A love affair

It all started on a long trip that took me to Eastern Europe. Flying from that hideous airport Stanstead and arriving at that moderately less hideous Leonardo da Vinci - Fiumicino Airport in Rome, an extended back packer trip had begun.

From Rome it was a lazy stroll down to Brindisi in the Mediterranean heat and then across to Greece for a month long dig around the Peleponnese and the islands. Back up through Bulgaria to Romania and finally onto Eastern Europe where I suddenly found a love that I just couldn’t keep my hands off.

I first got a taste for the little beast somewhere in a field located between Budapest and Prague. A little old lady in some type of gostilna had encouraged us to meet. It wasn’t love at first sight, but when I wrapped my lips around that Znojmo gherkin, I knew I had found a love of my life.

From Prague to Bratislava, Krakow, Warsaw and throughout the ex-Yugoslav republics I have tasted the very best that the world has to offer in the humble and beautiful gherkin (Cucumis Sativus, if you happen to be a weekend gardener).

The variance in pickling, the variety of vinegars used, the dill, the mustard seeds, the spices. For every village east of Austria, another variation of the gherkin exists.

At the click of your fingers you can order any amount of gherkins, served with a pate, capsicum relish, or some cured meats and cheeses worth their weight in gold.

But Australians for the most part have absolutely no discerning taste when it comes to selecting a good gherkin. You’ll go into any Coles or Woolworths and buy those awful things (which they dare to call ‘pickles’ for goodness sake) which are soaked in sugar! Of all the things in the world - I mean pickled onions are one thing – but the gherkin is something entirely different.

The worst ones are those imported from India. Apparently that’s were the pickled gherkin started, which makes me think that after a good few centuries these gherkin makers are starting to get a bit lazy. They are often far too bitter and many a time I have had some god-awful stomach cramp from their bad quality.

It’s an addiction that has been impossible to break and often you’ll find me (like I was today) poking around some type of central/eastern European small goods establishment and watering at the mouth with the prospect of trying a gherkin packaged up and imported from some obscure place north of the Danube River.

Thinking about it, a gherkin is a lot like a theatre production. The message is – stay away from those supermarket-like productions – they’ll make you sick.