Inside Pittsburgh’s iconic pickle festival

Ten glass jars of briny pickle juice are lined up on tables swathed in neon green and yellow cloths. Each is filled to the brim with just under a litre of the acidic liquid, and behind them there’s a row of competitors gearing up to chug the contents. While many seem confident, playing up to the crowd with frenetic waving, others shift on the spot, eyeing the jars nervously while contemplating their decision to participate in this curious event.

After a run through of the rules — no hands off the jar until you’re finished, and no excessive spillage — the participants inch closer to the table and unscrew the jars’ lids, liberating the sour scent.

“Three, two, one, go!” a voice screeches over a microphone, and in swift synchronicity, the contestants knock their heads back and bring the jars up to their gaping mouths. Clapping rips through the crowd, each spectator looking on in awe, disbelief or disgust. Within eight seconds, an emptied jar is slammed back onto the table, the pale-faced victor spitting into his waste bag before raising his arms in triumph.

This curious ritual is one of three ‘dill-cathalon’ games — the others being pickle bobbing and pickle eating — that encapsulate the chaotic and competitive spirit of Picklesburgh, an annual festival which transforms Downtown Pittsburgh into a three-day celebration of all things pickle, gherkins and dill.

Founded in 2015 by the Pittsburgh Downtown Partnership, a non-profit organisation developing community initiatives in the area, the event was created to recognise the city’s connection to the humble pickle, from its origins as the birthplace of Heinz (which first bottled pickled condiments in Sharpsburg, just across the Allegheny River from Pittsburgh, before creating its iconic ketchup) to more multicultural iterations of the delicacy found in the city today.

“There wasn’t much on here in the summer months and we wanted to change that,” explains Jeremy Waldrup, president and CEO of the partnership. Its debut saw 20,000 pickle fanatics descend on the city. This year — the festival’s 10th anniversary — saw 200,000 attendees peruse almost 60 stalls stretching from PPG Plaza to Market Square and continuing across two of the city’s Three Sisters bridges. “It’s taken on a life of its own. We see this as much more than a street festival — it’s a uniquely Pittsburgh celebration we’re proud to be stewards of.”

My exploration of pickled goods begins at the Roberto Clemente Bridge, where I notice a giant inflatable pickle floating in the sky before I stop at Pittsburgh Mobile Bars to try some pickled pink lemonade. Visually, it’s got a signature rosy-coloured tint, but a sip quickly reveals a sharp tang slicing through the sherbet. It’s zingy with a strong taste of dill, yet somehow not overpowering. “Every year, the pickled pink lemonade seems to be very popular,” says team member Heather Luimes, who mentions that the bar also serves an alcoholic version made with vodka later in the day. Any initial reservations I might’ve had subside; it’s the perfect cooler on a hot July afternoon.

Next, The Brinery at Two Acre Farm offers sliced pickles stuffed into a cup of juice infused with maple, bourbon and peach, while Burgatory serves up pickled smash burgers with layers of gooey cheese, crispy bacon and chunky tomato slices. One of the longest lines is for Giovanni’s on Sixth Street, where large slices of pizza topped with pickles, bacon and onion are being churned out to meet relentless demand.

I make my way to Andy Warhol Bridge and stop at the Grandpa Joe’s Candy Shop stand. “We’re Pittsburgh born and Pittsburgh proud, so it [Picklesburgh] is somewhere we have to be,” says Kate Speer, Grandpa Joe’s VP of marketing and brand development. Treats on offer include the company’s bestselling pickle saltwater taffy. At first, the pale-green candy’s flavour is gentle, but the dill quickly gains momentum as the stretchy remnants stick to the roof of my mouth.  

Another sweet treat gaining traction is Redbeard’s pickle mango sorbet, which has liquidised in the heat. The sorbet, now resembling a slushie, is punchy — the mango flavour fades but the tang of pickle lingers.

Many of the stalls are operated by businesses from across southwestern Pennsylvania, and “many of them have been with us for the entire 10 years”, says Jeremy. One such vendor is Gosia’s Pierogies, run by Terry Smith-Rawecki and her husband Jan. Every year, they put a briny spin on the classic Polish dumplings with their limited-edition dill pickle pierogi, also made with potato and cheese. The dumpling recipe is from Terry’s family in Poland, and the remaining ingredients are a closely guarded secret. “Picklesburgh makes us very proud of the work we do,” says Terry. “I’ll be there until I’m physically unable [to return].”

Over on PPG Plaza, intergenerational festivalgoers fly through air as they’re flung off a bucking mechanical pickle, arms flailing, onto an inflatable mat below. The ride, a new addition for this year, resembles an oversized, asymmetrical pickle fitted with a single front handle and Velcro strap. It careens erratically, tilting riders in all directions before vaulting them off. Excitement spills out from under the tent, the crowd cheering for those managing to stay on for more than half a minute and offering a consolatory clap for those on the mat within seconds. Once defeated, participants receive green, sparkly medals and rejoin the masses, brows sweatier than before.

In its decade of existence, Picklesburgh has solidified itself as a flagship event not only for the city, but its 50,000 out-of-state and international visitors, too. “There are folks from all walks of life coming together, from those in their business clothes on a Friday afternoon lunch excursion to others who’ve made their own T-shirts because they’re excited to celebrate the pickle,” says Jeremy. “I love how our businesses and our community have taken this event on.”

Amid the memorabilia emblazoned with puns, including ‘I’m kind of a big dill’, three friends clad in pickle costumes stand out. “This is a holiday for us,” say Alexandria Sahyoun, Aidan McDanel and Julia Gurevitz in unison, their upbeat, breathless voices overlapping. They’ve each just had a turn riding the pickle and their cheeks are flushed as they fiddle with the medals they received for taking on the challenge. Originally from neighbouring Ohio, they’ve been coming to all three days of Picklesburgh for the last five years. “This is our Christmas and our New Year’s Eve. We’re here every year — we can’t miss it.”