Where There’s Smoke, There’s Flavor: A Love Letter to Charred Vegetables

Charred Hatch, Green Chili from New Mexico

Rediscovering TexMex Through Fire

Lately, I’ve been really enjoying cooking—and eating—homemade TexMex. It surprised me a little. After nearly two weeks in Hawaii, I came home not dreaming of poke or tropical fruit, but of chili peppers and salsas. For the first time in all my trips there, the food didn’t leave much of a mark. I had fresh tuna poke and lovely local salads, yes—but nothing new I’d write home about.

By the end of my trip, I found myself mentally planning meals for my return. What did I miss? What would I cook first? The answer surprised me: I missed TexMex—badly. And when I got back, that craving turned into a cooking spree filled with charring, fresh chili peppers, and my favorite sauces from Humble House (twice cheaper at HEB!).

Texas has been my home for the last two decades, and I’ve grown to love TexMex as one of its most expressive local cuisines. But I’ve noticed something interesting—many newcomers to Texas don’t see it that way. To them, TexMex means chain restaurants, loaded nachos, drive-thru queso, bottomless chips and salsa, and tacos stuffed with ground beef and shredded cheese. It’s festive, yes—but often treated as something casual, even disposable. Comfort food, not cuisine.

That perception misses so much. It overlooks the craft behind a good handmade tortilla, the nuance of roasted salsas, the balance of heat and acidity, and the joy of fresh, local ingredients cooked with care. What about insanely good Texas BBQ? Or the trends like birria or puffy tacos that build on tradition but use non-traditional techniques? It’s in those subtle choices that TexMex really becomes unforgettable.

One of those techniques? Charring.

Charring Is a Universal Language

Charring vegetables isn’t just about the fire. It’s about what the fire brings forward. In TexMex and Mexican cooking, charred chili peppers are everywhere—used in salsas, marinades, soups, stuffings, salads, and sauces. The blackened skin is a kind of transformation, a quiet ritual that wakes up flavor and unlocks sweetness.

And it’s not just here. Charring crosses continents and cultures: In Bulgaria, a device called the chushkopek blackens peppers in a clay-lined cylinder, no open flame required. In the Middle East, vegetables like eggplant and tomato are charred directly over open flames or coals to be turned into dips and salads. In Japan, whole eggplants are charred over binchōtan charcoal in a dish called Yaki Nasu, their skins blackened and peeled before serving with soy sauce, grated ginger, or bonito flakes. Skewered vegetables like shishito peppers and negi (scallions) are also lightly charred and caramelized over hot coals. In India, fire-roasted eggplants become the heart of baingan bharta. In New Mexico, Hatch chili season means rotating drum roasters fill the air with the earthy scent of blistered peppers.

Fire speaks every language.

The Science of Charring: What Happens to a Pepper?

When you char a fresh chili, here’s what you’re really doing:

• The skin blackens and blisters, making it easy to peel off.

• The flesh underneath becomes slightly caramelized, developing a tender, smoky sweetness.

• The pepper is still technically raw inside—it keeps its texture and nutrients.

That last part matters. Green chilis are an excellent source of vitamin C (yes, more than oranges!), and charring doesn’t destroy that. Capsaicin, the compound that gives chili peppers their heat, is also anti-inflammatory and helps desensitize the body’s reaction to allergens. Here in Austin, I always suggest to my clients and friends: start eating salsa. Even mild, daily doses can help you suffer less from our year-round allergy season.

But Is It Healthy? A Note on Safety

A wellness coach friend once asked: isn’t charred food carcinogenic? It’s a fair question. The concern mostly comes from studies on meats and certain starches like potatoes. High-heat grilling of those foods can produce harmful compounds (HCAs and PAHs).

But watery vegetables like peppers, onions, eggplants? Not the same story. Current research shows they don’t produce the same level of risk, especially when eaten in moderation and balanced with other cooking methods. So go ahead—embrace the flame.

The Smell of Home: My Favorite Charred Chili Moment

Charred peppers smell like home to me. That mix of earth, smoke, and something sweet. The scent alone can stop me in my tracks. But it’s not just the smell—it’s the sound, too. As the water trapped in the peppers heats up and tries to escape, it whistles through tiny cracks in the blistering skin. The peppers sing, each one with its own tone, depending on the size of the split and the shape of the fruit. It’s one of my favorite kitchen sounds.

Charring Hatch Green Chili for Blue Corn Tortillas with Pulled Pork and Melting Cheese

A few weeks ago, I had Ukrainian guests over for a Texas steak dinner. I usually serve steaks with steamed Brussels sprouts or asparagus. But this time, I needed something more Southern. So I made a medley of charred sweet and green chili peppers, tossed with crushed garlic, a touch of fresh Fresno and Serrano for heat, and finished with peach balsamic vinegar (my reel on Instagram). It brought the whole meal together.

Later that week, I made stuffed Poblanos for my family—charred first, then filled with caramelized onions, zucchini, Cotija, and Oaxaca cheese. They disappeared fast.

Stuffed Charred Poblano Peppers

Flame as a Flavor and a Feeling

There’s a reason charring shows up across cultures. It’s not just a technique. It’s a conversation with fire. A way to deepen flavor without losing freshness. A way to turn a humble pepper into something unforgettable.

So next time you see a flame? Don’t just think of grilling meat. Think of eggplant. Think of Poblanos. Think of the aroma that clings to your fingers and the sweetness that comes only after a little blackening.

Try it. You might fall in love with vegetables all over again.

Share Your Charred Veggie Story!

Do people in your country or region char vegetables? What tools or methods are used—open flame, charcoal, stovetop, something else? What vegetables do you char most often? I'd love to hear your stories, memories, or recipes in the comments!