Stuffed green peppers for dinner: Welcome to hell

courtesy Good Food Channel

Are stuffed green peppers the most nauseating food on the planet? I would argue that yes they are, with tuna and potato chip casserole running a close second. Of course, there’s always creamed chipped beef on toast to consider in a discussion of this type, but of course it could be plausibly argued that “shit on a shingle” (as we called it growing up at the mansion) does not actually qualify as food to any creature that walks on two legs, or even some who walk on four. I suppose you’d be pretty hard pressed to find a dog who’d pass it by – a cat maybe, but certainly not a dog. Fair enough.

Where was I? Oh yes, green peppers. I hate ‘em. I mean really, really loathe them – that nasty kelly green color and the horrible, bitter, mouthful-o-lawn-cuttings flavor. Almost as bad as radishes, and I don’t know why anyone would eat them, unless it’s some kind of Fifties hangover. My Betty Crocker Picture Cookbook calls for them in everything from deviled eggs to party salads to savory molded Jell-O. No lie. Come to think of it, the green pepper loomed pretty large on the culinary horizon of my youth, and let me tell you, I picked a lot of them out of my dinner during my formative years.

And yet, and still, occasionally, I have a yen for a stuffed pepper. Simple enough really, just whip the top off a red, yellow or orange pepper, tear out the seeds and membranes (membrane – isn’t that one of the most unappealing words in the English language? I have always thought so.) then stuff it with any meat / cheese / veg / rice mixture you like. Top with a little grated cheese or bread-crumb topping, bake for a half hour or so, et voila! A complete one-bowl meal, with an edible bowl.

By the way, those recipes that tell you to boil the pepper first are full of baloney. There is absolutely no need to do that, unless of course one of your dinner guests gums his food, and really that only happens once in a blue moon.

About WSW

Writer, wife, mother. Toiler in the bottomless, black, soul-sucking coal mine of domestic life. Thank God for the portable bar.

Posted on October 24, 2011, in Dinner, One bowl meals and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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