We love to fry and it shows

Recently, on my way back to Los Angeles from a wine-tasting excursion–some highlights include: Kenneth Volk Vineyards, Curtis Winery, and Tastes of the Valleys in Solvang–we stopped for a beer and snack at Hollister Brewing Company.  My pal chillindamos was interested in investigating the latest they had to sample, while I was interested in the curious listing near the top of their appetizer menu: the fried pickle.  As well, I couldn’t resist a martini; wine lover that I am, sometimes cocktail hour demands nothing other than an actual cocktail.  To my surprise they actually carry Hendrick’s, my favorite gin.

Why would you fry a pickle?  Why would you fry anything?
Well, because it tastes good, of course.  I am no stranger to the joys of frying–calamari, mozzarella cheese, potatoes, green tomatoes, ice cream, I could go on…  But this struck me as, well, pointless.  Mostly I am up for adventures of the culinary variety–still on the fence about insects–as long as there is some thought that goes into it, and, naturally, a pay off at the end.  I would argue–with myself–that the unknown or unintended ending is what makes it an adventure.  Yes, self, I would agree; however, this is a fine example of a situation where one plus one equals not two, but, er… one and one.  Does this make sense?
Perhaps my face after a taste will explain things a little better (see below).  Point is, there was a definitely a pickle under that fried coating, but there wasn’t anything necessarily new.  It’s just a pickle with a fatty jacket.
Now, you may find what I’m about to say next to be a surprise, so hold on to your hats (and pickles):  I am curious to try frying my own pickles.  It will have to wait until much later in the year when all the stars are aligned (read: when I’m at a particular cabin, which holds a particular fryer, and where the home-brew will flow like wine.)  All this to say I can possibly do it better.  Or at least make an attempt.  Hollister tried it.  I will too.  And if it doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll eat a scorpion.

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