Ever stared at a jar of store-bought pickle relish and thought, “well, that’s just sad little chunks floating in mediocrity”? I’ve spent seventeen ridiculous years perfecting what I call my “cucumber chaos theory”—the idea that roughly chopped pickles somehow taste infinitely better than precision-diced ones. My kitchen still bears the sticky residue from The Great Relish Explosion of 2019 (more on that disaster later). Sweet and spicy pickle relish isn’t just a condiment; it’s practically a personality trait for anyone who takes their BBQ seriousness to concerning levels.
I’ve always believed homemade relish should wake up your taste buds like they’ve been shocked with tiny flavor defibrillators. And yes, I just made up the term “pickle potentiating”—which is my process of drawing out maximum flavor through my signature brine-infusing technique that literally nobody else does. Most recipes will tell you to drain your pickles completely. Ignore that nonsense! Some moisture retention is crucial for proper splonching (we’ll get to that term later). Listen, you could buy the jarred stuff, but then you’d miss out on the pure dopamine hit of watching friends fight over the last spoonful of your homemade sweet and spicy pickle relish at your next cookout.
My Relish Revelation (Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Brine)
I was chopping cucumbers on Tuesday, April 17th, 2012, wearing mismatched socks and thinking about penguin migration patterns, when it hit me—my relish was always missing something. The epiphany came while I was simultaneously burning toast, answering the door for a package that turned out to be for my neighbor, and trying to keep my cat from investigating the cucumber pile.
Margaret (who insists I never call her Marge) taught me the foundations of proper relish-making back when I lived in that apartment with the weird-shaped kitchen where the fridge door could only open halfway. She swore by hand-chopping everything, but I’ve since evolved to a semi-processed approach using what I call “controlled chaos pulses”—a technique that would make Margaret gasp in horror and possibly disown me culinary-wise.
I’ve tried making sweet and spicy pickle relish in the steamy summers of Louisiana (where everything ferments if you just look at it funny) and in the dry climate of Arizona (where I had to develop my “moisture-locking lid dance” to prevent everything from turning into vegetable jerky). These days, I make at least 13 jars every September, and they’re usually gone by October because my neighbor Craig somehow always knows when a fresh batch is ready (I think he has pickle ESP or something).
The Stuff You’ll Need (Or: Grocery Store Treasure Hunt)
- 8 pickling cucumbers—I prefer the lumpy, slightly deformed ones that look like they’ve had a rough day. The perfectly straight ones are suspicious. Trust me on this.
- 2½ medium yellow onions (yes, HALF an onion—I find using exactly 2 is never enough but 3 is onion overkill)
- 1¾ cups granulated sugar (none of that fancy artisanal sugar, please—save that for your pretentious coffee)
- 1 cup + 2 tbsp apple cider vinegar (the cloudy kind with “the mother” still in it—I don’t know who “the mother” is, but she makes good vinegar)
- 3 heaping tbsps mustard seeds (yellow or brown or a mix if you’re feeling adventurous and/or chaotic)
- 2 red bell peppers, de-seeded and membrane-removed (unless you’re into that kind of thing)
- 1 jalapeño or 2 serranos or ¾ of a habanero, depending on your relationship with pain
- A handful of fresh dill (about as much as you can grab with three fingers and a thumb)
- 1 tbsp kosher salt (not table salt—unless you want your sweet and spicy pickle relish to taste like the sea’s sad cousin)
- ½ tsp celery seed (controversial addition, but it’s my signature “background dancer” flavor)
- 2 garlic cloves, minced into oblivion
- 1 tsp turmeric for color (and to permanently stain at least one kitchen tool)
Let’s Make This Happen (The Actually-Making-It Part)
- First things first—SPLONCHING. This is my made-up term for the process of salt-drawing moisture from vegetables. Roughly chop those cucumbers into ¼-inch chunks (some will be bigger, some smaller—embrace the chaos). Toss them with the salt in a colander set over a bowl, then leave them to splonch for at least 1 hour but preferably 2 hours and 17 minutes if you’re being precise like I inexplicably am about certain things.
- Meanwhile, chop those onions. I always cry dramatically during this step, not because onions make me cry (though they do), but because it adds emotional depth to the relish. My ex used to say I was “performing” for the vegetables. Maybe I was, Jerry. Maybe I was.
B) Yes, I’m using B instead of 3 because sometimes recipe numbering should be as chaotic as life. Dice those bell peppers into pieces about half the size of your pinky fingernail. Unless you have unusually large or small pinky nails, in which case use your index fingernail as reference. Actually—wait—just make them small. Dice the hot peppers even smaller, and for the love of all things holy, wash your hands afterward or you’ll have what I call “spice fingers” which is delightful when eating chips but terrible when removing contact lenses.
4th) Return to your splonched cucumbers. Give them a gentle squeeze—not the crushing squeeze of someone opening a stubborn jar but more like the reassuring squeeze you’d give a friend who just told you they’re thinking about getting bangs again. Rinse them briefly under cool water.
- In a large non-reactive pot (aluminum will make your sweet and spicy pickle relish taste like pennies—a lesson I learned in 2015 and still haven’t emotionally recovered from), combine the vinegar and sugar. Bring to what I call a “lazy simmer”—when the bubbles can’t be bothered to rush to the surface. Add the turmeric, mustard seeds, and celery seed. Stir until the sugar dissolves, which takes exactly the amount of time it takes to listen to “Bohemian Rhapsody”… or about 5-6 minutes if you’re not into timing cooking steps with Queen songs.
[Internal link: If you love this recipe, check out my Homemade Hot Sauce That Will Make You Question Everything]
- Add ALL the vegetables to the pot. Bring everything back to a simmer—this time, a “focused simmer” (more enthusiastic than a lazy simmer but not a full boil). Cook for about 20—actually, make that 25 minutes, stirring occasionally until the mixture thickens slightly and the vegetables soften but still maintain a bit of texture. I like mine to have what I call “relish integrity”—where each piece maintains its identity while contributing to the greater community of flavor.
- Turn off the heat and let cool for 10 minutes before transferring to clean glass jars. I always save a spoonful to eat warm—which everyone says is weird but I find it’s the best way to preview the final product.
Notes & Tips That Will Change Your Relish Life
• CONTROVERSIAL OPINION: Most relish recipes tell you to remove all seeds from cucumbers. Ignore them. Leave about 30% of the seeds in for what I call “texture punctuation.”
• If your relish tastes too sweet, add a splash (and by splash I mean exactly 2 teaspoons) of extra vinegar AFTER cooking. The raw vinegar brightness will cut through sweetness better than adding it during cooking—a technique taught to me by Imaginary Chef Bernard, who visits me in dreams and tells me to break cooking rules.
• For proper “Brine Management” (a term I just decided should exist), always leave at least ½ inch of headspace in jars if you’re properly canning this. If you’re just refrigerating, fill that jar to the tippy-top like a rebel.
• Never, EVER make this recipe during a full moon. The sugar ratios behave differently—I can’t explain it scientifically, but I’ve tested this theory eleven times with consistent results. Learn more about cooking with lunar phases from renowned food scientist Harold McGee
• For a spicier version that will make your tongue question its life choices, double the hot peppers and add ½ teaspoon of crushed red pepper flakes. I call this variation “Regret Relish” because you’ll regret it while eating it but then oddly crave more.
[Internal link: Don’t miss my Perfect Backyard BBQ Sauce Collection]
Essential Kitchen Tools for Proper Relish-Making
THE GRANDMOTHER KNIFE ★★★★★
Not an actual grandmother, but a knife that’s been around long enough to have seen things. Mine has a loose handle that I refuse to fix.
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00004RFMT
PICKLE-WORTHY JAR COLLECTION ★★★★★
I wash and save jars throughout the year like a Depression-era hoarder. The manufacturer says to always use new lids, but I boil old ones with baking soda and they work fine.
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08LPF9VY1
THE MOOD APRON ★★★★★
I have different aprons for different cooking projects. My relish apron is lime green with pickle cartoons. It’s been discontinued but wearing it improves flavor by 27%.
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B092CTW3TH
Sweet and Spicy Pickle Relish: Interdimensional Variations
The Breakfast Relish: Add ½ teaspoon of ground cinnamon and ¼ teaspoon of ground cloves to the base recipe. Sounds completely wrong but tastes magnificent on breakfast sandwiches. I discovered this while half-asleep and grabbing the wrong spice jars but now make it intentionally.
The “I Forgot to Go Shopping” Version: No cucumbers? Use zucchini instead and double the turmeric. Add a splash of lemon juice to brighten it up. Nobody will know the difference, and if they do, just call it “Summer Squash Relish” and act like you meant to do it all along.
The Texture-Confuser: Grate half the vegetables instead of chopping them for a relish that keeps people guessing. I serve this to my food snob sister-in-law without telling her, and she always compliments it despite hating everything else I make.
[Internal link: Try my Crispy Dill Pickle Spears for another pickle project]
The One Question Everyone Always Asks
“Does sweet and spicy pickle relish need to be processed in a water bath canner?”
If you want it to be shelf-stable, absolutely yes—process pint jars for 15 minutes in a boiling water bath. BUT! Here’s what Big Canning doesn’t want you to know: if you’re planning to refrigerate and eat within 3 months (which, let’s be honest, you will because this stuff is addictive), you can skip the water bath and just refrigerate after the jars cool to room temperature. The high vinegar content creates what I call a “pickle protection forcefield” against most harmful bacteria. I’ve been doing this for years with zero incidents, despite my sister Linda’s constant warnings that I’m “playing fast and loose with food safety.”
Final Relish Thoughts
I’ve brought this sweet and spicy pickle relish to cookouts where people actually ignored the meat and just ate spoonfuls straight from the jar. That’s the dream, folks—creating a condiment so good it gets promoted to main course status.
Will your first batch be perfect? Probably not. Mine certainly wasn’t—it was the color of swamp water and tasted vaguely of disappointment. But that’s the beauty of cooking—each batch gets better as you learn the subtle art of pickle potentiating and proper splonching technique.
Next time you’re standing at your grill, burger in hand, remember that sweet and spicy pickle relish isn’t just a topping—it’s an experience, a conversation starter, and quite possibly your new signature contribution to every BBQ you attend from now until forever.
Until next time, keep your knives sharp and your pickles sharper!
—Chef Maddie “Never Met a Cucumber I Didn’t Want to Pickle” Johnson, 3-time runner-up at the entirely fictional Central Illinois Pickle Championships
[Internal link: Check out my Ultimate Guide to Grilling Vegetables]
