For years as a small child we’d make an annual pilgrimage to the Mason Rouge, my grandfather’s ramshackle eclectic beach house located about a mile off the beach right where the Colorado River empties (before the re-routing into the bay) into the Gulf of Mexico.
It was a humble structure, in reality what most of us in the West would call a pole barn, framed in with 2x4s and plywood covered, though half the first floor was a screened in porch where we ate at a red checkered tablecloth-covered picnic table – a long one – and fought for a seat on the porch swing.
The place was destroyed to the ‘poles’ (telephone poles sunk in concrete) by a number of big storms, Celia (1970) the first one I genuinely remember; each time Pa-Pa (paw-paw) built it back a little bigger, finally even adding an indoor shower and bathroom.
We ate many a fine meal of fresh boiled and picked crab, shrimp of all sorts just off the boat, and fish that were swimming only hours before dinner at that table.
Now and then some heretofore unknown distant relative would show up toting a styrofoam cooler of cheap beer (masterfully iced), itching to fish or at least eat what’d been caught in the past day or two. Most were diehard coastal Texans, folks who’d worked hard, survived the depression and still tended family gardens under the hot Texas sun.
Now and then they’d tote along something from the garden to contribute to the meal – we enjoyed a number of very fine pots of beans and peas, relishes, pickles, and piccalillis, though my favorites were the mouth puckering, old fashioned mustard pickles that would show up now and again.
The recipes varied a bit, but always seemed to be based around pickling cucumbers, green tomatoes and cauliflower with whatever was handy thrown in for good measure. With that impossibly tart brine, they were a true explosion of flavor, offering a bit of sweet, salty, bitter from the mustard and tang of the vinegar – damn, those were great. (Makes my mouth water right now just to write that last paragraph…).
All that said, I was walking through a nearby farmers market last weekend and passed a booth where they were selling a pretty darned passable mustard pickle. They were good enough to trigger the cascade of memories above, and prompted a call to chef Libby in Austin to beg for her best Mustard Pickle recipe to use up the last of the pickling cucumbers I’d recently found.
She offered up her Grandma T’s Mustard Pickle recipe and said they’re the best she’s ever tasted anywhere. Nuff said.
4 cups onions
4 cups pickling cucumbers
4 cups small to medium green tomatoes
1 cauliflower
1 red sweet bell pepper
1 green bell pepper
1 gallon water
2 cups pickling salt4 cups sugar
2/3 cup mustard
3 tbsp. mustard seed
3 tbsp. celery seed
1/2 tsp. ground cloves
4 and 1/2 cups white vinegar
Cut and brine. Trim and wash the vegetables, then cut into roughly 1-inch pieces and combine in a large bowl. Sprinkle with the pickling salt and pour the water in; stir to dissolve the salt.
Put a platter or plate over the vegetables to keep them completely submerged; cover with a dish towel and let soak at room temp for 24 hours.
Sterilize a dozen pint canning jars.
Boil and drain. The next day, heat the entire vegetable mixture to boiling, then remove from heat, drain (they’re better if you don’t rinse), and pack immediately into the sterilized jars.
Make the mustard magic. Now combine the sugar, mustard, mustard seed, celery seed, cloves and vinegar in a large pot; simmer until the mixture starts to thicken. Pour into each jar over the vegetables, taking care to remove the air bubbles and leaving 1/4-inch headspace; now wipe the rims and seal.
Process for 10 minutes in a standard hot water bath (adjust as needed for altitude). Let rest for 5 minutes in the hot water off the heat, then remove to a draft-free counter to cool for 24 hours. Check the seals, wipe ‘em off and store.
Grandma T apparently says you have to wait at least two weeks for the full flavor to develop; these should keep a year in optimal storage.
Enjoy.
