Gratitude From Chilis

What’s up, my Eaters! I hope you are all well. My week has been promising. I recently experienced a pretty huge and unexpected change in my business. It’s been difficult for all parties involved. As a result, the last couple of weeks have been a profound adjustment period. Sometimes, those days can look pretty gray. However, this week it feels as though the skies are brightening again, and I am very grateful. I’ve also been loving this fall weather.

Continuing in the spirit of gratitude, this week I’m going to tell you about an unexpected gift I received not long ago and all that came from it.

Last week, a new acquaintance reached out to me with a surprise — twelve pounds of assorted spicy peppers. Some varieties were familiar, others were total mysteries. A few didn’t even have names. They were absolutely beautiful. The different shapes, sizes, colors, and combinations were almost overwhelming. The robust fragrance they gave off was a warning of the fury that rested within that mound of deception. I was struck by how something so beautiful could house so much fiery power. I was also taken by the sheer abundance I’d been blessed with.

This bounty landed in front of me because a local farmer didn’t want to totally lose the crop with the frost that was coming.

As I started sorting through the peppers, two thoughts came to mind. The first was, “Who could I bless with these chilis who would truly appreciate them?” The second was, “How am I going to make the most of this bounty before it spoiled?”

We ended up giving away a few pounds to seven or eight people — friends, neighbors, fellow food lovers. One of them, another farmer, planned to harvest seeds from hers so she could sow them next season. I loved that. The idea that this unexpected gift could regenerate, that the fruit of someone else’s generosity could turn into next year’s crop, felt like a perfect kind of abundance.

But fresh chilis don’t wait. They demand attention. So I got to work.

I first loaded the dehydrator, and before long, the house smelled like warm pepper and smoke — sharp, earthy, and a little dangerous. I reloaded it again, and then a third time. The dried chilis will be ground into chili powder for my pork rinds, tucked away for soups and braised dishes, and a few pounds will be sent to a buddy who runs a hot sauce business.

Another few pounds are under brine right now, fermenting slowly into what will become a deep, flavorful hot sauce later this winter. A smaller portion will go toward making chili oil — the kind that glows a rich red and carries both flavor and fire. The last few pounds I’ve frozen for later use, destined for more chili powder when time allows.

All told, it ended up being about three days of preservation work — sorting, slicing, drying, fermenting, grinding, and freezing. It was worth every minute. The slow work of preservation always is. It takes what’s fleeting and makes it last. It turns urgency into intention. Each method gives something different: the whisper of smoke from dried pods, the tang from fermentation, the gleam of chili oil in a spoon. In a way, this unexpected gift filled more than just my pantry — it filled my week, my kitchen, and my creative tank.

From a business standpoint, this was a huge financial blessing. I’ll be able to use these chilis to bring real value into Pink’s — through dishes, spice blends, and maybe a few new creations inspired by this fiery windfall. Personally, I’m a chili lover, so this gift is also a playground. It gives me a chance to experiment, to taste, and to explore new ways to express the spicy side of what we do.

But more than anything, this experience challenged me to think differently — to take something abundant that might have overwhelmed someone else and turn it into opportunity. It pushed me to think entrepreneurially, creatively, and gratefully about how to let this harvest be a blessing. And when I look back, I realize I did exactly that. I’m proud of myself.

What I loved most, though, was how this often-overlooked food was able to touch so many people. These peppers introduced me to two new faces, one of whom has become a new farmer partner. They allowed me to put food on the tables of at least eight households. They enabled me to bless another farmer partner in a way that will help grow her business. They gave me time with my kids and family in a new and educational way. And soon, they’ll help feed customers across at least two states through our kitchens.

At first glance, I thought I was just getting a bin of free, naturally grown Georgia chilis. I was wrong. These peppers represent something much bigger. They represent what food, Pink’s Barbecue, and The Eating Chambers are all about: the people.

These chilis reminded me that food is only as good as the people who produce it — and the people who gather to eat it. Somewhere out there, a few of those peppers will take root again next spring, continuing the fire. And that’s the real beauty of it: nothing wasted, everything passed along. I am grateful. What are you grateful for this week?

I hope you all have an amazing week. Remember, you can always come see me or my team at the Peachtree City Farmers Market each and every Saturday.