Pickle Me Pete: He Fried for Your Dins

Oh, how I do love pickles.  So imagine my glee when I saw this bright beacon of brine across Bryant Park Shoppes one recent night:

I could barely find words to express my joy over Instagram.  I even went out of my way to hunt them down during business hours to actually try them! 

My ebullient joy upon ordering my skewer of fried pickle slices was such that the owner of the stand gave me a business card so I could follow Pickle Me Pete around to street fairs throughout the city when street fair season kicks in again.  And oh, I will.

How were the pickles?  Well, my culinary companion and I chose the unlikely side sauce of “BBQ” sauce (I would have gone with Ranch, but for my companion’s aversion to the substance) and it was heavenly.  Sitting at a table by the Bryant Park fountain (and some unruly drunk teenagers), loudly proclaiming it “the best day of my life,” despite burning the back of my mouth rather badly on one of the hot, fried pickles.

So now you have seen the gospel of Pickle Me Pete.  Of all the fried pickles I have had in my life, I boldly proclaim these to be the best.  (Note:  I have had fried pickles on two other occasions, which qualifies me as an expert.  Well, have YOU ever had fried pickles?  HAVE YA?)

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