Pickles and Pop

Who does that?

If it were up to my husband, his diet would consist solely of pickles and pop. Not a bad name for a vaudeville act. But seriously, my husband can make a jar of pickles disappear faster than you can say, “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.”

In less than a two day period he had eaten an entire jar of pickles. Who does that? It perplexed me so, that I simply had to inquire whether or not he was pregnant, and if the baby had started to kick. He even tried to justify this amazing feat by saying he needed to replenish his sodium intake. I then handed him the salt shaker—and removed the cap.

I admire his gusto. And justification or not, there is no one on this sphere who has taught me more about the enjoyment of food than my husband. 

I grew up in a family of foodies where the holidays were a spectacular display of skill and love. However, my family was rather reserved and wouldn’t dream of emptying a jar of pickles. Mixed party nuts, maybe.

Now I did have an uncle who loved to entertain his nieces and nephews by slathering on a thick layer of mustard atop his slice of chocolate cake. It never got old.

As for me, I have always had a disciplined approach to food. That is, until recently. Do I feel the slightest bit guilty? No. None whatsoever. I once heard that guilt is a synthetic emotion. Are we inherently born with a sense of guilt, or is it a learned behavior?

Thanks to my husband, I now have a more balanced association with food, where potato chips and Vegenaise can be found closer to the bottom of my food pyramid. And on those fun occasions where I do overindulge, I apply a wise saying my father used to say: “Sometimes you need to do something in order to know why you don’t do it.” This always seems to recalibrate my cravings.

The next time you walk by a jar of pickles, let it be a symbolic reminder to loosen up your pantaloons and enjoy your food. Bon appétit!