I’m usually not the biggest pepper fan, roasted they can become too slick and flimsy, and raw sometimes they are simply too pungent. But when I spotted these little peppers, sold for $1 a bag on a street near work, I grew nostalgic. So humor me while I take you on a journey through Nosheteria nostalgia.

My longtime readers know that I am married. I’ve been married to Brian for only a hair longer than the time I’ve had this blog. But Brian has actually been in existence for much longer than Nosheteria; before he was my husband, he was my forever boyfriend. Not high school sweethearts (considering our age difference of six years, that would have been sick and wrong), but we did meet while I was still in college.

I graduated and stuck around while Brian went back to graduate school. Years passed, anniversaries came and went, and then– we got engaged. And this is where my little story begins. There was a popular tapas bar near our house that we would frequent for a delicious Pisco Canary (Brian), or an Andalusian Sidecar (me), and a little nibble. The nibbles were plentiful and always expertly prepared, from the crisp, herby fried potatoes, to the smooth salt cod cazuela, to the intermittently piquant pimientos de padron. The pimientos were always a favorite. At the table a plate would arrive, the little peppers glistening in an olive oil sheen, and the sea salt pebbling proudly on the surface. Each time you would take a pepper, it was like opening a neatly wrapped present on Christmas morning. You never quite knew what you would get. Some peppers were mellow and sweet, other would be fiery hot, but each was always delicious.

It was one evening, sharing a plate of these very peppers, that Brian and I decided that now was the time for us to get hitched. There was no bended knee, no teary nods (that’s not our style), but Brian asked: calmly, succinctly, and altogether unplanned. We talked about it, and then by the end of our plate of pimientos, only the stiff stems remaining on the platter, I had agreed. And then Brian did the most romantic and quirky motion yet, he offered his hand for me to shake. Of course, I thought, people shake as they enter into a business transaction with one another, they shake when they buy a house, or even a car, why not when they enter a lifelong commitment with each other?

Six weeks later, Brian and I were married in the living room of our house in Berkeley. Our families were present, dear friends married us, and a select few attended. I wore grey. It was perfect. The way that Brian and I were married matches the way that Brian and I are to each other — low-key, private, and personal.

And these peppers, though not the special pimientos de padron at the tapas bar in Berkeley, were a close second. Fried in some cloudy, flavorful olive oil until charred and beginning to soften, then sprinkled with sea salt, they did just the nostalgic trick.