The Jar Wars: A Very Opinionated Ranking of Britain’s Takeaway Pickles

A takeaway without pickle is like a chip without salt. Technically fine. Spiritually incomplete. Pickles are the sharp elbow in a rich, greasy, glorious meal. They cut through fat, wake up your tongue and make you reach for another bite when you should probably be reaching for a napkin.

This is not a polite ranking. This is the Flavourz jar wars. We have considered crunch, acid, heat, versatility and the ability to rescue a slightly sad leftover. We have not considered whether your nan would approve. She probably would not.

The rules of the taste-off

Every pickle, chutney and fermented side was judged on four things: does it cut through fat, does it bring its own personality, does it work with more than one takeaway, and would you buy it again with your own money? We have been generous with the mango chutney. We have been less generous with the beetroot. That is the job.

The Flavourz jar power rankings

1. Lime pickle. The undisputed champion. Sour, salty, oily and slightly aggressive. It does not ask for permission. It elbows its way onto the plate and makes a bland korma sit up straight. If you have never had lime pickle with a sharp cheddar toastie, you have not lived.

2. Chilli pickle. The dangerous one. The one that makes you sweat through your shirt and pretend you are fine. Great with biryani, great with a plain paratha, great with a spoon if you are the sort of person who thinks hot sauce is a personality. It is not a condiment. It is a dare.

3. The gherkin. Misunderstood. Slandered. Treated like the sad bit of a burger that falls out onto the paper. Wrong, wrong, wrong. A good gherkin brings crunch, vinegar and a clean finish. It is the reason a fried chicken burger does not taste like wet cardboard after three bites.

4. Mango chutney. The peacemaker. Sweet, sticky, gently spiced and impossible to hate. It is the pickle you give to people who say they do not like pickle. It is also excellent on a bacon butty, which is not a sentence we expected to write today.

5. Pickled onions. The chip-shop hero. Crunchy, sharp and built for a bag of chips. They are not subtle. They are not sophisticated. They are a small purple hand grenade of flavour and they absolutely belong on the table.

6. Kimchi. Fermented fire. Brilliant with fried rice, brilliant with leftover pizza, brilliant with an egg on top of anything. It is not a traditional British pickle, but it has earned its place by being completely delicious and slightly chaotic.

7. Sauerkraut. The hot-dog backbone. It brings a lovely sour crunch, but it is a one-trick pony unless you are making a Reuben or a very specific sausage situation. Good. Not great. Happy to see it. Not heartbroken if it stays in the jar.

8. Beetroot. Divisive. Earthy. The one that turns everything pink and makes people argue at the table. We respect it, but we do not reach for it first. It is the pickle equivalent of a jazz album: impressive, but not what you want on a Friday night.

In defence of the gherkin

Let us address the doubters. You know who you are. You say the gherkin is watery. You say it is pointless. You say it tastes of nothing but vinegar and regret.

A bad gherkin does taste like that. A good gherkin is a small miracle of texture. It is crisp. It is cold. It is sharp enough to reset your palate between bites of fried chicken, cheeseburger or a very rich curry. It is not supposed to be the star. It is supposed to be the person at the party who opens a window and lets some air in.

And if you are still not convinced, try this: slice a gherkin lengthways, lay it in a cheese sandwich with a little mustard, and press it in a hot pan until the bread is crisp. That is a five-minute lunch that will change your mind.

Pickle sandwich pairings that actually work

Cheese and pickle. Cheddar, mango chutney or lime pickle, buttered granary bread. The classic. Do not mess with it.

Salt beef and gherkin. Mustard, sliced gherkin, a bit of sauerkraut if you are feeling fancy. The crunch is the point.

Chip butty and pickled onion. Chips, butter, white bread, pickled onion. Salt, vinegar, crunch, chaos. Perfect.

Kimchi fried egg roll. A soft roll, a fried egg, kimchi, mayo. Breakfast, lunch or 11pm. No rules.

Lime pickle toastie. Cheddar, lime pickle, a little butter. Toast until the cheese leaks. Eat over the sink.

Air-fryer quick pickle recipe

This is the cheat's pickle. It is not a traditional ferment. It is a quick brine that gives you crunch and acid in under an hour. And yes, the air fryer is involved, because we are in 2026 and we will blister a cucumber if we want to.

Makes one jar.

You need:

• 1 cucumber, cut into chunky half-moons
• 150ml white wine vinegar
• 100ml water
• 2 tsp caster sugar
• 1 tsp fine salt
• 1 garlic clove, sliced
• 1 tsp mustard seeds
• 1 tsp chilli flakes
• A small handful of dill, chopped

Method:

1. Toss the cucumber chunks with a little oil and air-fry at 200C for 4-5 minutes, until they are lightly blistered at the edges but still firm. Do not let them go soft. You want crunch.
2. Warm the vinegar, water, sugar, salt, garlic, mustard seeds and chilli flakes in a small pan until the sugar and salt dissolve. Do not boil it hard.
3. Put the air-fried cucumber into a clean jar with the dill, then pour over the warm brine. Make sure everything is covered.
4. Leave to cool, then chill for at least 30 minutes. It will keep in the fridge for about a week, though it will not last that long.

Use it on burgers, in cheese sandwiches, alongside curry, or straight from the jar while you are waiting for the takeaway to arrive. No judgement here.

The final word

Pickle is not decoration. It is not a garnish. It is the thing that turns a good takeaway into a great one and a boring sandwich into something worth texting someone about. Buy the jar. Ask for the extra side. Defend the gherkin. The jar wars are over, and everybody wins except the beetroot.