Every community has its gems. Sometimes they’re places you can point to on a map, and other times, they’re the things you can taste, smell and share around a table. Here in the Valley, one of our brightest gems doesn’t sparkle — it sizzles.

It’s our beloved hot peppers and oil.

If you’ve lived here long enough, you might forget how special it really is. We see it everywhere — at restaurants, on holiday tables, packed into jars passed between neighbors.

We spoon it onto bread, pile it on pizza, stir it into pasta or eat it straight from the bowl with a fork.

Around here, peppers and oil just are. But for folks visiting from out of town, it’s a revelation.

I was reminded of this when my friend from Washington D.C. texted me before her annual visit.

She didn’t say, “Can’t wait to see you!” or “Let’s make plans.” Her message was short and sweet: “Whatever we do, hot peppers and oil must be involved.” That’s it, a nonnegotiable.

So for three days, that’s exactly what we did. We made it a mission, hitting three different spots to sample what each had to offer. And here’s the thing — you’d think peppers and oil would be the same everywhere, right? Peppers, oil, maybe garlic. Done. But nope. Each place had its own spin, its own personality.

At Alberini’s, he includes peppers into the traditional Hungarian mix that are a vibrant green. I have no clue what kind they are, but wow, are they perfect — traditional but with a fresh twist. Then there’s The Lake Club, where the heat builds in that “yes, this is exactly what I came for” kind of way. And then The Blind Bear completely threw me off.

When the plate arrived, I was convinced it wasn’t even what we ordered. Their peppers don’t look like anyone else’s — they’re minced down into this almost spreadable mix. One taste, though, and I was hooked.

It’s funny — three ingredients, three completely different experiences. That’s the beauty of simplicity, isn’t it? Something so humble, so ordinary on the surface, turns out extraordinary when you put heart into it.

The roots of this dish trace back to the Italian immigrants who came to the Valley, growing peppers in their gardens and finding ways to preserve them through the long winters. Over time, peppers and oil became more than just a way to stretch the harvest — it became a tradition, a piece of identity, something families kept alive and passed along.

And here’s the thing, I’m not even Italian. Yet when I sit down with a plate of peppers and oil, I feel connected to their roots, their history and to my hometown. Because that’s what food does here — it pulls everyone in and makes us all part of the story.

And that’s what makes the Valley so special. We know how to take something simple and make it unforgettable. We value the pause at the table, the fire in the peppers, the laughter between bites.

It’s who we are.

Before my friend left, she admitted she felt a little sad, knowing she wouldn’t get her next taste until her return trip next year.

That is, until I introduced her to White House Fruit Farm, where you can not only buy the peppers but also grab the seasoning mix — just add oil and you’ve got yourself a jar of home. Let’s just say she left stocked up, and has already sent me pictures proving she couldn’t wait to dig in.

So here’s my reminder to you… The next time you sit down with hot peppers and oil, don’t take it for granted. Gems don’t always come in shiny packages. Sometimes, they come in a jar, passed across the table, reminding us that the simplest things can be the most special.

From my table to yours, I’ll raise a glass of vino and say — here’s to the peppers, the oil and the Valley that makes them shine.

Mother, author, entrepreneur and founder of Dandelion-Inc, Lisa Resnick wants to hear your story. Share memories with her by emailing lisa@dandelion-inc.com.