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Oh my goodness, this Creamy Cucumber Salad! Let me tell you, it’s been my absolute lifesaver during those sweltering summer days when the thermometer hits 95 and I can’t bear the thought of turning on the oven. It’s this gloriously refreshing side dish that’s smothered in the most luscious, tangy dressing that makes regular cucumbers taste like they’ve gone to finishing school. It’s not heavy or complicated either – who needs that when you’re already melting in July heat? I think it’s perfect for everything from casual Tuesday dinners to those “the neighbors invited us over again and I need to bring something” moments. And if you’re not a fan of dill (like my son who swears it tastes like “weird grass”), feel free to leave it out! Trust me, it’ll still be absolutely delicious!

If you’re hunting for something cool and crisp that won’t have you slaving in the kitchen for hours, you’ve just hit the jackpot, friend. When you toss those juicy cucumber slices in that silky, herb-flecked dressing with those whisper-thin slices of sharp onion… pure magic happens in that bowl. The fresh herbs take it from “nice salad” to “where has this been all my life?” territory. I live for summer cookouts that stretch into those golden-hour evenings, and this dreamy salad reminds me of bare feet on grass, screen doors slamming, and the distant sound of kids chasing fireflies. Not into herbs? Don’t sweat it for a second – it’s still delicious without them!

You know what? I’ve been making this creamy cucumber salad since I was barely tall enough to see over our harvest gold kitchen counter back in the 80s. My grandmother would drag a chair over so I could stand on it, hand me a butter knife (apparently she wasn’t too concerned with child safety), and let me slice the cucumbers while she mixed the dressing. Some of my earliest kitchen memories involve the smell of vinegar and dill, and her hands guiding mine through those wobbly first attempts at slicing.

The summer I was 12, we had this biblical cucumber harvest – I mean, apocalyptic levels of cucumbers taking over our garden. Mom was practically begging neighbors to take them away! That was the summer I mastered this recipe, making it practically every day out of desperate cucumber preservation. By August, I could whip it up blindfolded, which honestly impressed the heck out of my first boyfriend when I was showing off my “culinary skills” in high school!

Last Fourth of July, my usually picky sister-in-law took one bite of this salad and literally stopped mid-conversation to point at her bowl with her fork. “What IS this?” she demanded, already loading up another bite. I just smiled that smug little smile that says “I know something you don’t know.” She’s called me THREE TIMES since then for the recipe, claiming her written copy “got lost.” Sure, Jen, sure it did.

Kitchen Equipment

Listen, you absolutely don’t need fancy gadgets from Williams-Sonoma to make this happen. This salad got made just fine in my first apartment with equipment that would make professional chefs weep:

A knife that can actually cut things (my first apartment knife was so dull I practically bruised the cucumbers into submission – don’t be like 22-year-old me)
Any cutting board that doesn’t wobble catastrophically (the wooden one my dad made me is still going strong despite the wine stains and knife scars that tell 20 years of kitchen stories)

A big ol’ mixing bowl (I still use the faded plastic one that survived three roommates, two moves, and one particularly wild New Year’s party)
A medium bowl for the dressing (the one with the chip that your mother-in-law always gives you the side-eye about)
Measuring spoons and cups (though if we’re being honest, after making this a thousand times I just eyeball it now and it always turns out fine – cooking rebellion!)

A vegetable peeler if cucumber skin gives you the willies (totally optional – I’m Team Leave-The-Skin-On myself)
A mandoline slicer if you’re feeling fancy or have perfectionist tendencies (used mine exactly twice before nearly sacrificing a fingertip to the Cucumber Gods – now it lives in the back of the drawer of shame)
Any utensil that can mix things (I’ve used everything from my grandmother’s antique silver serving spoon to a camping fork in desperate times)

Something to cover the bowl (plastic wrap, a plate on top, an upturned frisbee – I’ve used them all in my less sophisticated days)

Overview of Ingredients

Let me walk you through the cast of characters in this simple but spectacular salad – each one has a story:

Cucumbers: The undisputed stars of our show! English cucumbers are my go-to because they’re less bitter and have those cute tiny seeds, but honestly, I’ve made this with every variety known to mankind. That summer my neighbor Gary got obsessed with heirloom gardening, he brought over these weird yellow cucumbers that looked absolutely wrong but tasted amazing in this salad. Regular grocery store cucumbers work perfectly too – just like how sweatpants work perfectly for “fancy dinner at home” nights.

Sour Cream: This is what brings the “creamy” to our creamy cucumber party! It coats those cucumber slices like they’re being tucked into a tangy, velvety blanket. During my short-lived “I’m going to get super healthy” phase of 2018 (lasted approximately 9 days), I substituted Greek yogurt. My husband squinted suspiciously at the bowl but then proceeded to devour half of it, so I’m calling that experiment a success.
Mayonnaise: Just enough to give that richness that makes people come back for seconds and thirds. My uncle Mike once watched me add this to the dressing and acted like I’d committed a culinary crime – “MAYONNAISE? In CUCUMBER salad?” Two helpings later, he shut right up. Funny how that works.
White Vinegar: That zingy brightness that makes everything pop! When my ancient bottle of white vinegar mysteriously disappeared during our kitchen renovation (I still suspect my husband “accidentally” threw it out because the cap was crusted over), I panic-substituted apple cider vinegar. My daughter declared it “even yummier,” and now I sometimes switch between them depending on my mood – I’m wild like that.

Sugar: Just a kiss to balance out the tanginess. My grandmother used to add it with this little secretive smile, like she was slipping the salad some forbidden treat. My health-conscious friend Margo nearly fainted when she saw me add sugar to a vegetable dish, but even she had to admit it just works. It’s that background note that makes people say, “What IS that? It tastes so good!”
Fresh Dill: Those feathery green bits that make everything taste like summer! My dill plant has a Napoleonic complex – it’s constantly trying to take over my entire herb garden and possibly the neighbor’s yard too. The year I planted it next to my cucumbers, I swear they grew faster just to fulfill their salad destiny. When my kids were little, they called these “fairy leaves” and would only eat the salad if I called it “fairy cucumber magic.” Whatever works, right?
Red Onion: Those gorgeous purple rings that give just enough bite to keep things interesting! My daughter picks them out meticulously, creating a sad little purple pile at the edge of her plate. Meanwhile, my son mysteriously “doesn’t like onions” but has never noticed that I slice them paper-thin and he eats them just fine. Parenting win!

Salt and Pepper: The most basic duo that somehow transforms everything they touch. I’ve gotten shamefully fancy with my salt since my sister gave me that Himalayan pink salt grinder, but the honest truth? The blue canister of table salt works just as well. Don’t tell the food snobs I said that.

Ingredients

3 English cucumbers (about 900g) – roughly the length of my forearm each, or the exact distance my cat can stretch when she’s being particularly dramatic

240g sour cream (a cup-ish) – the full-fat kind, because life’s too short for watery low-fat substitutes
60g mayonnaise (around 1/4 cup) – real mayo, not that sweet miracle whip stuff that divides families at picnics
45ml white vinegar (3 tablespoons) – from that bottle that’s probably been in your pantry since who knows when

15g sugar (a tablespoon) – just the plain white granulated stuff, nothing fancy needed here
15g fresh dill, chopped (about 1/4 cup loosely packed) – about one small supermarket bundle or a generous handful from your garden if you’re that impressive type of person
1 medium red onion, sliced impossibly thin (around 150g) – pick a firm one, not those sad soft ones that have clearly seen better days

5g salt (a teaspoon-ish) – preferably sea salt, but the kind that comes in a cardboard cylinder works just fine too
2g freshly ground black pepper (1/2 teaspoon) – please, for the love of all things delicious, grind it fresh! That pre-ground dust has all the flavor of, well, dust.

Step-by-Step Instructions

Cucumber prep time: First things first, give those cucumbers a good scrub – yes, even if the sticker says “pre-washed” (which is the food equivalent of “one size fits all” – rarely true). Now, here’s where you make a deeply personal choice: to peel or not to peel? With English cucumbers, I leave that skin right on because I’m both lazy and a fan of the pretty green confetti look. If you’re using regular cucumbers with skin thicker than my winter boots, definitely peel them – either completely or in stripes if you’re feeling artsy. I did the stripe thing for my daughter’s rainbow-themed birthday party and the kids looked at me like I was some sort of vegetable magician. Now grab your sharpest knife – not that sad butter knife that bends when it hits carrot – and slice those cucumbers into rounds about as thick as a quarter. Last summer, I was showing off with my mandoline slicer trying to impress my mother-in-law when I nearly sent my fingertip into the salad. Learn from my mistakes, friends. If you do use one, please use the guard!

The moisture management situation: Here’s my non-negotiable secret step that separates cucumber salad champions from amateurs: Place those slices in a colander, sprinkle with half your salt, and let them hang out for about 30 minutes. They’ll release enough water to make you wonder if they were actually watermelons in disguise. My husband once walked by, saw the cucumbers dripping into the sink and asked if I was “giving the vegetables a shower.” Comedian, that one. After their draining session, gently pat them dry with paper towels or a clean kitchen towel (not the one the dog just used to dry off after his backyard adventure, please). This step is technically optional if you’re racing against the clock, but skipping it is like going on a first date without brushing your teeth – technically possible, but you’ll regret it later.
Onion therapy: While your cucumbers are having their spa moment, let’s deal with that onion. Slice it as thin as humanly possible – we’re talking “I can see through these slices” thin. If you start crying while cutting onions like I inevitably do (my kids now recognize my special “onion cutting sob” from anywhere in the house), just embrace it and pretend you’re watching a sad movie. If raw onion tends to give you dragon breath or make your stomach protest loudly, here’s my grandmother’s genius trick: after slicing, soak them in a bowl of ice water for 10 minutes, then drain and pat dry. It tames that fire-breathing intensity while keeping all the delicious oniony goodness. My sister refused to do this step once and then wondered why her date took a step back every time she talked. Don’t be like my sister.
Dressing dreaminess: In your medium bowl, throw together the sour cream, mayonnaise, vinegar, sugar, most of that beautiful dill (save some pretty bits for the top if you’re feeling fancy), remaining salt, and pepper. Whisk it all up until it’s smooth as silk – or at least as smooth as that pickup line my husband used on me 15 years ago. Give it a taste – it should be tangy enough to make your mouth do a little happy dance but creamy enough to make you want to faceplant directly into the bowl. Need more tang? Add a splash more vinegar. Too tangy? A pinch more sugar. Cooking is just controlled chemistry experiments, after all!

The grand assembly: Grab your big bowl and gently – I mean GENTLY, like you’re handling newborn kittens – combine the cucumber slices, those gorgeous purple onion rings, and your masterpiece dressing. Treat those vegetables with respect! I use a soft spatula or my hands to fold everything together with the tender care of someone diffusing a bomb. You want every slice coated in that creamy goodness without bruising or breaking them.
The hardest part – waiting: Cover your creation and stick it in the fridge for at least an hour, though honestly, the longer the better (within reason – we’re not making cucumber jerky here). Two to three hours really lets those flavors get comfortable with each other. My family has learned that the cucumber salad bowl has a forcefield around it during this resting period. My teenager once tried to sneak a sample during the waiting time and I swear I sensed it from two rooms away. Mother’s intuition is real, people!
Ta-da moment: Just before serving, give it one more gentle stir and sprinkle with your reserved dill. Take a second to admire what you’ve created – those creamy white slices with pops of purple and green are genuinely pretty enough to photograph (and yes, I have absolutely made my dinner guests wait while I got “just one more shot” for Instagram). Serve it up in your favorite bowl – even the chipped one that you can’t bear to throw away because you bought it on that trip to Vermont with your college roommates.

Recipe Tips

That salt-and-drain cucumber technique isn’t just me being persnickety – it prevents what I call “cucumber soup syndrome,” where your beautiful salad turns into a watery mess faster than my kids can say “I don’t like vegetables.”
This salad is like a fine wine or my husband’s jokes – it gets better with time (up to a point). Making it in the morning for dinner gives those flavors plenty of time to mingle and get friendly.
If your red onion makes your eyes water just from looking at it (we’ve all had those ultra-potent ones!), definitely do the ice bath soak. My aunt Carol skipped this step at our family reunion and my uncle slept on the couch that night. True story.

When I’m pretending to be health-conscious (usually lasts about 48 hours in January), I swap the sour cream for Greek yogurt. It’s tangier but still creamy and delicious. My kids haven’t caught on to this switcheroo in seven years of doing it occasionally.
Fresh herbs absolutely shine here, but during those sad winter months when my herb garden looks like a crime scene, dried dill works in a pinch. Use about a teaspoon since dried herbs are more concentrated. It’s not quite the same, but it scratches that cucumber salad itch when nothing else will do.
This salad is like that perfect little black dress – accessorize as you please! Sometimes I throw in halved cherry tomatoes when my garden is exploding with them, or some paper-thin radish slices for extra peppery crunch. My Greek neighbor Eleni taught me to add crumbled feta, and now I can never go back.

Taking this to a summer potluck? Keep it chilled until the last possible second. That one time I left it on the picnic table in 90-degree weather for two hours… well, let’s just say even the ants gave it side-eye. Nest your serving bowl in a larger bowl filled with ice to keep it picnic-perfect.

What to Serve With This Recipe

This creamy cucumber salad plays nicely with so many foods – it’s basically the Switzerland of side dishes:

Anything hot off the grill – the cool creaminess is DIVINE next to those charred flavors. Last Memorial Day, my brother-in-law kept alternating bites of grilled chicken and cucumber salad like he was in some sort of flavor trance.

Fish of any sort – something about the tangy dressing just sings alongside seafood. My pescatarian friend Lisa requests this salad every time she comes for dinner, and she’s not even subtle about hoping for leftovers to take home.
Roasted or fried vegetables – the contrast of temperatures and textures is chef’s kiss. My famous zucchini fritters and this cucumber salad are basically the Beyoncé and Jay-Z of my dinner parties – power couple extraordinaire.
Quiche or frittata – for those “breakfast for dinner” nights that save my sanity at least once a week. My son calls this combo “fancy dinner” because I serve it on the good plates to trick everyone into thinking I put in more effort than I did.

Sandwiches of every variety – or do what my husband does and put the cucumber salad RIGHT ON the sandwich. I judged him harshly for this until I tried it once during a moment of pregnancy-craving desperation. Turns out the man is a culinary genius in disguise.
Spicy anything – the cool, creamy salad is like a firefighter for your mouth when you’ve gone overboard on the hot sauce. The night my brother thought my hot wings needed “a little extra kick” and went rogue with the habanero sauce, this cucumber salad literally saved lives.
As part of a no-cook summer dinner board with some good cheese, crusty bread, and whatever else you can scrounge from the fridge when it’s too hot to cook. We call this “fancy picnic dinner” at our house, and eating it on the porch elevates the experience from “mom gave up on cooking” to “European-inspired al fresco dining experience.”

On those days when the temperature matches your age and the thought of cooking makes you want to cry, I’ve been known to eat a massive bowl of this all by itself and call it dinner. Self-care takes many forms, friends.

Frequently Asked Questions

“I made this yesterday, and now it’s swimming in a puddle. Did I mess up?” Nope! That’s just cucumbers continuing to release water as they sit – they’re like 96% water and determined to prove it. Just grab a slotted spoon for serving, or do what I do and drain off the excess liquid, then add a spoonful of sour cream, give it a stir, and BOOM – refreshed salad! My grandma would be scandalized that I just told you that trick, but she’s not online, so our secret is safe.

“My little one is dairy-free – is this salad doomed for them?” Not at all! My niece developed a dairy sensitivity three years ago, and I’ve been making her version with coconut yogurt and vegan mayo ever since. It’s different but still delicious – kind of like how my hair looks different but still decent when I actually follow the styling instructions. There are amazing dairy-free sour cream alternatives now that work beautifully.

“How long will this last in my fridge? Assuming we don’t devour it immediately.” In theory, it stays good for about 3 days in the refrigerator. In practice, the longest it’s ever lasted in my house was 36 hours before my midnight-snacking husband polished it off. The cucumbers will soften over time, which some folks (like my contrary father-in-law) actually prefer. He intentionally makes his a day ahead because he likes what he calls the “pickle-adjacent texture.”

“I hate dill with the fire of a thousand suns. Now what?” First, who hurt you? Just kidding! The salad is still wonderful without dill – you’re not committing cucumber sacrilege by omitting it. Try fresh chives instead, or even some finely chopped mint for a completely different but equally delicious direction. My herb-phobic brother makes his with just a bit of garlic powder and calls it a day.

“My kids think anything green is ‘yucky’ by default. Any sneaky parent tricks?” Oh, do I have strategies! First, branding is everything – I’ve successfully renamed this “ranch cucumber chips” and suddenly my vegetable-dodging son couldn’t get enough. Let them help make it (kids are statistically 738% more likely to eat things they’ve helped prepare – not a real statistic but feels true). Or do what my friend Melissa does and serve it with tortilla chips as “cucumber dip” – her kids demolish it!

“The only onion in my pantry is a yellow one that’s seen better days. Can I use it?” Absolutely! Any onion works in a pinch – yellow, white, sweet Vidalia, or even those little green onions hanging out in the produce drawer. Just adjust your expectations for the color (obviously) and definitely do the ice water soak I mentioned, as yellow onions tend to be sharper. My grandfather used only white onions in his version because that’s what grew in his garden, and nobody ever complained!

“I’m out of white vinegar because someone cough my teenager cough made a volcano for science. Alternatives?” So many options! Apple cider vinegar brings a lovely fruity note (and makes you feel secretly healthier for some reason). Rice vinegar adds a subtle sweetness that’s fantastic. Lemon juice works in a crisis – it’s brighter and fresher tasting. Once during a cabin vacation when I realized I’d forgotten vinegar entirely, I used the pickle juice from our sandwich pickles. My family now requests “pickle juice cucumber salad” at least once a summer. Kitchen disasters sometimes lead to new favorites!

This creamy cucumber salad has been with me through life’s highest highs and lowest lows. It’s what I made the day I came home from the hospital with my first baby and was too exhausted to cook but too hungry to just sleep. It’s what I contributed to the neighborhood potluck where we met the people who would become our closest friends. It’s what I stress-chopped through tears after getting that phone call about my dad’s health scare (he’s fine now!).

There’s something deeply comforting about the rhythmic slicing of cucumbers, the familiar smell of dill between my fingers, and the predictable magic that happens when these simple ingredients come together. In a world where so much is complicated, this salad never is. Maybe that’s why we keep coming back to it, summer after summer, generation after generation.

So slice those cucumbers, mix that dressing, and create a little bowl of creamy, crunchy magic. Your taste buds will thank you, your dinner guests will beg for the recipe, and maybe someday your grandkids will be telling their friends about that cucumber salad their grandparent used to make that tasted like summer in a bowl.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check my cucumber plants – they grow about three inches when you’re not looking, I swear!