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w i n t e r 2 0 1 7 | 3 3 Now it's mid-August and each of my six plants stands about two to two- and-a-half feet tall and is literally loaded with six- to 10-inch, twisty, turny, bumpy, lumpy, slender, conical peppers. So loaded that one plant toppled over from the sheer weight of its two dozen peppers and I had to prop it up against a stake driven into the soil next to it. Up until a week or so ago, the peppers were all green. I tried a few raw, and they had a pleasant if herbaceous flavor. But I knew that when they turn fire engine red, they also turn sweet. That's when their thin walls thicken slightly and their true rich and fruity flavor emerges. They are not hot peppers. There's no capsaicin—the compound that makes some peppers spicy-hot. For hot, I also grow several jalapeño plants. But it's the sweetness of the ripe Jimmies that's so appealing. The flavor is rich—so rich that Slow Food has put the Jimmy Nardello on its Ark of Taste, a place for superior varieties of foods. And it's generous with its nutrition, full of vitamin C. Most vegetables are named for the way they look or taste or for their shape. So why does the Jimmy Nardello pepper sound like some kid you knew in third grade? The story begins in the village of Ruoti in the Basili- cata region of the instep of the Italian boot, where Giuseppe and Angella Nardiello grew these peppers in their garden. It was a very poor region in the late 19th century, so in 1887, the couple sailed away for America, landing in Naugatuck, Connecticut. Of course, they brought seeds of their favorite pepper with them. Later, they named the pepper after their fourth son, Jimmy, and their surname had become slightly anglicized to Nardello. From there, it spread throughout the Italian communities of the Northeast, distributed by seed companies. By the 21st century, Italian frying peppers were not much in favor, and by 2005, the Jimmy Nardello almost went extinct until Slow Food decided, rightfully, that it warranted a reprieve for its superb flavor. For people who equate pepper flavor with the green bell pepper, the Jimmy will be a revelation. Given my experience with the plant, I'd rate its ten- dency to pump out the peppers right up there with its flavor as a property to be cherished. The more you pick, the more it pumps. When you have a surfeit, just stuff handfuls into freezer bags and pop them in your freezer. You don't have to blanch them. They'll emerge during the cold months more limp than they went in, but still full of flavor and sweetness. Another way to store them is to cut them lengthwise into thin strips and let them dry. Their thin walls will dry quickly, and they can be stored in jars in the cupboards as long as they are completely dry. They become like sweet jerky, good for snacks, or can be added to stews and soups where they'll reconstitute themselves. Fresh from the garden, they are the perfect addition to frittatas, omelets, pizzas and fresh salads. My favorite way to use them is to take a nostalgic trip back to my days as a poor young artist living the bohemian life in Greenwich Village. When I'd scrape a few dollars together, I'd head over to Bleecker Street, where a small storefront pass-through faced the street, and I'd order a sausage sandwich from the guy behind the griddle. Now I pay homage to those days by grilling an Italian-seasoned sausage, chopping a few Jimmy Nardellos and a red onion and sauteeing them, putting sausage and vegetables into a long French bun, and topping them with chili sauce. ■cr THE FLAVOR IS RICH—SO RICH THAT SLOW FOOD HAS PUT THE JIMMY NARDELLO ON ITS ARK OF TASTE, A PLACE FOR SUPERIOR VARIETIES OF FOODS.