Insatiable

An apology to my future husband: I’m going to make one irritating pregnant lady.

Relax. I’m not getting married yet. And I’m certainly not pregnant. But I’ve already experienced how powerful and strange exotic my cravings can be.

There’s been one particular craving smoldering in the back of my belly for longer than I’d like to admit. It’s almost embarrassing. Borderline obsessive, too. There’s actually a food that I’ve quietly longed for since the day I packed my bags and left Madrid – six years ago.

No, it’s not Iberico ham. I’ve kept that one at bay by chomping on imported cousins – non-Iberico serrano, Italian prosciutto, and the like. It’s not tortilla española, either. Although I haven’t mastered the Spanish egg-and-potato omelet-cake, I can make a pretty good frittata. See, for all my favorite dishes, I’ve been able to find at least a semi-adequate substitute. Though admittedly inferior to the originals, they’ve at least been able to douse the flame of longing. But there’s one food that has no substitute or second cousin.

OK, have I tortured you enough? Well, good! Now you know 1/100th of what I’ve been feeling.

So here it is: See those innocent green peppers in the pictures? That's it. Nothing more. They're called pimientos de Padrón -- or, peppers from Padrón, a damp, chilly town in northwestern Spain.

This may be a let-down for people familiar with these thumb-sized  vegetables. Because, well, that’s just what they are – rabbit food. Funny thing is that I don’t even like green peppers. The only way I’ll eat green bell peppers is if they’re sautéed (never raw! ew!) with onions or mixed with the sweeter red or orange kinds.

But Padrón peppers are different. They’re actually sweet. And when they’re properly cooked in olive oil then sprinkled with really fine sea salt, they’re smoky and irresistible. Occasionally – maybe one in every 10 – you'll find a hot one that can sear the surface of your tongue and light up the soft insides of your cheeks. But that’s the sport of eating these “innocent” peppers.

In Spain, pimientos de Padrón are commonplace bar food. My taste-memory brings me back to a dim, narrow tapas joint – maybe six tables and a beat-up bar – just off a grooved cobblestone street in Madrid. One hand cradling a water glass of inky-red vino, I use the other to pluck Padrón from a tiny ceramic dish in the center of the table. The peppers recline in a pool of honey-colored oil, their skins charred, wrinkled and blistered. I hold the stem on the other side of my clenched teeth and pull. A pile of frayed stems builds on my bread dish. Few of my friends are actually eating the Padrón with equal fervor. They’re going for the cheese and the olives, the shrimp in garlic-oil and the croquettes, instead.

Only a few farms in the U.S. actually grow Padrón. Naturally none of them are close to me. But I’d known for a while that I could get them through La Tienda, an online shop specializing in Spanish products. I don’t know what made me finally do it. The price had always been intimidating; at $14/pound and then added shipping costs, it wasn’t encouraging. But then something inside me snapped. As if someone had puffed up their cheeks and exhaled a mouthful of oxygen on my craving-flame; I had no choice: I HAD TO HAVE THEM.

NOW.

They arrived encased like Russian nesting dolls – first a cardboard box, then a Styrofoam cooler and finally a plastic container. I’d never watched anyone cook them in Spain so I went with my instincts. I washed the peppers – about 80 in a pound – and filled a saute pan with a generous amount of oil. In anticipation, I’d bought really good sea salt to grind over them just before serving. I put the flame on medium-high and started with a handful of peppers. I quickly learned that their skins are thin and tender. They soften quickly and char even faster. I turned down the flame and worked at a clip.

In no time I had a platter of Padrón that in Spain would’ve fed no less than ten groups of bar-hoppers. But I ate them all. No, I shared them with a friend. But together we polished off the platter in one sitting. In one 15-minute period they were gone – vaporized into another taste-memory. But what a glorious 15 minutes! A desire that had lain dormant for six years suddenly satisfied in one feverish feeding frenzy.

I turned to Phil and asked him if they were as good as I had made them out to be. He smiled, nodded enthusiastically, and assured me they were. Of course the reason I’d asked him was to check if I was crazy –  to gauge whether years of longing for Spain had reshaped the memory of Padrón into something that it really wasn’t.

As I gnashed my last pepper I began to understand what this whole craving had been about. Yes, I'd longed for the taste of Padrón, but also something deeper: a life in Spain as inaccessible to me now as those little green peppers.

Comments

[Tarie]

What powerful and beautiful taste-memories. And you communicated them in a powerful and beautiful way. :) I wonder if I can get any Padron here - here being a former colony of Spain. ;)

[Helen]

You have made me really hungry! Luckily I know a little tapas restaurant near me that serves these peppers and I have recently seen them start appearing in the shops in the UK. I think you have inspired me to buy some and try cooking them myself, thanks!

[Helen]

You have made me really hungry! Luckily I know a little tapas restaurant near me that serves these peppers and I have recently seen them start appearing in the shops in the UK. I think you have inspired me to buy some and try cooking them myself, thanks!

[NICOLE COTRONEO]

Tarie, thank you for your lovely words. You're so secretive -- "former colony in Spain." ;) Let me know if you find the Padron.

Helen, I get such delicious pleasure making people hungry! :) I'm thrilled -- and jealous -- that shops in the UK are carrying the peppers. By all means get some -- they're sooooo easy to cook up!

[Matt]

umm... wow. I probably shouldn't be reading about peppers at work. (whew)

[Andy]

Stellar piece. I love how you take your readers through the entire experience - from craving to sated. Gotta love finding the "memory food" and it living up to the nostalgia.

[steamy kitchen]

I've never even heard of Padron peppers! I need to get out and travel more!

[ann]

Yunos Farm sells pimientos de Padron at the Union Square farmer's market as does another stall or two I believe. I had them for the first time a few weeks ago and they are delicious.

[Lizzy]

I wish I had your taste memories. The last insistent taste memory that I finally gave into was for my dad's peanut butter, mayonnaise, and pickle sandwich on Grandma's homemade batter bread. I've often wondered, myself, which I was craving more: the sandwich, or my dad.

[NICOLE COTRONEO]

Matt -- simmer down there, boy. And go get a glass of water. ;)

Andy, you're a doll. Thanks for taking the time to leave your kind thoughts.

Steamy, you're far too busy for travel! Between the tv show, writing your column, being interviewed every 30 seconds, and being a supermom, I can't imagine how you'd fit it in! ;)

Ann -- you're WONDERFUL! Thanks for the heads-up. I can tell you're a woman of impeccable taste. :)

Lizzy, wow! That sounds like one whopper of a sandwich! But even more impressive is your thoughtful and lovely analysis of your craving. Thanks for sharing that.

[Robert]

I was in Barcelona over the weekend and spied these after reading your blog. They looked amazing... but the queue was too big! Will be back in the not too distant future, I'm sure...

Loving your stuff!

[NICOLE COTRONEO]

Robert, what a shot! (guys, click Robert's name -- check out these pics) You sure know how to torture and thrill me! I want to reach my hand out and snatch that plate off the counter, tuck it under my coat and cackle, "They're mine! All mine!"

I look forward to following your stuff. Thanks for taking the time to share.

[amy jenkins]

I just planted some! Trying to find out how much sun and water they need. Looking forward to the frying day(s).