My friend Maureen McHugh asked about pickled turnips, so I thought I'd blog the mother effers.
I effing love these things.
I first had them at Nate's Deli on 25th Street here in Cleveland. They give you a little plate with hot peppers and pickled turnips with your lunch. I always ask Jackie the kick-ass waitress for more turnips.
"Can I get extra turnips, please?"
I put 'em on my shish tawook sandwich along with extra garlic mayo. I've tried to pickle my own turnips, but they are never as good as the ones at Nate's. Here's a recipe that I will probably try. I try making my own about once or twice a year and end up eating my pickled turnips and thinking that they are okay but not like Nate's.
One of my goodliest buds in the whole world bought me the jar of pickled turnips pictured here. Amy* and me have eaten plenty of shish tawooks at Nate's. Her office used to be right across the street. They had Pez dispensers there and a cool dog that would lean on me whenever I came in.
"Hey, this dog's leaning on me."
Now she works in the most beautiful place in the world. I am glad for that, but I will miss hijacking her from the PezDog office and dragging her to Nate's.
The jar turnips are good, but not as good as when I'm with the regular Amy at Nate's and we're talking about writing stories and writers and shit. Still, I pile those mothers on about any sandwich you can think of and eat 'em and eat 'em and eat 'em.
I so love you people. I am sorta sad now.
*Click on that link there and you will see one of the best blog entries of all time and you will understand why Amy is one of my goodliest buds.