Pickles take on global accents, fresh from the farm
Growing up in Georgia in the 1980s, I knew one kind of pickle. It was a cucumber pickle, the color of jade and intensely sweet, something you put in potato salad and not much else. It lined my grandmother's cabinets in quart jars, along with preserved figs and hot pepper vinegar, and whenever I heard talk of pickles, that's what came to mind.
Grace Lichaa's childhood pickles were different. Lichaa, whose parents immigrated to the United States from Egypt in the late '60s, recalls a Gaithersburg household in which her mother was always pickling some vegetable or another. Jars of torshi — vinegar-packed cauliflower, celery and carrot with a look of Italian giardiniera — weren't just lovely, but tempting. "I can remember reaching my whole arm into the jar — it sounds gross — and just eating it straight out of my hand," she said. "It was that good."
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