Has there been a food trend in the past ten years lamer than the "half-dill" pickle? Partially cured, comprehensively flawed, it is an abject failure in both concept and execution. Served primarily at upwardly-mobile sandwich shops hell-bent on becoming bistros, the half-dill betrays the pretensions of its purveyors with all the subtlety and manufactured ambiance of icicle lights at midday.
Leaving aside the inherent cowardice of such an enterprise - its unwillingness to commit, its existential flip-floppery - let me address the thing itself. Cucumbers are delicious. As are pickles. One fresh and full with the bloom of youth, the other seasoned and spry with the spice of a life well-lived. The half-dill, on the other hand, is a man without a country. Neither bracing nor briny, its flavor exists only in an indefinite quantum state - with a finish more elusive than Sasquatch - and ultimately satisfies nobody, as if one were petting Schrödinger's hapless cat. Speaking taxonomically, it is more abomination than appetizer.
A cuke divided against itself cannot stand.
Even when compromise works well and everyone leaves the negotiating table having been fed, no one is fully satisfied and all have a bad taste in their mouths. The taste is similar to that of the half-dill pickle.
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