Story by Alison Jean Kinney
I have the impression that grandparents know just about everything. They know about love and war, and about god and ghosts and dirty jokes. They seem to know the history of just about every obscurity, and they know everybody’s business. I’m sure my grandparents knew all that too, I was just too shy to ask.
If I’d had the nerve, I might have asked my grandma all the gnawing questions of my childhood. Like,
“Grandma, where did fried pickles come from?”
“Well, let’s see,” she’d say. “Fried pickles… that’s a long story.”
Read the full story here: Fatso’s Fried Pickles