mawbray 0:48 Recipes made with peri peri seasoning - myfoodbook Peri-Peri Seasoning is a flavorful blend of spices and herbs inspired by the traditional flavors of peri-peri sauce. It can be use... myfoodbook What Is Peri Peri? The central ingredient in these sauces is the Peri Peri chili, also known as the African bird's eye chili. The sauces are typicall... The Port of Peri Peri Spatchcock Peri Peri Chicken (or Piri Piri) The most delicious spatchcock chicken rubbed with homemade peri-peri sauce! Peri Peri Chicken is a whole chicken rubbed down with ... littlespicejar.com Paprika Chili Chicken Skewers lilydalefreerange.com.au
The first time Leo made his peri-peri dry rub, he was trying to impress a girl. The second time, he was trying to save his restaurant. It started on a humid Tuesday in his tiny Lisbon apartment, three years before the restaurant even had a name. Sofia had mentioned she missed the frango assado from her grandmother’s village—the kind with skin so crisp it shattered, and heat that started as a whisper and ended as a roar. Leo, a line cook with more ambition than sense, decided to reverse-engineer it from memory and a smuggled bag of dried bird’s-eye chiles. He spread the ingredients across his chipped marble counter: six red finger peppers, two heads of garlic (papery skins intact), a knob of ginger, lemon zest dried on the radiator, smoked paprika from a tin his mother mailed from Alentejo, oregano that smelled of roadside dust, and salt as coarse as sea gravel. He worked past midnight, toasting the chiles in a dry pan until their seeds popped like tiny firecrackers, filling the apartment with a smoke that made his eyes water and his neighbors bang on the wall. The first rub was a disaster. Too much salt. The garlic burned in the grinder, turning bitter. He threw it in the trash and started over. The second attempt, he softened the dried chiles in vinegar before dehydrating them again. He added a pinch of brown sugar for depth. He ground everything in batches—chiles first, then aromatics, then spices—so the heat would distribute evenly, not clump in angry red pockets. When he finally pressed his finger into the finished powder, it was the color of dried blood and smelled of sun and smoke and mischief. He rubbed it onto chicken thighs, let them rest overnight, and grilled them over charcoal the next evening. Sofia took one bite, closed her eyes, and said nothing for a full minute. Then she smiled. “You almost got it,” she said. “Needs more lemon.” That was the beginning. Fast-forward two years. Leo’s restaurant, Piri Piri , was the darling of the emerging food scene in Chicago. His signature dish—peri-peri chicken, dry-rubbed, slow-grilled, served with a side of charred lemon—had lines around the block. The rub was his secret, measured in grams and kept in a locked tin under the pass. But success has a way of sharpening elbows. A food critic from the Tribune gave him a glowing review but noted, “The heat is precise, almost mathematical. I wish it had more chaos.” A week later, a competing chef offered his sous-chef double the salary to jump ship and bring “any interesting spice blends” with him. Leo’s sous declined, but the message was clear: someone wanted his formula. The crisis came on a Thursday. His spice supplier sent the wrong bird’s-eye chiles—milder, fruitier, with half the punch. Leo adjusted, upping the paprika and adding a dash of cayenne, but the regulars noticed. “It’s different,” they said. “Still good, but different.” Sales dipped by twenty percent. That night, Leo locked the kitchen doors and laid out every ingredient again, just like the Lisbon apartment. He tasted each component raw: the new chiles were wrong, no fixing that. But maybe he didn’t need to replicate the old heat. Maybe he needed a new kind of chaos. He raided the pantry for things that had no business in a peri-peri rub. Cumin. A whisper of cinnamon. Dried mint, crushed between his palms. He toasted the subpar chiles longer, coaxing out a deeper, almost chocolatey note. He added the lemon zest in three stages—some ground fine, some left in larger flakes that would burst on the tongue. And then, on a gamble that made his heart race, he incorporated a single star anise pod, ground to dust. The new rub was not the old rub. It was stranger, more complex. The heat arrived late but lingered longer, and the mint left a cool echo behind it. He grilled a test chicken and brought a piece to Sofia, who now managed the front of house. She chewed. She swallowed. She looked at him with the same expression as the first night in Lisbon. “You fixed it,” she said. “No,” Leo replied, wiping his hands on his apron. “I made a new one. The peri-peri dry rub—version two. It’s not the memory. It’s the next chapter.” The next day, he posted the recipe on the restaurant’s chalkboard for anyone to see. No secrets, no locked tins. Let the other chef copy it if he could—but he’d never have Leo’s hands, Leo’s memory of Sofia’s smile, Leo’s willingness to burn the first batch and start over. The lines came back by Saturday. Leo’s Peri-Peri Dry Rub (Final Version)
6 dried bird’s-eye chiles (or the hottest red chile you can find) 4 cloves garlic, sliced thin and dehydrated (or use 2 tsp garlic powder, but fresh-dried is better) 1 tbsp smoked paprika (hot or sweet, your call) 1 tbsp brown sugar 1 tbsp dried oregano 1 tbsp coarse sea salt 1 tsp ground ginger 1 tsp cumin 1 tsp dried lemon zest (from 1 large lemon) ½ tsp cinnamon ½ tsp dried mint, crumbled ¼ tsp star anise powder (optional—chaos required)
Toast the chiles in a dry pan over medium heat until fragrant and slightly darkened, about 2 minutes. Cool completely. Grind everything in a spice grinder or mortar in batches—chiles first, then everything else. Mix thoroughly. Store in an airtight jar. Use within three months. Rub generously on chicken, shrimp, or cauliflower. Let rest for at least 2 hours, preferably overnight. Grill hot and fast. Serve with lemon wedges and the knowledge that every great recipe is just a happy accident you were brave enough to repeat. peri peri dry rub recipe
Spicy Peri Peri Dry Rub Recipe Peri peri, a flavorful and spicy seasoning blend originating from Africa, has gained popularity worldwide for its bold and aromatic flavor. This peri peri dry rub recipe is perfect for adding a zesty kick to your grilled meats, vegetables, or even as a seasoning for soups and stews. Ingredients:
2 tablespoons paprika 1 tablespoon garlic powder 1 tablespoon onion powder 1 tablespoon salt 1/2 tablespoon black pepper 1/2 tablespoon cayenne pepper (or more to taste) 1/2 tablespoon dried oregano 1/4 tablespoon ground cumin 1/4 tablespoon coriander powder 1/4 tablespoon citric acid powder (optional, but recommended for that authentic peri peri flavor)
Instructions:
In a small bowl, combine all the ingredients and mix well until you get a uniform blend. Store the peri peri dry rub in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 6 months.
Tips and Variations:
Adjust the heat level : If you prefer a milder flavor, reduce or omit the cayenne pepper. For an extra spicy kick, add more cayenne pepper or introduce other hot spices like chili powder or red pepper flakes. Add a smoky flavor : Introduce a smoky element to your peri peri dry rub by adding 1/2 tablespoon of smoked paprika or chipotle powder. Experiment with citrus : Replace the citric acid powder with dried lemon or orange peel for a different citrus flavor profile. Use it as a marinade : Mix the peri peri dry rub with olive oil, lemon juice, and your preferred liquid ingredients to create a marinade for your favorite meats or vegetables. mawbray 0:48 Recipes made with peri peri seasoning
How to Use:
Rub it on : Generously sprinkle the peri peri dry rub on your chosen ingredient, making sure to coat it evenly. Let it sit : Allow the rubbed ingredient to sit at room temperature for 30 minutes to 1 hour before cooking, allowing the flavors to penetrate. Grill or cook : Grill, roast, or cook your ingredient as desired, enjoying the bold and aromatic flavors of the peri peri dry rub.