Roasted Red Peppers

I just roasted some red peppers that I got on sale at Kroger today. Every time I see them, I think of my dad and have to buy some. He was the consummate pepper roaster. I can remember coming in on a Saturday afternoon to the acrid smell of burnt pepper skin wafting out of the oven. I hated that smell, but I loved the taste of those roasted peppers.

Red ones were the best. They were sweeter than the green ones, although Dad had a way of taking the edge off green peppers and making them almost as tasty as the red ones. Still, when red peppers were on sale, we knew we were in for a treat.

Whenever I'd see them for less than $1 each, I'd buy 4 or 5 for Dad and take them out to his house. I'd try to get the big, fleshy ones so that the roasted meat would be juicy and good. He'd put them whole, under the broiler, turning them until the skins were black on every side, and they'd deflated a bit. Then he'd take them out, let them cool awhile, and then peel the blackened skin from the meat of the pepper, carefully saving any juice that dripped down while he peeled them.

Once there was a pile of roasted pepper in a dish, he'd sprinkle some red wine or balsamic vinegar on the slices and let them sit and cool. Then we would feast. It was nothing for us to eat 4 or 5 peppers at one sitting. They were so good. Sometimes, he'd make a batch and bring them up to me. They'd be cold from the fridge, stewing in the vinegar/pepper juice mix, and would taste oh so good. My peppers never taste like Dad's did no matter what I do.

I think roasted peppers are a family thing. Dad's older cousin, Jane, told me once how her grandmother, Jane, used to hold the peppers on a spit over the coal burning furnace until they were black and then fix them up to eat later. She said, "Gran's peppers were so delicious! I could never make mine taste like Gran's." That must be a family thing too...Or maybe it's just that peppers taste so much better when they are cooked by someone you love.