September 23, 2011
My grandfather on my mother’s side, Francisco, whom we called “Yeye,” was wild about chiles. Not very common in his native Bratislava, I guess. He used to say that what he loved the most about his new country was the predictable weather (especially the bright sunny winters), the colorful markets, and most of all, the chiles. All of them.
He was oh so very crazy about them, that my grandmother used to hide them from him. She complained that he had no boundaries, no sense of measure, when eating chiles. He simply would not stop.
But he knew all her tricks, discover all her hiding spots, and when he found the prized chiles, he would stuff them in his pockets. Not only fresh jalapeños or serranos but also wet pickled jalapeños... Those must have been some messy pockets to wash…
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