My affection for gustatory exotica is, well, a byword. Among the food-oriented (or even -orientated) blogs I follow is Dumneazu: Ethnomusicological Eating East of Everywhere, and today’s posting, on half-sour pickles, would be wonderful even if it didn’t include this bit of lore:
Readers of this blog already know my attachment to Katz’s, the only place in the world where I would not think of complaining about paying $15 for a pastrami sandwich. The sandwich is really only a vehicle for the mustard and pickle. And the New York half-sour garlic pickle is the perfect food for the summer, hardly defined someplace between a raw veg and a salad. At Katz’s you should tip the counterman a dollar – he’ll cut your meat more generously, but more important, he’ll dump a half kilo of mixed pickles on a plate for you. It pays to tip your man at Katz’s.
Almost enough to entice me to New York. Not quite…