Kim McCray, returned Peace Corps volunteer, ends her food trilogy with a pickle memory. Thanks Kim, for sharing, and Peace Corps volunteers, we'd love to hear from more of you!
This
is the Pickle Project, so it is only fitting that I end this list with a pickle
memory.
Toward
the end of my service I agreed to participate in “Adopt-A-Cluster”, a practice
developed by Peace Corps to encouraged seasoned, veteran volunteers to visit
the brand-new trainee groups, (clusters), at their training sites. Because the trainees had been
interacting almost exclusively with Peace Corps staff and host-country
nationals up to this point, getting the opportunity to pick the brains of
current volunteers and get feel for the practicalities of Peace Corps life
beyond the technicalities of training was invaluable.
So,
with fond memories of the volunteer who had adopted my cluster two years
before, I agreed to help with the project and boarded a train to Kyiv and then
caught a bus and headed north to the city of Chernihiv. A Ukrainian Peace Corps staff member
met me at the bus stop on an especially cold and dark night and explained to me
the plans for the next day as we walked quickly down a bumpy unlit sidewalk and
then weaved our way through a maze of Soviet high-rise apartment
buildings. Soon enough we arrived
at our destination and rang the buzzer.
A young woman answered the door, and pattering up behind her came an
elderly woman. We were introduced – her name was Luibov – and I learned that
Luibov would be hosting me for the next two nights. The Peace Corps staff member then gave me a piece of paper
with directions to where I was supposed to go the next morning, and left. Luibov was cheerful and I was very
pleased to find that she spoke only Russian (I had been trained and continued
to study Russian, but often heard Ukrainian or the Russian-Ukrainian blend “Surjik”
at my site, so communicating with someone who only used Russian was always a
relief). It was late however, so
we did not talk much; she showed me to the living room where I was to sleep on
the couch, and said goodnight.
The
next morning I found a typical Ukrainian breakfast spread for me on the table –
buttered bread, slices of cheese and sausage, peach juice, and a bowl of
pickles. Ten minutes later, I had
eaten three large dill pickles and packed two more for my lunch. They were very
simply the best pickles I have ever had in my life. Perfectly crunchy and tart but with a sweetness I’d never
tasted before or since. That night
I cleaned the bowl once again and asked for the recipe. In typical Ukrainian fashion, Luibov
didn’t write it down but instead tried to explain the process verbally. I knew I was in trouble when early on
in her explanation she said “…then I add that brown seed…I don’t remember what
it’s called…”
Several minutes later she finished giving me her “recipe”, and while I had a
vague notion of what she had done, I definitely had not grasped enough details
to duplicate her process. Now,
more than three years later, I remember nothing about that recipe except the
brown mystery seed.
The
next morning, as I was packing my bag to leave, Luibov approached me with a
photo in a frame and a box and told me to sit down. I was worried that if I didn’t leave soon I might miss my
train, but I agreed to stay a few more minutes. We sat down and Luibov opened the box. Inside were medals,
newspaper clippings, coins, and various other knick-knacks. She asked me if I knew what they were
and I guessed army memorabilia, as medals from the Great Patriotic War (WWII)
are commonplace souvenirs in Ukraine.
She smiled and shook her head and then showed me the photo. “That is me,
and that is my husband” she said. The picture was of a couple standing on a
stage in some sort of official ceremony. “We were in the KGB, the both of us,
for almost thirty years. This is us receiving an award for our excellent
service.”
Now
of course, having lived in a former Soviet country for more than two years, I
am sure that this was not my first interaction with someone who had been
affiliated with the KGB, but this was the first time I’d been made aware of
it. The shock factor hit me as I
realized that I had spent two nights under the roof of a 30 year KGB
veteran. Luibov then went on to
joke that in all those 30 years she had never actually met an American until
now. “Look at these things
Kim!” she exclaimed as she pawed through the box, “I cannot believe you are
here in my home!” I shook my head in disbelief as well and we continued to
laugh about it as I grabbed my bag and walked down the hall towards the front
door. I thanked her for her
hospitality and headed out. I hadn’t made it more than a few steps when she
called to me and scurried after me, holding out plastic baggy. I opened it –
inside was a jar of pickles. Delicious KGB pickles.
Top: Kim and Luibov
Bottom: Pyotre Petrovich Konchalovsky (b.Ukraine, 1876-1956) Still Life with Teapot and Breakfast. 1946
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