Peppers

When I was a little girl, I spent many misty, breezy, early spring mornings in the garden with my beloved grandmother. We would fetch some water from the nearby brook and water the pepper plant seedlings, the earth that we poured onto turning a deeper shade of brown. After harvesting the fruit of our labor later that summer, my grandma would prepare a simple but flavorful dish of peppers. The kitchen would fill with aromatic smells and I would devour the rich flavor of these peppers.

My grandmother has passed away not long ago, the brook has dried out over the years, and the plot of land that bore these peppers has been overtaken by wildflowers by now. But the scent of this vegetable still takes me back to that place and time when life was simple and wonderful. All I have left is a memory of unconditional love, a warm, cozy home, and an idyllic childhood.

My father has inherited my grandparents' green thumb. He has a lovely garden in his back yard and often he and my mom pack some vegetables from the garden into brown paper bags to take home on my visits. This time, it was the peppers. Tonight I decided to prepare the dish that my grandmother made and my mom still makes, with minor modifications.

The peppers are cut, generously salted and sauteed in oil until they are very tender. At that point, heavy whipping cream is added (but in my case, I used a slightly healthier plain Greek yogurt) and left to soak up all the peppery juices. It is so simple, cheap, but means so much to me.