One recipe. One release. One thousand numbered jars — hand-blended with blanco tequila, agave, pasilla chile and warm Mexican spice. When the allocation closes, it closes.
Pickle martinis. Pickleback shots. Pickleball courts on every block. The country leaned in — we just made it sharper.
Every jar follows the same gospel — measured by the gram, not by the rule. This is what goes in.
No vats. No shortcuts. Three steps, executed with the patience of a vintner and the manners of an outlaw.
Pasilla, allspice, coriander, clove and cinnamon are dry-toasted to wake the oils, then bloomed in warm apple vinegar.
Blanco tequila and agave are folded into the cooled brine. Cucumber and shallot are packed by hand, jar by jar.
Each jar rests three weeks in the dark. We pull the seal only when the brine glows the right shade of amber.
One thousand numbered jars. Signed, hand-sealed, shipped in a felt-lined box. Allocation-based — first claimed, first shipped. When they're gone, they're gone.
Not a pickle. A 21-day, hand-blended ritual sealed in glass — shipped in a felt-lined keepsake box with a numbered certificate of authenticity, signed by the maker.
Roughly the price of two craft cocktails — but this one shows up in a box, lasts six months in the fridge, and serves twelve.
A single face for a single release. No focus group. No second opinion.
Part poet, part gunslinger. He rides for one jar and one jar only — and he'd like to pour you a shot.
Your cart is empty.