I may be a pickle snob on some level. I love them in slices or spears or whole (my favorite), however I seem to be picky about the texture. Smooth and crisp, never mushy or grainy. When I was living and working at a youth camp as a vegetarian (often the only one on the grounds at one time), food became an occasional issue. However, the large, crispy slices never disappointed as my table always seemed to go through more than the others. As a child I remember sitting beside my grandma and devouring these crunchy morsels, a love we shared.

I am not sweet pickle person, despite my great love of pickles. Dill and kosher seem ready to make my pickle-loving heart sing. For Christmas my mother has already threatened to get me an entire huge jar. It may have something to do with the almost empty jar of old-fashioned brine pickles currently sitting in my room. Pickles were one of the few things in my life that have remained constant through the transition from an omnivore to a vegetarian. I even eat them occasionally battered and deep-fried.

So crack open an icy cold jar of beautiful, juicy pickles, whether homemade or not.