In two days, when more cukes have ripened, I am going to attempt my favorite pickle of all times. Half sour dills. I dream of pickles from the Lower East Side from barrels and from vendors whose families have made pickles for generations. They don't travel well, spilling brine onto my kind friends' luggages. This is my small attempt to get a piece of NYC back into my kitchen.
Also, I found a neglected and enormous cucumber hiding under the leaves. We ate it with dinner and it was good.