When You Gonna Eat That Pickle?

Before social media influencers were rating pickles online, I already had a full-blown pickle obsession of my own.

For all of you Gen-Xers out there who loved pickles, this Vlasic commercial from the 80s may take you right back.

Apparently, I’ve been asking, “When you gonna eat that pickle?” my entire life.

Somewhere along the way, I became fully possessed by the little girl in that commercial. To this day, my mom and my husband still laugh because when I quote her, they swear I sound just like her.

And honestly?

Considering how my pickle obsession turned out, maybe she had more influence over me than anyone realized.

If you ask me when I started loving pickles, the answer is just “yes”.

My pickle obsession started at a very young age. I don’t exactly recall when I had my first hit, but according to my mom, the signs were there early.

As a kid, I would order pickles on my burger, but let’s be clear—I was not eating those pickles with the burger. I ate them all off first.

And if I could talk someone into it, I wanted extra pickles on the side.

Apparently, I’ve been committed to the “on the side” lifestyle since I was a kid.

You’ll see.

My mom also reminded me about those HUGE pickles you could get from the grocery store deli back then.

You remember the ones. They looked like they were as big as your head when you were little and somehow only cost twenty-five cents.

My next memory of pickles takes me to my pre-teen years.

Every other weekend, I’d go stay with my dad and stepmother, Janice. Those weekends were filled with MTV back when it actually played music videos and had VJs.

And if MTV wasn’t on, I was rewatching VHS recordings of Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, and Pretty in Pink for the hundredth time.

Somewhere in the middle of all that sat the most important item in the refrigerator…

The Famous Pickle Container.

At that time, I didn’t want the juice, I wanted the pickles.

And, ALL of the pickles.

That container didn’t stand a chance after a weekend with me.

I remember everybody joking that pickles were my pregnancy craving.

I’m pretty sure they got the full pre-teen stare in response.

It turns out everyone in my family has a different relationship with pickles.

My mom likes pickles, but she has her limits.

My son, on the other hand, loves the smell of pickles but refuses to even try one. Not a bite. Not even a little one.

My family has accepted that if there are pickles nearby, I’m probably involved.

Now, as an adult, I have nothing to say for myself. Obsession isn’t even a strong enough word.

Ask my husband.

My husband now witnesses the modern-day pickle chaos in real time.

He knows if we go to Waffle House, it doesn’t matter what I order.

An All-Star Special. A Texas Bacon Egg & Cheese Sandwich. A Patty Melt Plate.

There WILL be a side plate of pickles sitting beside it.

It never fails.

My husband can’t help but shake his head because no matter how many jars of pickles we already have in the refrigerator or pantry, I will always convince myself we need more.

At any given time, there are usually at least five jars of pickles in our refrigerator.

After my homemade pickle weekend? That number is now closer to fifteen.

If we see pickles anywhere—a specialty grocery store, a boutique shop, an outdoor market with homemade goods, or sometimes even an antique store—he already knows I’m going to buy them.

And sadly, not all of them survive the “would I buy these again?” test.

Apparently, even pickle obsession has standards.

At this point, this man has simply accepted his pickle-filled fate.

Not fighting it.

Not understanding it.

Just quietly living among the jars of pickles and brine.

Oh, and speaking of brine…

I wish I could say my obsession stops at the pickles themselves.

One of the influencers I follow calls it “brine time,” which honestly tells you everything you need to know about that side of the internet.

My husband was completely caught off guard the day a JUG of pickle juice arrived at our house.

But true pickle lovers understand.

The juice is part of the experience.

Now all of you social media pickle-loving influencers out there… you don’t help this addiction of mine.

I sit there watching your 10+ out of 10 pickle reviews, hearing the crunch, seeing you gulp down the brine, all while looking completely convinced you’ve just experienced the greatest pickle ever created.

How am I NOT supposed to immediately start searching to see where I can buy them?

Then there’s the torture of this beer-loving zythophile.

Now they’re combining two things that I love.

Pickles and beer.

I KNOW pickle beer probably shouldn’t exist… yet all it takes is one influencer sipping one online and suddenly I’m searching liquor stores near me.

The problem?

I can never find them anywhere. 

Some people collect handbags.

I hunt pickle products.

I have even tried things that should have never been “pickled”.

Cotton candy.

Jelly beans.

Ice cream.

Every single one of them was a hard “no.”

At some point, the obsession became part of my kitchen decor.

And honestly, once pickle-themed kitchen towels showed up in my house, making homemade pickles in that very kitchen probably wasn’t far behind.

After years of hunting for the perfect pickle, I decided to take my chances and make my own.  

Now, technically this wasn’t my first time making pickles. I had made the packet-seasoning version before, but this time felt different.

This time, it was fresh garlic, dill, spices, cucumbers, and the smell of homemade brine filling my kitchen in the best way possible.

Full pickle commitment.

I was having the time of my life.

Fresh dill, cucumbers, and empty mason jars had completely taken over my kitchen.

There was something oddly satisfying about filling each jar by hand, layering cucumbers, garlic, dill, and spices, then pouring the brine over the top.

By the end of the day, my refrigerator looked less like a refrigerator and more like a full-blown pickle operation.

The hardest part?

Waiting.

Homemade pickles require “time” and “patience,” two things I don’t have when pickles are involved.

Which leads me to tonight.

Tonight is finally the moment of truth.

So tonight, I’ll finally open one of those jars sitting in my refrigerator pickle operation and find out if all this was worth it.

I already know there will be crunch.

There better be crunch.

And if all goes well, there will probably be a half-eaten pickle sitting in front of a homemade jar while I proudly take pictures like I just accomplished something life changing.

Update: These are dangerously good.

After all these years of trying pickles from everywhere imaginable, I HAVE managed to find a few favorites…

The tried-and-true dill pickle of choice?

Best Maid Dilly Bites.

These little bite-sized pickles have the perfect crunch and a tang that hits right near your ears with the kind of force only true pickle lovers understand.

And then there are Stamey’s Salty Dill Pickles Jalapeño.

Salty is absolutely the right word for them, but somehow in the best possible way.

They still have that amazing crunch, but the jalapeño adds just enough heat to wake up your taste buds without completely taking over the pickle.

Even after all these years—and all these jars—I still feel like I’m searching for the perfect pickle.

So no, this pickle obsession probably isn’t ending anytime soon.

My family has accepted this about me by now.

And honestly, now that I know these homemade pickles are dangerously good, there’s a very real chance my refrigerator is about to become 90% brine.

At that point, we may officially be entering pickle apocalypse territory.

Now go enjoy yourself a pickle.