For a second, I thought I spied a jar of Mrs. Fisher's famed pickled beets in CW's stores...
100 years ago when Lesiure Suit Larry and I posed as productive, rational adults - I was exposed to pickled beets! I had never seen them before. When, out of what little goodness lurked in Larry's black heart - he offered me some ... I politely told him to shove them up his ass. Pickles - real pickles - are an art form. I have been gagged on some truly rotten pickled vegetables made by amateurs that PP wouldn't feed to the pigs. But Larry? He just smiled, slammed a few - and then flew out the door to make sales calls.
With Larry gone I could finally get some work done - and later was throwing some paperwork on his desk when I spied the beets. Checking to make sure the coast was clear - I tentatively fished one out and ate it.
I lost control of myself and before I knew it I had polished off the whole bottle! When Larry came back at the end of the day he was livid. "Ya fuggin pig," he said incredulously, "Ya ate the entire jar! What kind of fat, selfish toad does something like that?"
I hung my head in shame. "Look - I'm sorry, alright? Where did you get them? I will go down and buy us a flat of 'em! How's that grab ya?"
Well...it turned out that Larry's Mom had made them. She lived up in Dawson Creek and grew the beets in the garden and pickled them according to some secret recipe that made her a major power broker in the town. Legend had it that she corrupted otherwise sterling RCMP officers by bribing her way out of traffic tickets with them. Neighbours sold their kids to her as slave labour in return for for payment in beets. She had the biggest crop of beets in town but it was never enough. As a kid even Larry got in on her action by using the beets as legal tender as he wheeled and dealed with his friends and neighbours. This jar was from her last crop - as she had finally sold her house and moved into an old folks home. It was the worst guilt trip I ever went on.
When he finished, he shuffled out as if he were in some kind of broken hearted trance. I went back to my office and sat down, feeling like the world's biggest shit. I had my back to the office window so I didn't see Larry quietly pull his truck up to it - and I nearly jumped out of my skin when he laid on the horn!
Out in the parking lot he smiled, held up another jar of beets he must have had stashed in his truck - and gave me the finger before peeling out! The next day when I politely asked if he might have a spare jar kicking about and that I was willing to bargain -generously! - he told me to get stuffed! Can you imagine the bloody nerve?
I would be a rich man if I had a dime for every time this happened...HAR HAR HAR!
And so I find myself in desperate circumstances today - craving good pickled beets! If anyone can make pickled beets the way Mrs. Fisher did, and can spare a jar for poor ol' starving Glen... can ya ship some to me? (Prepaid, please) to:
Dr. Glen Horace Fithie
636 Loonshit Lagoon
(Uncle Bob, Wirecutter and BW are warned in advance that no river pickles will be accepted and will be returned to sender unopened. That joke only works once and is in very poor taste!)