It looks like a science experiment. It's not meant to be that colour. It comes in a jar bigger than your head. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you pickled okra.
This was one of the first recipes I cooked up from the Jams, Pickles and Preserves my ma and pa gave me for Christmas. It's taken me this long to post about it because you have to let the okra sit for a month before you get to actually eat it.
The only downside for pickled okra is that month-long wait - the actual making of it is devilishly simple: boil up some vinegar, okra, coriander, chilli and fried onions, bottle it, and you're away. Easy.
If you're not an okra lover, this isn't the dish to convince you of its redeeming features. Most okra-phobes fear it on the basis of its sliminess and if that sounds like you, you're not going to like this recipe okra one tiny wee bit. If you are an okra fan though, you might just love it even more once it's been left in the cupboard for a few weeks to keep improving. Serious.
After staring up at the bottled okra for a month like a Dickensian orphan outside a baker's shop at Christmas time, I finally got to crack into it.
It was a wonder - a nice toothsome resistance to the okra itself, light spice from the coriander seeds, and a nice sharp tang that meant I could happily use it as a side dish, on oatcakes, or just out of the jar with a spoon when I thought no-one was looking.
I was quietly impressed. Alright, not so quietly - I think I ate the whole jar in a matter of days.
So, you're thinking, 'but why's it black?' Yeah, that's my bad. Turns out that using Swedish black salt may not have been the sharpest idea...