I haven’t ever really understood pickles. A friend I made in the city taught me about this concept of half sour, full sour – new pickles, old pickles. Pickling, I’m sure, is a centuries old tradition to keep your food across seasons and temperatures, and everyone continues to pickle everything and then eat it gleefully, discussing the crunch and texture of the pickled thing. I think even olives are pickled, a bit. Pickling is inescapable.

If you visit the Katonah farmers market, which has temporarily relocated from the John Jay Homestead to downtown Katonah, you’ll notice there is a line for one vendor in particular, a line that stretches longer more consistently than any other vendor. They are from New Jersey. And they sell pickles, olives, and other pickled things.

My experience with pickles includes another friend who would strictly drink Picklebacks on a night out, exclaiming that you cannot get a hangover from them. He couldn’t stomach anything else, so I’d be dragged into this experiment and punished with an awful vinegar aftertaste every weekend. No hangovers, though. Social media influencers even drink pickle juice, for some ungodly reason. Pickles, it seems, are everywhere these days.

Picklelicious, this NJ outfit, requires you to pronounce what you want, or you have to walk around the countless bins of pickled things to point at them. Wasabi pickle chips, gherkins, cornichon, and many, many olives. Giardiniera, which I have yet to properly articulate but enjoy eating, is hot but not spicy: cauliflower, carrots, celery, peppers.

They are the stroller-ridden and strangely parkable farmers market every Saturday, from 9:00pm to 2:00pm, behind Coldwell Banker at 202 Katonah Ave, Katonah, NY.