Grandma’s Watermelon Rind Pickles
My grandma was, without doubt, a masterful pickler. Her two most popular varieties were bread and butter pickles—my mother’s and my favorite—made with cucumbers fresh from her garden. My father, however, preferred her pickles made from the leftover rinds of the family’s annual watermelon feast at her farm.
With the help of my mom and her older sister Mattie, Grandma would peel the green skin from the watermelon rinds, cut the white flesh into cubes, and place them in a large crock of salted water to soak overnight. The next morning, after breakfast, they would boil the rinds in Grandma’s pickling solution, then pack them into lidded Ball jars to cool. That afternoon, each family left with a few jars of each to enjoy at home.
Watermelons date back some 5,000 years to southern Africa, where their drought-tolerant ancestor was prized by the indigenous people of the Kalahari Desert for its ability to store water. Unlike today’s watermelon, however, the flesh was bitter. Aside from being a source of water, its main nutritional value came from roasting and eating the seeds.
It was ancient Egyptian plant breeders who are thought to have been the first to cultivate sweeter varieties, making watermelon a true food source as well as a reservoir of water. Over the centuries, watermelons spread to the Greeks and Romans, then to India and China, and finally throughout Europe.
We can thank Spanish colonists and enslaved Africans for bringing watermelon to America. Native Americans soon adopted its cultivation, growing it from the Mississippi Valley across the South. Watermelons arrived in America sometime in the 16th century, first introduced to Florida by Spanish colonists and later by enslaved Africans who carried seeds braided in their hair. Before long, watermelon became a staple of the American diet, especially in the South, where sandy soils, warm weather, and long growing seasons made cultivation ideal.
Pickled watermelon rinds have also been around for centuries as a way to make use of what would otherwise be scraps destined for the trash. Recipes for pickling rind appeared as early as 1796, in the first cookbook published in the United States, American Cookery by Amelia Simmons.
Since watermelon rind pickles were long part of the African American culinary lexicon, it is no surprise that one of the earliest known recipes was included in the first African American cookbook, published in 1881: What Mrs. Fisher Knows About Old Southern Cooking by Abby Fisher. A former slave who moved from Alabama to San Francisco, Fisher was listed in the 1882 City Directory as a pickle manufacturer.
While watermelon itself holds complex symbolism in African American history—encompassing notions of freedom, self-sufficiency, and, unfortunately, racist stereotypes—watermelon rind pickles represent a practical and cherished culinary tradition within the Black community.
Culinary historian, professor, and cookbook author Jessica B. Harris perhaps captures this best:
“I’m not really fond of watermelon. However, I dote on watermelon rind pickles. I spend most summers scheming to beg rind from various friends so I can have my pickle without having to eat my way through the melon.”
African American cookbook authors like Harris continue to document and celebrate the rich foodways of the African diaspora, including recipes like watermelon rind pickles that highlight the intertwining of Indigenous, European, and African traditions in American cuisine.
In essence, watermelon rind pickles are more than just a tasty snack; they are a tangible link to African American history, culinary tradition, and resilience in the face of hardship.
I’ve included two recipes for pickled watermelon rind with this story. One is my grandma’s, and the other comes from the revered African American chef Edna Lewis. Whichever you choose, your watermelon pickles are sure to be the envy of both family and friends. And as I think back to those summer afternoons at my grandma’s farm, watching jars of pickles line the kitchen table, I’m reminded that food is never just food—it’s memory preserved, history passed down, and family gathered together around something sweet and sour that lasts long after the season ends.
