When Life Gives You Cucumbers...Burp!

This is a repost of a blog entry I did in early August  nine years ago.  I made this recipe today and realized I had to share it again. It is SO delicicious!  Enjoy!


The garden is on full throttle, those nasty hornworms seemed to have packed their little bug-hauls and moved on, so every day I wander out with my collection basket and do some picking. This was this morning's harvest. 

The cherry and grape tomatoes are my favorite and there were substantially more of them in that bowl before I walked in the back door. They are so delicious to pick and eat right off the vine. 

In our house, cucumbers usually mean one thing: the world-famous summer salad recipe dating back to Meredith's earliest day-care days. I tasted this recipe and knew I HAD to have it. So my mission this morning was to sacrifice my gorgeous cukes for this time-honored tradition. 

There is an assumption in our household that I can't cook. Granted, compared to Mr. B. and his apt pupil, Meredith, I am a rank amateur. But the truth is, I can hold my own in the kitchen and avoid either 1) starving or 2) poisoning anyone. Given the chance, I might even be able to put an entire dinner together that wouldn't be half bad. But I'm no fool. I have someone who lives for the food preparation process, all the way from grocery shopping to cleanup (sort of). I'm not looking THAT gift horse in the mouth! But cucumber salad is one of MY special recipes so when I can gain access to the kitchen without a food critic glued to my shoulder, I'm off and running. 

Once I locate the recipe (no easy feat in this house), the first step is to crisp the cucumbers. I have found this is the true secret to this recipe. The crunch adds so much. To do that you will need kosher or canning/pickling salt, ice cubes and water and at least an hour of "crisping" time. The longer you can leave them in this icy brine, the crisper they will become. 
Don't worry, you will rinse the salt later so you are in little danger of driving your blood pressure skyward (unless, of course, you have that food critic hanging around second guessing your every move and questioning your choice of utensils, ingredients, or need to make this thing in the first place). My secret? Pick a day when said food critic is not EVEN IN THE HOUSE and not due back for hours. Geez, Louise... 






The first thing to do is to peel the cucumbers and discard the ends. They need to be sliced as thinly as possible, so much easier if you have one of these handy gadgets, sometimes called a mandolin (not to be confused with the musical instrument). If you strum this baby you're going to end up at the ER. It is extremely sharp and will slice your fingers in a heartbeat. Use the plastic guard if you are smart. (Voice of experience speaking here!) Our version came to us thanks to the ingenuity of the Japanese who seem to have perfected the "As seen on TV" marketing model. This thing sells for substantially less than a genuine french mandolin but does a heck of a job. 

For legal reasons, I'm sure, it has been renamed the "Benriner", actually the new Benriner, so as not to be confused with the old Benriner, I guess. But the only thing that matters is that this thing can do a heck of a job slicing everything that crosses its sharp little blade. The picture shows a happy Japanese housewife but she's NOT using the guard that comes with it. Shortly after this picture was snapped she was probably whisked off to the hospital missing the tips of three of her fingers while screaming in agony because her lucrative hand modeling career was abruptly and so needlessly cut short. Don't make the same mistake...use the guard. 

The directions are plainly printed on the backside of the box in case you aren't sure how to use this valuable tool.

The fact that they are in Japanese should pose no problem since, of course, everyone has a fluent speaker of Japanese in their circle of friends. Actually, the addition of the instructions in English helps too. Not that you need to be a rocket scientist to figure this out but some people do benefit from that added boost of written instructions. 

Okay, now we are ready to crisp the cukes. After being sliced paper thin, layer them in a bowl with alternating layers of the kosher or pickling/ canning salt. Be generous with the salt. Most of it is going to be rinsed later. 



Put as many whole ice cubes as you have on hand on the top of the cucumbers. Whole cubes are better because they will take longer to melt and keep the mixture colder longer. The longer it stays cold, the crisper the cukes will be. 








Now pour cold water over the entire mix, filling the bowl as much as possible. This will dissolve the salt but keep it in contact with the cukes. Put the bowl in the refrigerator to slow the melting of the ice cubes and keeping the temperature at ideal "crisping" level. Trust me, you'll thank me for making you do this when you taste the difference in the cucumbers from the mushy, droopy ones that are in your neighbor's cucumber salad at the pot luck! 




Ok, this next step is for women only. We know that men are genetically incapable of filling ice cube trays so they get a pass on this one. But, you gals know how important it is to replenish those ice cube trays that you just used. Avoid the frustration of reaching for some ice for the mojitos only to find a tray with a single cube sitting lonely in there. Some might argue that with the summer we are having, this could be a life-saving tip...especially if there are mojitos or margaritas or bloody marys involved. This has been a public service announcement.


While the cukes are crisping you can make your dressing. It won't take you the full hour, unless like me you discover at the last minute that you don't have any %*@#& vegetable oil and have to make an emergency trip to the supermarket where you get caught up in conversation with your mechanic whose sister just got divorced and found out that her ex had an affair with her hairdresser and...oh, never mind. Anyway. you mix together a cup of cider vinegar, a cup of sugar, 1/2 cup of vegetable oil, celery seed (not salt!), parsley flakes and generous amounts of pepper. Slice an onion (or two) very thin...use the mandolin/benriner...and USE THE GUARD for the sake of your own hand modeling career. 

Now you are ready to drain the crisped cukes. Remember the longer you have left them to crisp the better! Pour off the the water and ice and put them on multiple layers of absorbent towels. Only use paper towels if they are heavy duty. Otherwise you will end up with a cucumber and paper towel salad...not particularly appealing unless you are desperate for fiber. Roll them up and squeeze out as much water as possible. Put the cukes in a bowl and cover with the the dressing. Refrigerate and enjoy! 






You can season with additional parsley flakes, celery seed and pepper (my favorite) but you should not need any more salt (unless you're plotting a murder by hypertension). It has plenty! 






Here is the complete recipe with just the facts: 

Ingredients: 3-4 large cucumbers 
Salt (kosher or canning/pickling) 
dressing: 1 cup sugar 
1 cup cider vinegar 
1/2 cup vegetable oil 
parsley flakes 
celery seeds 
lots of pepper 
one large (or two small) onions, thinly sliced 

Peel cucumbers and slice as thinly as possible. In large bowl layer cukes with salt between layers. Cover with ice water and ice cubes. Let sit for at least one hour, refrigerate if possible. Drain and squeeze excess water out. Mix with dressing. 

Happy Crunching!

For Better or For Worse, In Sickness and In Health...

Today is Anniversary #44. That young (and totally clueless) couple in the picture above is us on July 17, 1976.  Brendan is humming the A&W Root Beer song and we both seem to be walking into the future with our eyes closed. (Here is the song by the way: The Great A&W Root Bear Song)  Blue tuxedoes were in, as were Juliet Caps for the bride. We were truly stylin'!  

It sometimes amazes me to realize that I have been with Brendan for nearly two thirds of my life. As anyone who has been married can attest, "it ain't all sunshine and rosesbuds."  We have grown so much since then, sometimes together and sometimes apart.  

He started out the adventurer, willing to take risks: 

B: Why don't we buy  that deli in Blue Hill, ME and open a business? 

MA: Because we don't have any money and we don't know squat about running a deli business...or any other business for that matter!

Over the years, the roles have been reversed. Now I would be the one itching for an adventure that he shoots down:

MA: Now that we're retired, why don't we take a roadtrip across the country and see as many states as we can?

B: Because we would have to leave Maine and sleep in strange beds and use strange bathrooms and eat strange food and interact with new people and what would we do with the dog?... 

That's not to say we haven't had adventure in our time together. In  1977  we moved to New York City (an adventure for me but coming home for Brendan). We spent five action-packed but exhausting years living in a wonderful neighborhood in Brooklyn and commuting into Manhattan to work every day. We survived a garbage strike, a transit strike, the blizzard of 1978, and Mary Adinolfi, our next door neighbor.

Mary introduced herself the day we moved in by leaning out her front door and yelling to me, "Do you have a sister for my son Dennis?" Thankfully, I did not at the time. After a year or so of living next door, she decided that it was time for us to have a baby.  She announced loudly from her front porch that the jockey shorts I was washing and hanging on our back clothesline were strangling all of Brendan's "swimmers" and he should change to boxers. [People, I can't make this stuff up, seriously!] She lived with her husband, Vinnie, a quiet, long-suffering man who took long daily trips to "fetch the paper" and most likely get a few moments peace, the aforementioned son Dennis, and a goofy mutt Charlie who looked like Scooby-Doo and loved to sing. Mary would play opera recordings so Charlie could tackle all of the soprano arias for the entire neighborhood to enjoy. Beverly Sills he was not. Good times.

Our next adventure came five years later when, tired of the two hour work commute each way, we seized the opportunity to move to Portland ME in 1982. I was offered a position at the University of Southern Maine and within a month we were here. The transition was a bit bumpy but we were still young and flexible. Brendan set out to look for a job in a tight market during a recession. His New York experience as an international expediting agent for a multinational construction company had no comparable equivalent in this economy so just getting an interview proved painfully difficult. He ended up woefully underemployed in the beginning but we were happy to be in our beloved Maine. We got our first dog, a wacky Golden Retriever named Molly who ate everything: ant traps, Christmas tree ornaments and rug fringe, all yielding nothing worse than a burp. A year later we took a deep breath and bought a house, and in 1985, our daughter Meredith was born. We were now officially grownups. Let the real games begin.

The ups and downs came fast and furious over the years: promotions, layoffs, house renovations and emergencies,  the arrivals and departures of various dogs, cats, fish, rabbits, summer family vacations, the deaths of our parents, Meredith's milestones and daily calendars that overflowed with activities. Time seemed to accelerate. At one point we found that we were barely communicating with each other. That's when we got scared. Things had become too complacent, too easy to take for granted...and too likely to build resentment and alienation. We were drifting too far apart.

In 1992 we made the decision to renew our vows at a wonderful resort called the Balsams in New Hampshire. We picked a June weekend and stood in their lilac grove, surrounded by thousands of Monarch butterflies completing their migration north. The wife of the resort owner was our "witness" as we read our vows to each other.  

That truly was a turning point in our marriage, as we promised to always put each other first, make time to do things that we enjoy together but give each other space for our separate interests. Most importantly, we promised to keep communication open and honest.

In the interim years, we have continued to grow as a couple and as individuals. We recognize and respect each other's differences. Brendan is an introvert who cherishes order and routine. He enjoys cooking, baking, grocery shopping and maintaining the kitchen. I am an extrovert who thrives on social situations and spontaneity and detests routine housework. I like handling the finances, doing the outdoor lawn and garden work and tinkering with computers, cellphones and electronic gadgets of all kinds. [Brendan is basically a technophobe who just recently relinquished his flip phone but still keeps his new cellphone turned off at all times so no one can call him.  He has no idea how to use most of its features, nor does he care.] He hates dealing with the news. The first thing I do when I am in the car alone is turn on NPR to lap up news of the day like a sponge. We are opposites in so many ways but, knowing that, we  can work with it.

The isolation that the current pandemic has caused has been excruciating for me. To Brendan it is no big deal since he does not need the social contact the way I do. During the past six months, I have forced Brendan out of his comfort zone in only one crucial area: dealing with medical info. My breast cancer diagnosis in December mobilized him completely. He has always been uncomfortable in doctor's offices or hospitals. He went years without having routine physicals done and only began having them when I started making appointments for him. Even then, he would whine like a toddler when I made him go, and then insist that I come with him for moral support. But once he heard my diagnosis, the tables were turned. It was he who was my moral support.  And he never missed a single appointment.  Even towards the end of my radiation when, due to Covid, he wasn't even allowed in the facility, he insisted on driving me to the appointments and waiting for me in the car. He was part of every video appointment and on the other extension for the phone appointments. I know he would rather have been doing just about anything else but he knew how much I needed his support. He dropped his usual pessimist outlook in favor of cheerleading me to a positive outcome.

Has our time been together been perfect? HELL NO! There have been sullen silences, tears (always mine), retreats to opposite ends of the the house, uncomfortable discussions, stubborn opinions held fast on both sides, and times when one of us (usually me) would idly check the gas gauge in my car to see how far away I could get before my absence was noticed. But all that would pass and we would either come to a compromise or agree to disagree.

One month after we were married, my mother gave us a present. It was probably something she picked up in the local dime store, one of her favorite haunts. It sat on our dresser for over forty years until I gave it to Meredith and Kevin on their wedding day, replaced with a picture from their wedding.  

Our scorecard is mixed on how well we did over the years, but we get A's for effort.

So, as we mark another trip around the sun together, it is with an even deeper connection and commitment than that breezy, sunny July day forty four years ago. But perhaps it was a wise choice to keep our eyes closed on the trip down the aisle. It has made the trip a lot more interesting and that's a good thing. Because, it seems, we're in this for the long haul together. Happy Anniversary to us!