In Praise of the Humble Chili Pequin

Capsicum Annuum Aviculare has had many names over the centuries. The Aztecs called it Chili Tecpintl, which meant flea chili. The name morphed over the years into dozens of variations: Chiltepin, Tepin, Chili Tepin, and Chili Pequin, which is what people call it in my part of Texas.

The Pequin is the original, native chili pepper that grows wild across Mexico and the Southwest. All other peppers have been bred from it, like fancy show dogs. Jalapenos, Habaneros, Serranos, and other popular breeds are pampered, grown in gardens, and sold in supermarkets. But the humble Chili Pequin grows wherever it pleases, popping out from under rocks and beneath cactus plants, appearing in vacant lots and along creek beds. I found a Pequin plant last week in my suburban neighborhood, sprouting by a neighbor’s back fence. I picked a handful of peppers on my way home from the mailbox and ate them that night with my dinner.

Because it grows wild, the Chili Pequin is the pepper of the common man. Years ago, poor Texas families who could not afford store-bought chilies could always gather Pequins along the river or in vacant lots to spice up their enchiladas and tamales. Even now, some Mexican families in San Antonio will bring Chili Pequins into restaurants, preferring them over the more common Jalapenos or Serranos.

The Pequin may be tiny - it’s about the size of a pencil eraser - but it packs a wallop. While a Jalapeno registers between 3500 and 8000 on the Scoville heat index, the Pequin can reach as high as 250,000. That’s right up there with Scotch Bonnets, otherwise known as Habaneros. Peppers don’t get much hotter than that unless you try the legendary Bhut Jolokia, which sounds like something from the Klingon empire but is actually from India and is used in that part of the world to frighten away wild elephants.

Before I go any further, let’s get one thing straight. You may have eaten a pickled Jalapeno from a jar, but you will never understand the Capsicum family of plants until you have eaten a fresh pepper right off the vine. Pickled peppers slosh around in your mouth, poking half-heartedly at your tongue. Fresh peppers burst into something between a liquid and a gas. They burn your tongue, yes, but their heat also rises into your sinuses. The former is a mildly interesting experience, while the latter can change the way you think about food.

Many have wondered why humans relish plants that are genetically designed to discourage consumption by mammals. Some say the heat causes sweating, which cools people down in warmer climates. I’ve never put much stock in that notion. I think it’s all about the endorphins. Those of us who love hot peppers have learned to surf the line between pleasure and pain, coaxing our brains into releasing the good stuff - God’s original anti-depressants.

This is the truth. My wife will tell you that a plate of good tamales and a handful of chili peppers will turn me from a morose, brooding grumpy pants into a lively, chattering life-of-the-party in about 15 minutes.

Take that, Wellbutrin!

But whatever the reasons for our love of hot peppers, we've been eating them a long time here in Texas. Archeologists say that humans have been enjoying the Chili Pequin in Texas for at least 10,000 years. The “Chiltepin” was the official pepper of Texas until 1997, when the Texas legislature (undoubtedly filled with boot-wearing Yankee newcomers and rich city-boys) gave that title to a zippy, johnny-come-lately named the Jalapeno. Two years later, rightly feeling the guilt of their betrayal, they bestowed upon the Chili Pequin the honorific title of “Official Native Pepper of Texas,” a title which it carries to this day.

And very much deserves.

Gordon Atkinson

Photo by Gordon Atkinson is of Chili Pequins growing in the woods behind Covenant Baptist Church in San Antonio, Texas.

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