Most of you campers who are family or close friends have heard the angst-ridden story of how The Reenactor's delicious canned garlic dill pickles were slammed out of winning any ribbons at the county fair last summer by self-absorbed, so-called "extension homemakers" who dissed him because of some small dots of "rust" on the lid. The sad sight of his jar of pickles, ribbon-less, in a shelf full of pickles with all manner and colors of ribbons on them, was just so sad. Even sadder was the sight that some of the other entries had clearly used artificial colors to achieve the ultimate color of green for their entry, and yet, they still were recognized with an award. But not T.R. His pickles were ostracized. There is a life lesson in this somewhere, but I'll let you all figure it out on your own.
Not to be outdone, when he pickled last summer he made sure he carefully wiped ALL salt off the lids so as to not offend the homemaker judges this year. Today was entry day, so he looked through all his leftover jars (from last year....cucumber plants are still growing this year) and selected the one that would be easiest to clean up (small bits of rust still had settled, in spite of his efforts last summer). Using a bit of sandpaper he sparkled up that lid. He was disappointed in the actual pickles themselves...thought they just didn't look right. But, since these women don't bother to TASTE the entry....just judge it on appearance (again, a life metaphor can be construed)...he decided it was okay.
Meanwhile, on a whim, I decided to whip up a batch of biscuits to enter. Since I was recognized in my youth as an award-winning baker at the Webster Co. Fair, I thought it would be fun to see how I was judged here. I made a dozen biscuits (recipe from an ancient Oklahoma 4-H cookbook) and selected the four that seemed most "alike" in appearance to enter. We had some of the leftovers for breakfast, and they were pretty darn good.
T1 and T2 and I took the entries this morning and left them at the fairgrounds. This evening we went back to see how we did. Happy news! The Reenactor's pickles won a RED RIBBON!! Ta Da! No dissing this year! A major improvement, and achievement!
Oh, and my biscuits? Blue ribbon.
Ha.
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Congrats - I want to get it on this...how did you find out about this competition?
CONGRATS TO ALL - RED AND BLUE!
It's just the county fair of our fine county. It started today. In fact, there was a woman in line ahead of me at the "baking" section who brought in probably 15 entries, and one of them was homemade whole-wheat tortillas! I was pretty impressed with that...and the brownies she brought in almost met with an unfortunate accident (me eating them right there!) Delish!
I'm considering getting a goat next year for the kids to raise and enter in the "youth goat" contest.
youth goat!!!
there is something seriously wrong with judges not TASTING the items they're juding. appearance gets you nowhere when it comes to preserving food for the winter. ok, brown canned peaches tell you something... but maybe you catch my drift. the reenactor's pickles are being savored in the good state of colorado! one jar has been stretched all winter. yum! rust went completely unnoticed.
congrats on your ribbons, one and all.
Congratulations to you both. At least with them not opening the jars. You can enjoy the red ribbon pickles. Alas, the blue ribbon biscuits are now compost.
A goat how interesting. Are you zoned for that?
We might as well be! We ought to be able to have a goat if half the neighborhood lets their bigger-than-goat dogs wander all over our yard.
Blue Ribbon Biscuits, That Guy says, is your new bike club handle. I am much impressed with your achievement! And Pickles too.
Get a goat goat goat! I love goats! So much, in fact, that I own a handbook for raising goats, which I'll gladly beh-eh-eh-queath to you. But you'll need two things: a fence and room in your heart for TWO goats. They get lonely!
In some residential areas, you can have a goat as long as it's a family pet and not a farm animal-- what's the difference, you ask? Pets stick around after the fair. Farm stock, well, doesn't.
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