PEPPERS

IT’S SURPRISING that in most of the United States we have such a limited vocabulary for and understanding of the dazzling variety of peppers grown here. Like tomatoes, there’s an intriguing range of flavors and shapes, but these distinctions remain highly regionalized. Granted, the heat packed in some peppers is often surprisingly (and even thrillingly) dangerous to cook with. But, judiciously cooking with peppers—and the tantalizing heat that they impart—has become a defining characteristic of American food.

Like many American chefs, my cooking is influenced by many different culinary traditions: French food is all about harmony; Japanese food is all about nature’s subtlety; but for me, American cooking is liberated by peppers. The acidity of citrus and vinegar, the flavor of cooking over wood, combined with the long, slow, persistent heat of peppers—these define American cooking for me. I like to use the American words for foods. Instead of worrying about chillis, or chiles, I call them hot peppers and sweet peppers.