Tennessee Cherry Pepper

I've been taking the Tennessee Cherry pepper for granted. What I mean is--even though I dedicated a post to the hot sauce that we've been making with these fermented peppers, there was little discussion about the peppers themselves. I just thought everyone could visit their respective farmers markets, and get a handful or two of Tennessee Cherries. Or, surely, this was a pepper variety that was common in Tennessee, right? The more I talked with the farmer who was selling these tiny, intense peppers, the more I began to understand that he had created the peppers. One day, he explained that the bright red peppers I was purchasing that particular day weren't quite the Tennessee Cherry peppers, yet; they were what he called the "Tennessee Cherry, Jr.," or a plant that had reverted to the characteristics of the true Cherry pepper's predecessors. The Jr. pepper is a little bigger and not quite as smooth as the Tennessee Cherries I'd bought last October. Jim, the farmer, assured me that by next year, he'd have a true, open-pollinated Tennessee Cherry Pepper.

It's a little difficult to tell, but most of these peppers are smaller than a dime, and some are as small as a single elder-berry. They are very fleshy and seedy when cut, and pungent. The true Tennessee Cherry is more regularly ovoid, and the size of a pinto bean, or even a little smaller. I've never tried to eat the peppers raw, but they are quite spicy--spicier, I'd say, than a habanero; it may be even spicier than a Scotch bonnet, although I can't be sure. Jim actually grows all of those peppers, as well as the Bhut Jolokia chili pepper. 

I have used the Tennessee cherries in a salsa, and it's just about the spiciest salsa that I've ever made. As I mentioned earlier, I've also fermented the peppers to make hot sauce; the sauce is similar to the one that Jim sells at Market. He recommended that I ferment the peppers in brine made with salt and a sweet white wine (for 2 months), and blend with rice vinegar to make the final sauce. Once fermented, I blend only about a quarter cup of the peppers with 3 to 4 cups of vinegar and a pinch of salt; the resulting sauce is relatively thin, but tolerably spicy to us, and quite flavorful (we use a bottle with a pipette to apply it to our food). The flavor that comes through is a little peachy, and a little dusty, but not unpleasantly so. The fermentation and the mild vinegar give the hot sauce a nicely sour complexion without overwhelming the flavors of the peppers. 

I'm sighing a little as I write this--I think I'm a little bit in love with these fierce, tiny peppers. The flavor and intensity is one thing, but over the course of purchasing these peppers, I have developed a great respect for the farmer who grows them. I am so glad to know him, talk to him, and to be able to support his efforts in whatever small way that I can. 

A bottle of hot sauce and more peppers fermenting for the next batch.

Fermented Pepper Hot Sauce

In November, as the farmer's market season was winding down, and as there were fewer and fewer vegetables available at farmers' booths, we bought the hot sauce that would change our lives. Jim, the creator of the hot sauce, had sold us some of his jalapenos, which were some of the spiciest I've ever had; he also usually had a good variety of peppers available. And it was just something about that cool and cloudy day that prompted us to try some of the hot sauce (he dripped a little onto our fingers with a pipette); after one taste, we were hopelessly hooked on the stuff. It had a pleasant spiciness that intensified after a few seconds, and a slightly sour/complex taste that often accompanies fermented things. The flavor was also bright and tangy, and slightly sweet. I couldn't imagine 1) that I'd gone through life without this stuff and 2) that I used to not like spicy things. 


I liked the hot sauce so much, I knew that I had to try making some of our own, so we got some Tennessee cherry peppers from Jim. At his instruction, we went and bought a decent bottle of riesling, made a brine using the wine, and fermented the peppers in that brine for two months. After two months, we split up the peppers into 3 groups: one was frozen for later use, one went into making a simple hot sauce, and the third was blended with peaches, molasses, mustard powder, and other delicious things to make a sweeter, more complex hot sauce. 
Hardly a savory meal goes by without us using one of the hot sauces. Even though we made at least a quart and a half of hot sauce, we have gone through half of it already, and I'm glad that we have some peppers frozen, should there come a day when we run out. 


Tonight, we doused our southern-themed (sauteed collards, barbecue tofu steaks, and pumkin cornbread) dinner in the plain hot sauce. If you've never considered making your own hot sauce, I suggest admonish that you at least give it a go--you won't be disappointed with the results.