If you know my cousin’s wife Lindsay, you already know she’s one of my absolute favourite humans. To toot her horn for a hot minute: she’s fun, she’s been like a big sister to me in a thousand little ways, she’s always made me feel like part of her family, and she’s just an all-around gem of a human. Basically, the world is a better place because Lindsay exists, and I hit the family jackpot.

Last year, we decided to tackle homemade sauce together, and… well… let’s just say we created more panic and chaos than product. We had no idea what we were doing, but we did end up with a hilarious story. Fast forward a few months, and Lindsay gifted me a jar of her homemade pickles. My life has never been the same. These pickles were crunchy, garlicky perfection. I’ve been begging her to teach me ever since.

This year, the stars aligned, and it finally happened.

There’s something beautiful about learning recipes that have been passed down for generations. Lindsay’s pickle recipe has been in her family for ages—proof that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. We secured all the essentials: perfect cucumbers (perks of my job, thank you very much), pickling salt, vinegar, loads of garlic, and fresh dill from my cousin Bev’s garden (shoutout to Bev for letting me panic-pick way too much). And of course, an army of jars.

Now, here’s the thing—Lindsay is a Type A queen. I, on the other hand, am a Type B hurricane. My advice to all my Type B girlies: keep at least one Type A in your life. They will save you from yourself. Lindsay had the plan, I had the vibes, and together we made pickle magic.

We took our time. We laughed so hard we had tears in our eyes. We told too many inappropriate jokes. We paused for ice cream breaks and ate my attempt at birria tacos (yes, pickles + tacos + ice cream is a chaotic combo but just roll with it).

Six hours later, we had 55 jars—whole dills, spears, and pickle chips—stacked and ready to keep us (and our loved ones) happy for the next year. We even prepped gifts (so, uh… if you’re on my Christmas list, act surprised).

But here’s why this day meant more than just the jars:

We made something together that will feed people we love for months to come. We used ingredients we trust. We connected over a family recipe that’s been loved for decades. And we came back to something so many of us are forgetting—the ritual of food. We didn’t host a dinner party, but we spent the entire day together, making something with our hands, laughing until our cheeks hurt, and creating memories I’ll hold forever.

So, here’s my advice: gather your people. Try something new. Or better yet, find yourself a Lindsay—someone who will teach you, laugh with you, and maybe even change your life one jar of pickles at a time.