Ají Charapita peppers, red and yellow, served with lime wedges at a restaurant in Iquitos, Peru—hardly the stuff of $25,000-a-kilo luxury.

In 2014, I roamed Peru’s Belén Market in Iquitos, grabbing handfuls of Ají Charapita—pea-sized chilis bursting with citrusy heat—for mere pennies, a jungle staple on every table. Two years later, an Austrian farmer named Erich Stekovics marveled at this prolific little pepper, dubbed it the “world’s most expensive” at $25,000 a kilo, and sparked a global rumor that roared through 2016 and beyond. This isn’t just a myth to bust—it’s a chance to reclaim a Peruvian legend too vibrant for tall tales.

The Man Behind the Myth

The trail leads to Austria, where Erich Stekovics began cultivating Ají Charapita for the first time in 2016. Known as the “Paradeiser King” for his tomato prowess, he turned to chilis with his wife, Priska, claiming they’d grown Europe’s first crop of this Peruvian rarity. A September 2016 Kurier article trumpeted his harvest as “the world’s most expensive spice,” outpricing saffron and vanilla at 20,000 euros per kilo—about $22,300 USD then—due to its scarcity outside Peru and slow growth in his Burgenland tunnels. By January 2017, they marketed it as the “pepper of love, work, and wisdom,” sold in 4,400 hand-picked tins—200 peppers each for 150 euros—boxed in Riess enamel with lofty promises of floral, fruity, exotic zing. Stekovics boasted it held “our entire experience of nature’s delights,” while Priska swore it boosted “the ability to love, work, and think.” A Ruptly segment, hyped on his site as “the world’s priciest pepper harvested in Europe,” fanned the flames around that time—though the video’s since vanished, its broken link a ghost of the 2017 buzz. He’d started with just four seeds from a Mexican archive, nursed them into 3,000 plants, and spun a tale of a chili worth its weight in gold. Press releases hyped it, his book sales climbed, and the internet ran wild.

The internet did what it does best: it amplified the story. One article cited Kurier, ten more cited that, and soon the “world’s most expensive pepper” was gospel. I first caught wind of this in 2017 via an Atlas Obscura piece that nodded to Stekovics’s role. Digging deeper, I found later edits had scrubbed his name from the story—a Wayback Machine peek confirmed the original angle had been softened, letting the rumor stand alone.

Ground Truth in Iquitos

Back in 2014, before the hype, I saw the real Ají Charapita in Iquitos, a jungle city pulsing along the Amazon. That trip changed my life—trekking the Salkantay to Machu Picchu, sipping ayahuasca with shamans in the Iquitos wilds, and snagging pods of charapitas at the Belén Market for pennies. Vendors piled baskets with these bright yellow and red gems, locals haggled over handfuls, and every restaurant had them—red or yellow, with lime wedges—on tabletops, a Peruvian salt-and-pepper duo. I stuffed my backpack with pods, filmed the market’s vibrant chaos, and savored them in ceviche, their fruity kick cutting through fresh fish. When I got home, I planted those seeds. They exploded into a backyard jungle—prolific beyond belief. Me and Jen would pick them over an hour, laughing at how they outpaced Stekovics’s fussy tunnels. Labor-intensive? Sure, they’re tiny. But $25,000-a-kilo rare? Laughable.

The reality Stekovics missed is simple. In Peru, Ají Charapita grows wild in the jungle, thrives in backyards, and feeds small farms. It’s a landrace—shaped by centuries of local hands—woven into the Amazon’s culinary soul. Families crush it into ají de cocona, a tangy sauce with local fruit, or sprinkle it over juanes and tacacho. It’s a working-class pepper, not a high-society spice.

The True Value of Ají Charapita

So why the inflated tale? Stekovics tapped our hunger for rarity. Awed by a plant so small yet so productive, he told Kurier its “fine aromas justify the price”—a kaviar-chili once used in Peru instead of pepper. He turned a modest crop into a marketing goldmine. Yet today, his site sells 30 dried berries—2.71 grams by my scale—for 25 euros, scaling to just 923 euros per fresh kilo. That’s a whisper of his $25,000 claim, closer to Iquitos’s truth. This pepper doesn’t need a gilded lie to shine. Its value is in its roots. A Capsicum chinense landrace from Peru—where chilis were born over 4,000 years ago—it’s living history. Its fruity heat, 50,000 to 100,000 Scoville units, dances with a complexity that rivals habaneros, minus the brutal burn. In 2024, my biggest charapita won thehotpepper.com’s growdown throwdown—over 4 kilos from one plant, no sweat. It’s iconic for its heritage, not a price tag.

In Iquitos, I learned value isn’t always dollars. Watching a vendor scoop charapitas into a bag in 2014, I saw a cultural touchstone, not a collector’s trinket. Stekovics’s myth sold books, but it buried a richer truth: some legends don’t need embellishment—just a taste.

A Lesson in Authenticity

Here’s the takeaway. In a world chasing the next $25,000 gimmick or viral fad, it’s easy to miss what’s real. Ají Charapita doesn’t need a fabricated crown; its story—my story from 2014—stands tall. Take a page from Iquitos: seek the authentic, savor it raw, and skip the hype. Value lives in meaning, not marketing.

Now, if you still believe Ají Charapita is the most expensive pepper on Earth, I’ve got some on sale for half price! Only $8,000 USD per kilo—fresh from the Belén Market, lime wedges not included.