Baki Pickle Novels & Stories

My eyes scanned the shelves. No pickles. I frowned. I checked again. There was nothing. I walked toward the next aisle. Nothing. I checked another, still nothing. I walked back to the cashier. "Where are the pickles?" The cashier finally looked up. "Sorry?" "Pickles. Do you have any?" He pointed toward the back. "Try aisle five." I practically ran there, and then I saw them. A whole shelf. I grabbed a jar. Then another and another. I stopped.

The boys don’t hesitate to make fun of Georgia, Jackie, and me because we won't stop clawing at every single piece of food we can find. I join Georgia and Jackie in the kitchen where they are making pizza with pickles—apparently, that’s the only thing they feel like eating right now. I steal one of the pickles Jackie is slicing and bite into it. It's not exactly yummy, but it's incredibly satisfying. Jackie and Georgia stop what they're doing and look at me, stunned. “What?” “Baby, you hate pickles more than you hate Jake,” Georgia says, and Jackie bursts out laughing.

It was still a little early so I decided to take a shower before coming back downstairs to make breakfast. Deciding to make something simple today, I went with chicken and bacon pasta. Few minutes later it was ready. Going up, I banged on Bryson's door, "Breakfast is ready pickles" I said walking away without waiting for a reply, smiling at the familiar nickname he oh so hates. He was already up, Bryson loved eating pickles when we were younger, but now he loathes them. Always pulling a face of disgust whenever he sees them. I then decided to start calling him pickles, knowing how much he hates it makes it so worth it.

Kids these days, what can I say? "Well?" She asked., raising a brow. "Oh, damn!" I exclaimed. "What is this? It's so freaking delicious!" "Isn't it," She smiled. "It's nothing actually. Some greens, lettuce, basil, cherry tomatoes some rock salt, and black pepper, tossed together in extra virgin olive oil. And she also adds tiny pieces of bread in it that she keeps soaked in olive oil. Kind of bread pickle thing. My mom's Italian you know," "Ah, I figured," I said, taking another bite. "That's why the olive oil,"

The cheese seemed to melt at his touch, ready to embrace the warmth of the pan. With a devious smile, Daniel said, "Now, it's time for the secret ingredient." He reached for a jar of pickles, its tangy aroma filling the air. He sliced them into thin rounds, carefully arranging them over the cheese. It was an unexpected twist, one that intrigued me. "What's the story behind the pickles?" I asked, genuinely curious. Daniel paused, as if pondering the question, before replying, "Well, they add a delightful tanginess to the sandwich. Plus, I have fond childhood memories of enjoying grilled cheese sandwiches with pickles. It's a little something that makes it unique. Mum made the best sandwiches

"You made them?" "Yeah, when I was at Grandpa's house to keep Lauren company. Since I had nothing to do, I asked Mr. Gorham to buy ingredients and pickled a lot. They're all stored in the fridge." Alyssa pressed her lips together. "Don't think I made them for you. They're for Grandpa. He loves pickles. He can't enjoy his meals without them." Jasper's heart warmed. He squeezed her waist with his hands and lifted her onto his thigh. His Adam's apple bobbed. "Who's got such a considerate and sensible wife?"

Eight of them. Each one filled with a different variety of pickles. Lemon, mango, garlic, gongura, bitter tamarind, amla, green chili, and one she hadn’t tasted in years—her mother’s special brinjal-mustard pickle. Her throat tightened. She picked up that last jar carefully and opened the lid. The moment the scent hit her, her eyes widened. Tears pricked her lashes. “This… this is exactly like dhadhi used to make…” she whispered.

She drank half of her tea before she could talk. “Oh no! Are you okay?” Ira looked at Emmy concerned. “I’m good and those are hot but so good!” The relief was clear on Ira’s face. “Oh good. Be careful. I brought some ranch for you to dip them in. That should help with the tempature of them.” “Thank you, Ira!” Emmy said with a smile as she started blowing on the pickle. “Don’t come between a pregnant woman and her food.” I mumbled as I took a pickle and gently ate it.

It didn’t taste right so I got up and picked out the peanut butter and dipped the pickle in it before I moaned at the taste. “Leslie, I need…” Isaac froze when he entered the kitchen before, he stared at what was in my hand. “Jesus Christ! What are you eating? Is that pickles?! With peanut butter?!” “I was hungry.” I replied as I cleaned my mouth. Isaac grabbed the peanut butter and whined. “Why are you eating peanut butter and pickle in the first place? You hate both of it.” Isaac said as I grabbed the jar. “Leave me alone, let me drown in my misery!” I cried as I dipped the pickle in the peanut butter.

I was ready to conquer that family, but not before bringing some Turkish food for the meeting and çay (Turkish tea). I told Giulia I was going and stopped by Copacabana in search of Baklava, a pistachio puff pastry dessert. The Basha restaurant had baklava, despite being Lebanese. Everything was almost ready when I decided I should give it to Giulia's mother. I walked around a bit more and found çandaylik, our famous Turkish kettles. I asked the girl to wrap it for me. She stared at me insistently. It didn't take her long to ask.