The Little Pepper That Could Make a Big Difference

This chile resembles a jalapeno in appearance and flavor but has its own unique character. I first discovered it at B.S. Taqueria in downtown Los Angeles, where its presence in the rice and beans dish added a delightful sweetness, smoky undertone, and manageable heat. Despite the complex mix of ingredients, the Fresno chiles stood out without overpowering the dish. My curiosity about this pepper quickly turned into an obsession. Why had I never encountered the Fresno chile before?

Soon after my initial discovery, I spoke with Ray Garcia, the chef-owner of B.S. Taqueria, who introduced me to the Fresno chile. According to Garcia, Fresnos serve as a ‘gateway chile’—they are approachable and familiar yet distinct. Many people mistakenly identify them as jalapenos or know little about them. Fresno chiles hover on the edge of recognition; if you’ve heard of them, your knowledge is likely incomplete or incorrect. Like a city you pass through without a second thought, I wanted to explore this pepper further, even questioning if it had any connection to the city of Fresno.

The Fresno chile is indeed linked to Fresno County in California’s central valley, though not directly to the city itself. Developed in the 1950s by Clarence “Brownie” Hamlin, a local grower from Clovis, just outside Fresno, this pepper was the result of careful hybridization. Hamlin’s method involved cross-pollinating plants to create a new variety, taking advantage of the self-fertilizing nature of chile pepper plants to produce this distinctive pepper.

The process is more intricate than it seems. While crossbreeding involves straightforward techniques like transferring pollen with a tool, achieving the desired traits requires saving seeds, cultivating multiple generations, and selecting specific characteristics. Brownie Hamlin meticulously refined his hybrid to create the Fresno chile we know today, naming it after the county where he lived and the fertile agricultural region that surrounds it.

Casey Hamlin, nephew of the chile’s originator and a seed vendor near Fresno, offers Fresno chile seeds described as having thinner walls than jalapenos, ideal for cooking or salsas. However, attempts to purchase seeds or contact Casey proved unsuccessful due to broken links and unanswered communications. Inquiries made to the Fresno Historical Society, the agricultural board, and the University of California’s cooperative yielded no information about the Fresno chile.

My search for Fresno chiles led to frequent disappointments. Unlike more common peppers like jalapenos, serranos, or bell peppers, Fresnos are not regularly available. They cannot be counted on in any recipe or dish. Yet, they are part of the same species, Capsicum annuum, which originated in the Americas, particularly central Mexico, where peppers were first cultivated over 5,000 years ago.

Following the Spanish arrival in the Americas, peppers spread to Europe and then to Asia through the Portuguese via Goa. Over centuries, peppers were cultivated and hybridized globally. The hardy Capsicum plant and its versatile fruit—whether grilled, sautéed, pickled, or dried—adapted well to different cuisines. Despite the Fresno chile’s recent appearance in this historical context, its less fiery nature might explain its lower status among peppers.

Capsicums are notable for producing capsaicinoids, compounds that provide their characteristic heat and likely evolved as a defense mechanism against consumption. These compounds irritate the human immune system, causing sensations of heat and sweat. Interestingly, many people find this burning sensation enjoyable, highlighting the unique relationship between peppers and human taste preferences.

Determined to find Fresno chiles, I eventually contacted Craig Underwood, a farmer who previously supplied jalapenos for Huy Fong Foods, Inc. Underwood, who now also grows serranos and cascabels, has added more Fresno rows this year. He noted that Fresnos command better prices at LA’s 7th Street Produce Market, possibly due to their non-cracking skin when ripe, unlike jalapenos. However, Underwood was unfamiliar with Brownie Hamlin or his nephew and uncertain about Fresno chiles being grown in Fresno, where agriculture has shifted towards more profitable crops like almonds.

A few days after speaking with Underwood, I decided to drive to Fresno myself. As I traveled north from LA, crossing the San Emigdio Mountains, the view of the San Joaquin Valley unfolded from above. Early morning clouds clung to the peaks, with the Sierra Nevadas barely visible in the distance, their snow-capped summits feeding the fertile soil below. The valley's farmland stretches for about 450 miles, with Fresno at its heart. This region produces a significant portion of the nation’s carrots, raisins, almonds, processed tomatoes, and a variety of nuts and fruits. While I-5 is the usual route through the valley, California State Route 99 runs through its agricultural core, where trucks loaded with freshly harvested crops are a common sight.

My first visit was to a farm stand in Clovis, adjacent to Fresno, where Brownie Hamlin initially developed the Fresno chile. There, I met Vincent Ricchiuti, the great-grandson of Vincenzo Ricchiuti, who arrived in the valley from Northern Italy in 1914. Vincent’s father runs P-R Farms, Inc., a major farming operation growing a range of fruits and nuts. Vincent manages ENZO, an olive oil company, which includes an olive oil infused with Fresno chiles. That morning, Vincent was planting his Fresno chiles in the field behind his oil shop.

Fresno chiles, like all peppers, start out similarly. They’re part of the same plant species but develop different characteristics over their lifecycle. For instance, Thai chiles begin green, transition through a brownish stage, and finally ripen to red, with each stage offering a different level of spiciness. Recipes that call for Thai peppers in various colors are often referring to the same pepper harvested at different times of the year.

Across the street from the stand was a large beige packing plant for the family business. Behind the store lay several acres of land bordered by housing, enough to accommodate nearly 11,000 chile plants. Ricchiuti explained his preference for Fresno chiles, noting their “level” heat and “approachable” flavor, describing them as “warm and inviting” without being overpowering. His mother, who isn’t fond of spicy foods, even enjoys them on her eggs. Ricchiuti saw planting Fresnos as a personal rediscovery of his roots and a celebration of local heritage.

“It’s the most quintessential Fresno thing,” Ricchiuti said, gazing over his chile field. “We have this incredible food named after us, but we don’t celebrate it or even recognize it.” He felt a complex of identity, feeling overshadowed by LA and San Francisco. As we walked among the young chile plants, Ricchiuti suggested visiting Kong’s farm for insights. Kong, known for growing top-quality vegetables, even supplies Thomas Keller in New York. Ricchiuti believed Kong might also have some Fresno chiles and could offer more information.

An hour later, I found myself at a small black gate, marking the entrance to Thao Family Farms. Kong Thao greeted me with a charming smile and led me to the 34 acres he manages with his parents and nine siblings. He cheerfully asked if I was the one interested in chiles, then guided me to a newly prepared field where his Fresno chiles had just been planted. “This is just a tiny part of our work,” he said, waving towards the field. Beyond it, rows of bell peppers, Italian sweet peppers, Thai chiles, and various greens and herbs stretched out. Thao eventually gave up listing the many crops, saying it was “a little bit of everything,” including heirloom tomatoes, eggplants, summer squash, and cucumbers.

Thao appreciated the unique flavor of Fresno chiles, but his decision to grow them was driven by more than just taste: “Vince and I had discussed it for years, and we finally decided to grow Fresnos because we’re from Fresno.” The flavor of a pepper is influenced not only by its harvest time but also by its growing location. Fresno chiles grown locally have a distinctive, richer taste compared to those grown further up the Valley or along the coast, where extended growing seasons result in larger but less flavorful peppers.

Thao mentioned that local chef Jimmy Pardini frequently uses his Fresno chiles in various dishes, from salads to pizzas. Pardini used to visit the farm weekly to collect produce, but now Thao’s busy schedule, including trips to farmer’s markets in Santa Monica, Hollywood, and Torrence, means he no longer has time for direct deliveries. Pardini remains one of the few locals who genuinely appreciates Fresno chiles. Perhaps a visit to him was in order?

Pardini’s restaurant, true to its name, evolved from his family’s long-standing banquet hall and catering business. What was once a diner, with its original counter and kitchen, now features a pizza oven and a large wood grill at the entrance. A stack of almond wood from the Ricchiuti family’s orchards sat beside the grill. Fresno is a tight-knit community.

Pardini, like Thao and Ricchiuti, grew up in Fresno but only discovered Fresno chiles after college while working at Osteria Mozza, Nancy Silverton’s LA restaurant. The pepper appeared in a linguine dish with clams. “I was amazed to see Fresno chiles in a high-end restaurant,” he recalled. “I wondered if it was the same Fresno from my hometown or a different one.” It was indeed the very same Fresno—homegrown and humble.

Later, I inquired with Silverton about her use of Fresno chiles, what she enjoys about them, and why Pardini might have noticed them. “It’s a stunning chile,” she said. “When cooked, it develops a sweet, smoky flavor.” She thinly slices the chiles and chars them in a wood-fired oven, topping her salami pizza with them. Pickled, they complement braised chicken and sausage. Raw, she cuts them into thick rounds, mixing them with jalapeños in a spicy bean salad. She also makes a Fresno chile pesto for pasta.

Our discussion shifted to the origin of Fresno chiles. Silverton knew they were named after the city but wasn’t familiar with their background. “Isn’t it a relatively recent arrival?” she mused. This could be why Fresno chiles haven’t gained much traction outside culinary circles. Lacking a deep tradition or history, they seem like “a bit of a lost soul,” she remarked with a touch of nostalgia.

Pardini echoed a similar sentiment, noting that despite the pepper’s name and origin, it often gets overlooked. “Every ethnic group has its own chiles,” he explained. Italians cherish their peppers, Armenians their varieties, Thais their chiles, and Mexicans a wide array of peppers. In California, most people have a friend or relative with a backyard full of peppers, but these are rarely Fresnos. We are a nation of immigrants, and even though all peppers originated here, we cling to the ones our ancestors brought with them.

However, the Fresno chile can have its own story. Newcomers like this one have untold narratives that can be shaped by us. A few days after my Fresno trip, I found a Fresno chile plant at a local nursery among jalapeños and serranos. The cashier, puzzled by its presence, sold it to me for a dollar. I planted it the next day, and now, a small green pepper is growing. By the time you read this, it might be turning red. I’ll harvest it come fall, save its seeds for next year, and perhaps pickle it or make jelly. When sharing with friends, I’ll proudly say it’s from Fresno, though like all peppers, it has its roots elsewhere. It’s a hybrid, a newcomer, a quintessential American pepper. And isn’t it delightful?

Ryan Bradley is a writer based in Los Angeles.Chrissy Curtin is an illustrator residing in Ireland.Fact-checked by Dawn OrsakCopy edited by Rachel P. Kreiter