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Jim Dixon wrote about food for WW for more than 20 years, but these days most of his time is spent at his olive oil-focused specialty food business Wellspent Market. Jim’s always loved to eat, and he encourages his customers to cook by sending them recipes every week through his newsletter. We’re happy to have him back creating some special dishes just for WW readers.
The long-closed Viridian Farms brought Spanish pimientos de Padrón to the Pacific Northwest 20 years ago, and before long plates of the blistered and salted short green peppers were everywhere. While they looked like jalapeños, the Padróns—named for the Galician town where they grew—didn’t pack the same spicy punch. Or at least most of them didn’t. An occasional hot Padrón gave rise to the Galician saying “Os pementos de Padrón, uns pican e outros non” (“Padrón peppers, some are hot, some are not”). Diners loved the culinary version of Russian roulette, especially since the random spicy Padrón usually wasn’t all that spicy.
But over the years the Padróns got hotter. A server at Toro Bravo, Portland’s most popular Spanish restaurant back then, told me a diner had taken a bite and promptly threw up because of the pepper’s heat. As the chance of getting a spicy Padrón grew to a near certainty, the trendy peppers lost their charm.
All chiles come from the New World and share the same genus and species, Capsicum annuum. Padróns are a landrace, a variation that adapts to the natural and cultural environment where it’s grown, usually isolated from other members of the same species. As its popularity increased and more farmers grew them, Padróns lost that Galician special sauce. I thought the increase in spiciness, a function of the amount of capsaicin produced by the fruit, might come from cross pollination with hot peppers grown nearby. A few farmers agreed while pointing out that various stressors can make peppers produce more of the spicy compound.
Whatever caused it, the increasing heat made it hard to eat a plate of Padróns. But then along came shishito peppers. Longer and skinnier than Padróns, the Japanese landrace tastes about the same, and while you might bite into a spicy one, it was much less common. The platters of blistered green peppers were back.
I’ve been growing them in my driveway garden for several years, and the prolific plants provide us with enough peppers that we eat them by the dozens for a couple of months every summer. While they will get blistered from a quick fry in good olive oil, I’ve found that cooking the peppers longer reduces the vegetal flavor of green peppers. And while restaurants often serve them with a sauce, I think they’re best with just a sprinkle of coarse salt.
Recipe
Shishito peppers (8–10 per person)
Extra virgin olive oil
Flaky salt
Use just enough olive oil to thinly coat a heavy skillet, then add the peppers in a single layer (you may need more than one skillet if you’re feeding several people). Cook on medium low until the peppers start to blister, about 10 minutes, then reduce the heat to low. Use a spatula to flip the peppers frequently, and continue cooking until they soften and begin to collapse, about 15–20 minutes. Sprinkle with the salt and transfer to a platter. To eat, grab a pepper by the stem and take a bite.
