My quest to discover Branston Pickle

Josh
Monday
9:19 pm

Being a typical American, I generally assume the British are just like us, except slightly more civil and with those charming little accents. It’s rare that I’m reminded they’re a whole other people thousands of miles away.

A few weeks ago, Twitter friend @maribiscuits mentioned that she was sitting down to a lunch of “bread, a hunk of cheese and Branston Pickle — real ploughman’s food.”

Evidently, the British have absorbed our custom of eating bread, as well as cheese, but this “Branston Pickle” was something new. Being a friend to all vegetables somehow rendered dead and unhealthy, I began a quest to find it.

I searched all over the valley. Reports came in from people in other cities that their local grocer even stocked it. I was so vociferous in my hunger for Branston Pickle, that the nation of Britain all got together and agreed to just send me a jar if I’d quit going on about it.

Luck came in the form of a small, shabbily bohemian store in the suburbs — the kind of place Jimmy Buffet would have if he were a grocer. They had both the original, and small-chunk version of Branston Pickle. I opted for the original.

Some notes, based on the outside of the jar: It’s not all pickle, at least not in the traditional sense. It also contains rutabaga, dates, onion, carrots and marrows. I’m not sure what vegetable a marrow is, but since it’s British, it’s probably made with intestines.

I got home and opened the jar, and was instantly hit with a powerful scent. The tangy and acrid vinegar leapt up from the jar, in addition to something sweet. The color was much less pickly than I’d hoped, instead being a dark, dark brown, like molasses.

Not my picture, but pretty accurate all the same.

I used a spoon to spread some on a slice of bread. It’s chunkier than relish — we’re not quite talking dice-sized pieces, but maybe lima-bean sized chunks. It was a very distinct taste. Sweeter than most off-the-shelf relishes. Almost too sweet. And the basic slice of bread was way wrong — this Branston Pickle wanted something more rough hewn.

Thanks to Mrs. Josh, a loaf of sourdough and block of extra sharp cheddar made their way into the pantry for the next night’s experiment. Dinner was half a loaf of bread, some thick chunks of cheese and a liberal dollop of Branston Pickle.

Now THAT’s how it was meant to be eaten. The salty taste of the cheese and round coolness of the sourdough was a perfect match for the cloyingly tangy-sweet sauce of Branston Pickle.

Good stuff.

I’ll be through this jar soon, and while I may not always have to stock it in the cupboard, I’ll definitely hit the store for another jar this fall.