Bring a Mini Bonfire to Your Kitchen with a Bulgarian Vegetable Roaster

One of my earliest encounters with Bulgarian cuisine was lyutenitsa, a beloved roasted red pepper and tomato spread enjoyed at any meal—from breakfast toast to sides with rice and meat. At 19, I was falling for many things: my future husband, the vibrant city of Sofia that would soon be my home, and the delicious Bulgarian dishes like lyutenitsa that would become my favorites. However, it wasn't until a decade later, after relocating to Sofia, that I finally got my hands on a chushkopek (Чушкопек), the essential pepper roaster for making lyutenitsa and other traditional recipes featuring roasted red peppers.

The chushkopek is a straightforward, unembellished countertop appliance, just a bit taller than the peppers it cooks. But the first time I plugged it in, I was startled by the glow of embers peeking through a small opening in the lid. My anxiety only grew when I accidentally scorched a cloth napkin while trying to lift the lid, as well as the countertop beneath it. After dropping in a pepper, I heard it hiss and pop, then used the included tongs to lift the lid and extract a fully charred pepper, its stem faintly burning. For a moment, I considered unplugging it, fearing I might set the apartment ablaze, but I pressed on.

I quickly discovered that peeling away that charred skin revealed an exquisite roasted pepper, imbued with a smokiness that no oven could replicate. That hard-earned flavor became the backbone of lyutenitsa, enhancing the blend of tomato, salt, pepper, and sugar. By the time I reached my fourth pepper, I had mastered the art of achieving the perfect char without any flare-ups—and the chushkopek had earned a permanent place in my kitchen toolkit.

What it is:

The chushkopek, translating to 'pepper roaster,' was developed in the 1970s in Veliko Tarnovo, Bulgaria's historic capital, and its design has remained largely unchanged. It consists of a robust metal cylinder with two small handles and a lid on top that reveals a ceramic chamber inside. There are two standard sizes: a single-pepper model and a triple-pepper version known as 'the Mercedes,' because the metal divider that separates the peppers resembles the car's logo.

There are no buttons, switches, or dials on the chushkopek. It begins to heat up immediately upon plugging in and takes about an hour to reach optimal temperature. Once it achieves blazing hot levels, the chushkopek can turn fresh peppers into beautifully roasted treats in mere minutes. I purchased my speckled deep-blue model at a hardware store for 32 leva (around $20), and it came with a pair of narrow tongs, which I've learned to use for both lifting the hot lid and retrieving cooked vegetables.

The chushkopek is versatile enough to roast any cylindrical vegetable, like corn or potatoes, which can be enjoyed on their own, but it’s most commonly used for eggplants and peppers, essential ingredients in traditional dishes. Roasted peppers can be added to salads, blended with roasted eggplant to make ajvar, or mixed with chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, crumbled sirene (white brined cheese), and parsley for the classic Bulgarian shopska salata. However, the chushkopek's crowning achievement is its role in making lyutenitsa. For a full homemade experience, roasted peppers are coarsely ground and simmered into a tomato paste seasoned with salt, pepper, and a touch of sugar.

Where it’s used:

Chushkopeks are found in towns and villages throughout Bulgaria, but they remain virtually unknown outside the country.

Bulgaria has a rich tradition of pickling and preserving foods. In autumn, villagers would gather to build large bonfires for roasting peppers and making lyutenitsa to store for the winter months. However, during the 1950s, Bulgaria's communist regime initiated a significant industrialization and urbanization effort, prompting many villagers to relocate to cities and rely on packaged foods instead of home production. Despite this shift, the state-run food production couldn't meet demand, leading new city dwellers to continue the age-old practice of roasting and preserving peppers and other vegetables, recreating their communal bonfires in the grassy areas between the prefabricated buildings of the communist era.

The chushkopek brought the tradition of roasting from communal fires to urban apartments and balconies. Initially, it faced skepticism due to a lack of trust in Bulgarian manufacturing and a government push to discourage home cooking in favor of industrial production, while encouraging women to enter the workforce. Yet, following the collapse of communism, the chushkopek became a staple for making lyutenitsa and other dishes at home, fostering national pride as an authentic Bulgarian invention. While many still journey back to their villages for communal roasting, the chushkopek has gained a cherished status. A survey by Bulgarian National Television even declared it the “Household Revolution of the 20th Century,” outpacing electricity and cell phones. Nowadays, some Bulgarians criticize restaurants by claiming their peppers are merely baked in an oven, lacking that signature smoky flavor.

Why we all need it:

Beyond its cultural significance, the chushkopek is undeniably the best method for preparing vegetables. Using it gives me a sense of empowerment, a pride in my fiery domain. Before I had the chushkopek, I rarely cooked with such high heat, but now I relish watching a fresh red pepper collapse under intense temperatures. It emerges charred and tender, continuing to transform while resting on the counter. Its burnt skin peels away effortlessly, akin to shedding an outer layer.

It's also a fantastic addition for entertaining. Much like a grill, the chushkopek serves as a social catalyst. Every few minutes, a charred pepper comes out while a fresh one goes in. The process is simple yet engaging, allowing for easy conversation as the cooking unfolds. In this post-pandemic era, I eagerly anticipate setting it up on our balcony to host friends with cold beers and freshly roasted peppers.

The chushkopek has claimed a prized spot on our limited kitchen countertop, standing as our only appliance besides the microwave. Typically, I’m not one to favor gadgets when a stovetop or oven will suffice, but once you experience the vegetables roasted in a chushkopek, there’s no turning back. While it may be a single-use tool, its exceptional performance makes it hard to dispute. I've found myself relying on it even more than the oven, and I don't restrict its use to just the harvest season.

Mastering the chushkopek takes both time and confidence. It might trip a circuit breaker or leave a lingering burnt aroma in your kitchen. It’s intensely powerful, after all! Yet, the effort and heat produce peppers with a depth of flavor and texture that’s nearly impossible to replicate without a massive bonfire. It encapsulates the essence of a communal Bulgarian vegetable roast in a compact, apartment-friendly format.

The chushkopek has become a significant part of my Bulgarian experience; when we’re in Sofia, I roast to my heart’s content. As a foreigner, my passion for this roaster allows me to connect with my adopted culture and its people. Nearly everyone cherishes memories of late summer days spent making lyutenitsa from scratch, often following a cherished recipe from a mother or grandmother that they claim is far superior to store-bought versions. After much practice with the chushkopek, I now have my own treasured memories to share.

How to get one:

Finding a chushkopek in the U.S. is nearly impossible, even at Bulgarian specialty stores. There was an Indiegogo campaign in 2014 aimed at bringing the chushkopek to a wider audience, but it didn’t receive funding. Similar to Bulgaria’s doorless elevators, this device likely wouldn’t pass American safety standards.

The most reliable way to acquire a chushkopek is to take a trip to Bulgaria and leave some space in your suitcase. Savor the local cuisine, indulge in some lyutenitsa, and bring your own roaster back home with you.

Ashira Morris is a freelance writer, editor, and art director currently residing between Tallahassee and Sofia, Bulgaria.