Ace gave me this can of this intriguing spice on Valentines Day. It was part of a red-themed cooking gift, nestled in a beautiful lipstick red Creuset gratin dish, and it stood out with its bold graphics. It’s yet another example of the pepper’s amazing complexity and variety.
Espelette is the name of a village—technically a commune—in the French Pyrennees, and piment d’espelette is the pepper raised in villages in and around the region, then hung out to dry in the sun in late summer. The Basque use it in place of black pepper, lending its piquant character to Piperade and using it in the curing of local Bayonne hams.
Pimenton d’espelette has a dusky, lively aroma. There’s a bit of heat, about the same as paprika, and a bit of smoke. It’s zesty, but with a lovely darkness that adds an interesting depth to its flavor. Perhaps it’s that ancient Iberian sun.
Lately we’ve been using it to flavor gazpacho. We make a simple, breadless gazpacho: start with three pounds or so of ripe tomatoes, plus a cucumber (peeled and seeded), a green or red pepper, an onion, a few cloves of garlic, few tablespoons of olive oil, 1-2 tsp sherry vinegar, a tsp of piment d’espelette, and salt to taste. Also a pinch of cayenne if you want the heat. Chop coarsely, blend it all, taste, adjust seasonings, and allow to chill. If it’s too thick you can thin with water or tomato juice. It gets increasingly garlicky with each hour.
It was one of those mornings that was threatening to turn into one of those days: grey, cool, the air filled with a soft middling rain. A day perfect for chowder. We scoured a few of the many cookbooks in the Pease House library and cobbled together what sounded like a simple, pure path to chowderness. 
Step one: gather ye clams. We gathered ours at Hatch’s in Wellfleet, seven pounds split between Littlenecks (the perceptibly smaller) and Cherrystones (the bigger ones).
Step two: scrub clams to remove grit. Enlisted daughter to do this. Seven pounds of clams took her so long, she said, it gave “her hands a headache.” But kudos to her: our chowder had almost no grit in it.
Step three: steam open the clams in simmering water, pulling each out as it opens. Once all the clams are finished, reserve liquid which is now a delicious broth. (When pouring off into a container, hold back the last tablespoon or two in the ongoing interest of grit control.)
Step four: bacon. Then onions.
Step five: Meanwhile, you’ve diced a cup or so of boiling potatoes like red bliss, and have herbs ready—a bay leaf, fresh thyme from the garden (well, if you’re lucky), and, for later, fresh parsley. So after your bacon and onions are cooked, add potatoes, thyme and bay leaf, reserved broth—bolster with additional clam broth or water to make five cups—and cook until potatoes are soft.
Step six: add the cooked shucked clams after giving them a course chop. I prefer meaty pieces, but there was some grumbling that the clams were too large.
Use your judgment. Step seven: add a cup of heavy cream and cook over a medium-low flame until the soup is warmed through. Garnish with minced parsley, freshly ground pepper, and oyster crackers. Take advantage of the day’s rain to have a nice nap afterward, assured that when you wake up the day will have improved and it’s time for the beach.
