kept thinking about how many ways there are to pickle something — to say, this is good now, and I refuse to let it disappear entirely. The Khmer pickled vegetable salad I’ve been making alongside Sylvia’s brine does something different but equally honest: it’s quicker, brighter, no canning required, and it puts the same tangy, garlicky logic to work on whatever the farm stand hands you. If you’re already in a pickling frame of mind — if you understand, bone-deep, why we bother — this one will feel immediately like yours.
Khmer Pickled Vegetable Salad
Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 1 hr 20 min (includes pickling) | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 1 cup rice vinegar
- 1/4 cup sugar
- 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
- 2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
- 1 teaspoon fresh ginger, grated
- 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
- 2 medium carrots, peeled and julienned
- 1 medium daikon radish, peeled and julienned
- 1 English cucumber, thinly sliced
- 1/2 small red onion, thinly sliced
- 1 cup green cabbage, thinly shredded
- 2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, roughly chopped
- 2 tablespoons fresh mint leaves
- 1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds
- 1 lime, cut into wedges, for serving
Instructions
- Make the brine. In a small saucepan over medium heat, combine the rice vinegar, sugar, and salt. Stir until the sugar and salt are fully dissolved, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the garlic, ginger, and red pepper flakes. Let cool to room temperature.
- Prep the vegetables. Julienne the carrots and daikon, thinly slice the cucumber and red onion, and shred the cabbage. Place all vegetables in a large bowl or divide among jars.
- Pickle. Pour the cooled brine over the vegetables. Toss to coat evenly. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour, or up to 24 hours — the longer they sit, the more deeply flavored they become.
- Finish and serve. Just before serving, drain off most of the brine (leave a few tablespoons for flavor). Toss the pickled vegetables with the cilantro and mint. Transfer to a serving platter, scatter sesame seeds over the top, and serve with lime wedges alongside.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 65 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 1g | Carbs: 13g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 320mg