Pickled peppers: The common denominator

Sometimes, the truth takes a moment to sink in before finally ringing true. Like when my friend Chloe suggested that sandwiches are basically America’s version of sushi. At the time, I happily took it as a compliment on the chicken sandwich I’d just made for her. But the more I thought about it, I realized she had quite a point. Both sushi and sandwiches — composed of myriad pieces, each one of which requires a different process to create — represent pinnacles of compound complexity.

Her sandwich, for example, contained a blend of light and dark meat that I hand-peeled from a high-end rotisserie chicken and refried in olive oil with slivers of garlic. That chicken required a multi-step process of its own just to become a single layer in a matrix of complex components. Similarly, pickles require a recipe of their own. Chloe’s sandwich contained a sliced sweet pepper that had been pickled in the same jar as freshly roasted jalapenos. It absorbed the menacing flavor of the jalapenos without the punch. As it happens, there’s a place for pickles in sushi as well.

My first cooking job ever was as a sandwich maker. I excelled. At about the same time, I took my first cooking class, a 10-week course on sushi-making. That was 38 years ago, but the many lessons of that job and that class have remained fresh in my mind, such as never to argue with a waiter who’s high on cocaine. Or, in the case of making sushi, the never-ending chore of hand-fanning the rice while simultaneously paddle-fluffing it with the other hand. Once cooled, we would gently cut in the seasoned vinegar using precise paddle motions that were developed to avoid crushing the grains of rice.

On the surface, making a pot of rice may not seem to have much in common with breadmaking. But both processes share paramount cultural and nutritional importance in their respective societies of origin. Rice is the dietary backbone of Asia, and there are countless regional variations on how it’s prepared and served. In America, bread is considered the greatest thing since sliced bread.

I remember the frustration I felt during week two of my sushi class. After mastering rice the week prior, I was ready to start rolling up fish. Instead, we pickled daikon radish and ginger. In my youthful state of impatience, I didn’t appreciate the essential importance of the pickle, be it in sushi, a sandwich or any other bite you take.

Whatever the context, the job of the pickle is always the same: to add a burst of acid that cuts through the richness of the bite, like a sip of wine with a mouthful of cheese.

I would be remiss not to discuss the condiments. In the world of sushi, of course, soy sauce and wasabi rule. And they aren’t afraid of mayo. On the sandwich, we have mustard, which confers a fire similar to that of wasabi, and mayo as well. All told, both sushi and sandwiches might contain pickles, proteins, mayo and mustard or wasabi, held together by culturally appropriate complex carbohydrates.

Every non-rookie sandwich maker knows the bread must be toasted in order to not be made soggy by the condiments and pickles. But sometimes, that crusted bread can cut the inside of your mouth. I have a trick that solves this problem in a breathtaking fashion.

Put two slices of bread in a toaster oven, one atop the other, so they’re pressed together like an empty sandwich. The outer sides of each slice will get toasted, while the in-facing sides remain soft. When it’s time to make your sandwich, reverse the orientation so you can lather the untoasted sides with mayo and other condiments. The toasted sides won’t get soggy, and the sides that meet your mouth will be as soft as the day the loaf was sliced. Props to Steve Elliot of Lifeline Farm in Victor, Montana, for teaching me this life-changing trick.

Speaking of life-changing, today’s recipe is for the jar of pickled carrots and peppers that added so much pizazz to Chloe’s chicken sandwich. The contents of this jar are as versatile as hot sauce but crunchier. Alas, teaching you how to pickle is more responsibility than my lawyers will allow me to take on. However, on the off chance that you already know the basics of pickling — or can read the instructions on a box of Mason jar lids — I want to present you with the recipe. Follow it if you can.

Pickled peppers and carrots

The peppers will deliver sweetness and spiciness, while the carrots bestow their earthy crunch. Altogether, the contents of this jar can improve nearly any meal.

 For each quart jar:

• 1 tablespoon mustard seeds
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2 tablespoons sugar
• 2 cups carrots, cut into disks
• Four jalapeno peppers, stems
• removed, flame roasted until
• the skins blacken
• Four sweet peppers, stems
• removed

 For the brine:

• Equal parts water and apple
• cider vinegar

 Notes:

Add the mustard seeds, salt and sugar to the jars. Then add the carrots and peppers. Heat the brine (2 cups per jar) and pour it into the jars. Process in a water bath according to the instructions included on a box of Mason jar lids.