This post is all about pickles. How ever did the cucumber in brine come to depict “a jam,” as in “I am in a pickle”? Or “a muddle”? Or “a plight”?

I should imagine a brine bath would be restorative more than muddling. You know, in the spirit of preserving and rejuvenating, in the way that salt baths typically are. Thus perhaps a brine bath would be in order for a Vice President who, as the NYT today said, appeared “dyspeptic.” I know the references is to “disgruntlement,” but for me, it connotes a man with severe indigestion. I flashed back and imagined Cheney squirming with the kind of heartburn you experience from eating too many pickles. It is maybe in anticipation of this uncomfortable digestive issue that the Republicans, in negotiating the terms of the debate, insisted that the two men remain seated at a table.

As to who is the better “preserved” candidate? It is no secret that Edwards looks far younger than his 51 years. But if we stay with the pickle metaphor as implying a muddle or a plight, I would think that the older gentleman last night found himself in one time and time again. It is hard, after all, to stand in support of a platform which has put this country in the pickle that it finds itself in at the moment – here and abroad. Thus, if you actually listened (or read this morning, as I did) to the substance, I think the brine is swirling around the older one. Um, we all do listen to the substance, don’t we? Don’t we?

On 28th street there is a pickle shop, run by a man who moved to NY from Turkey some while back. He loves New York, he loves his pickles. I found the place by chance, but now I am a complete fan. Yes, it reminds me of pickles I used to buy from barrels in Polish grocery stores. Poles are fussy pickle eaters. None of this sweet vinegary stuff you buy in jars here for your burgers. We like ‘em brined and seasoned with fresh dill. But in this NY place of pickles you can get something I have never tried before: chocolate-covered pickles. It is amazing how many ways you can get into a pickle and how many ways you can get at a pickle.

(*see “forty-second street pre-election diary” post, September 22, for explanation of post)