Quick Three-Pepper Salad

I built the garden. A raised bed, four feet by eight feet, next to the outdoor kitchen, filled with a mix of desert-adapted soil and compost. Planted: cherry tomatoes, jalapeños, serranos, habaneros (for me, not Roberto), cilantro, basil, oregano, and a lemon tree sapling because the lemon tree in our front yard is Roberto's — he planted it when we moved in, and it feels right to have one of my own in the cooking area.

Sofia helped me plant everything. She was methodical: reading the seed packets (she can read basic words now, which amazes me every day), spacing the seedlings according to the instructions, patting the soil down with her small hands. "Like this, Daddy?" "Exactly like that, mija." She asked if we could grow "a taco garden" and I told her that's literally what this is. She was pleased. Diego helped by eating a handful of soil, which I discovered when he smiled and his teeth were brown. He is unfazed by texture, flavor, and basic hygiene. The boy will eat anything. This is either a strength or a liability depending on the context.

Roberto came over on Saturday to inspect the garden. He walked the perimeter like a general surveying a battlefield, testing the soil with his fingers, examining the seedlings, and offering commentary: "Too close together. The tomatoes need room. Move the habaneros — they'll cross-pollinate with the serranos and you'll get confused peppers." I moved the habaneros. You don't argue with Roberto about plants or grills. These are his domains.

He stood in the garden for a long time, looking at the soil, and I could see him remembering his own garden in Maryvale — the one he let go, the one that used to produce so many jalapeños that Elena would give bags of them to the neighbors. I said, "Dad, you should start yours again." He said, "Maybe." From Roberto, "maybe" is the closest thing to "yes" that doesn't require a formal commitment.

At the station, we responded to a brush fire in the Rio Salado riverbed — small, contained quickly, but a reminder that fire season is starting. The city sends out the brush trucks this time of year, and we coordinate with the forest service on the urban-wildland interface. Phoenix is a city built in the desert, which means fire is always part of the conversation. The same fire that I cook with, that I control, that I love — it's also the thing that can take everything. The duality never goes away.

Dinner: a salad. A huge, unapologetic, flavor-packed salad. Grilled chicken (leftover from yesterday's batch cook), romaine, corn cut off a grilled cob, black beans, avocado, cherry tomatoes (store-bought — ours won't be ready for months), cotija cheese, and a cilantro-lime vinaigrette. Sometimes the grill guy makes a salad. Sometimes the salad is the best thing on the table.

Roberto moved my habaneros without asking, which means the peppers in this salad were technically his idea. After a Saturday of watching him walk the perimeter of my new raised bed like he was inspecting a fire line — testing soil, repositioning seedlings, offering the kind of unsolicited expertise I’ve been receiving my entire life — it felt right to let the peppers be the main event at dinner. The grilled chicken was already done. The salad was already calling. And a quick, sharp, three-pepper salad was exactly the kind of thing that tasted like the garden I’m still waiting to harvest.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 large red bell pepper, thinly sliced into strips
1 large yellow bell pepper, thinly sliced into strips
1 medium green bell pepper (or poblano), thinly sliced into strips
1/2 small red onion, very thinly sliced
1/4 cup fresh cilantro leaves, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice (about 1 large lime)
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, or to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Optional: 1 small jalapeño, seeded and minced, for heat
Optional: crumbled cotija cheese for serving

Instructions

Slice the peppers. Cut all three bell peppers in half, remove the seeds and white ribs, then slice each half lengthwise into thin strips about 1/4-inch wide. Try to keep the strips uniform so every bite has color.
Prep the onion and cilantro. Slice the red onion as thin as possible — a mandoline works great here, but a sharp knife does the job. Roughly chop the cilantro, stems and all if you like, which adds a little texture.
Make the dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the lime juice, olive oil, minced garlic, cumin, salt, and black pepper until emulsified. If you want heat, stir in the minced jalapeño now.
Combine and toss. Add the peppers, onion, and cilantro to a large bowl. Pour the dressing over everything and toss well to coat. Taste and adjust salt and lime as needed — peppers are sweet, so don’t be shy with the acid.
Rest briefly and serve. Let the salad sit at room temperature for 5 minutes before serving so the peppers soften just slightly and absorb the dressing. Finish with cotija crumbles if using. Serve alongside grilled chicken, tacos, or anything coming off a hot grill.

Nutrition (per serving)

Quick Three-Pepper Salad — Roberto’s Garden, My Plate