Instructions
There were always capsicums in the house when I was growing up. Dad ate them. He’d sit at the end of the kitchen bench with an aging knife, long since too blunt to scare even the meekest butter, and cut thoughtfully through the plump red fruit. Having obtained the requisite number of rings, he smeared some heavy bread with a whisper of butter, piled on the capsicum and a smattering of ham, and ate quietly.
It was his ritual, his thing.
Growing up in a Hungarian household had evoked in Dad strong feelings for all things capsicum. Paprika, the rich red spice powder made from ground, dried capsicums, lies so close to the heart of Hungarian culture as to be indistinguishable from it. Goulash, chicken paprikás, fish soups: all the flavours of his childhood were redolent with the myriad scents of capsicum.
And yet, like potatoes, corn and tomatoes before it, the capsicum is not native to Europe, but came from South America. It was a gift from the conquistadors that has long outlived the golden plunder they laid at the foot of the Spanish throne.
The capsicum we know and buy today is just one of 27 varieties (all with unique flavours), and these are just some of the hundreds of members in the chilli family. Yet only five varieties of sweet capsicum (or bell pepper) are grown commercially around the world.
All capsicums start out green before ripening to red, yellow, orange, purple or black. As they ripen they develop sugars and become less tart, less acidic. But regardless of their acid level, capsicums do not possess the volcanic chemical called capsaicin found in their smaller cousin the chilli: consider them Chilli-Lite!
And a trick for roasting capsicums? Split them and remove the seeds and membranes before cooking, as it reduces the mess and fuss later on. Cook them at a high heat until the skin blisters, then cover them in a bowl for 20 minutes. The skin will slip right off.
Tuscan salad of roast capsicums