have evolved over the millennia. While many already have disappeared, the book cites the success story of one pepper that spread from an Italian immigrant’s Connecticut garden all across the United States. The story goes that these plants crossed the Atlantic in 1887 with the Nardello (formerly Nardiello) family, natives of the Basilicata region, in the arch of Italy’s boot. The pepper was passed down from one generation to the next before it was donated to the Seed Savers Exchange—it’s now found in seed catalogues as Jimmy Nardello’s Sweet Italian Frying Pepper. Its thin skin is fiery red, but it lacks capsaicin and therefore tastes light and savory, with only a hint of smoky warmth. The name was enough to jog memories of my mother’s garden in Warwick, where throughout my childhood she trialed all varieties of heirloom vegetables, from wildly named tomatoes (one of my favorites was Cherokee Purple) to chile peppers. I remembered being bemused by the name “Jimmy Nardello,” wondering who this man was, picturing an eccentric, elderly Italian stooped over a backyard garden not unlike our own. I don’t remember how we ate the peppers—certainly not sun-dried and fried with a cold glass of beer on the side—but I was almost
It’s curious, and a bit ironic, that these peppers, so regionally particular in Italy, have proliferated in the United States. immediately certain that these were the exact same peppers I had savored in Matera. Delving deeper into this unexpected connection, I confirmed that various iterations of the Nardello family saga consistently place them in Basilicata. I also learned peperoni cruschi are cooked peperoni di Senise, a chile exclusively grown in the municipality of Senise and designated parts of Matera and Potenza in Basilicata. This specificity is so important that the peppers have been granted I.G.P. (Indication of Geographic Protection) status under the Italian national food certification system, recognized throughout the European Union as a legal standard of quality linked to locale, similar to the designation of origin backing fine cheeses, prosecco and other specialty products. It’s curious, and a bit ironic, that these peppers, so regionally particular in Italy, have proliferated in the United States, where heirloom varieties are shared by seed banks, swaps and catalogues (including Slow Food’s Ark of Taste,
which added Jimmy Nardello’s pepper to its collection in 2005). No doubt the Nardello family’s efforts to preserve a link with the Old Country played a role in the crop’s successful distribution. Yet, this chile’s real roots are in the Americas, as are the roots of that other Mediterranean culinary necessity, the tomato. So, despite the geographic protection this chile has acquired, its evolving story hops from Central America (possibly onto one of Columbus’s boats) to mountainous southern Italy, then to the United States (possibly in an immigrant’s pocket), where it evokes memories of a snowy night in a Matera bar and my mother’s garden on a summer afternoon. Eliot Gee, a Hudson Valley native, is currently working in Rome for an organization that researches agro-biodiversity worldwide. He is particularly focused on sharing knowledge about the health benefits of indigenous and wild edible plants. Contact eliot.gee@gmail.com.
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