Welcome to 2025! There’s something about the start of a new year that feels full of promise—plans to make, seeds to plant, and a world of chillies to grow.

This season, I’m bringing together some of the most fascinating varieties I’ve ever grown, and I can’t wait to share them with you.

To kick things off, I’ve given an old favourite a bit of a refresh: Chilli of the Week. From now until mid-May, I’ll be featuring almost 20 different chillies—one each week—on top of all the regular varieties we already stock.

There are chillies you grow because they’re trendy, and there are chillies you grow because they deserve a second chance. The Komodo Dragon sits firmly in the latter camp for me.

Once a favourite of chilli growers everywhere, it seemed to slip quietly out of the spotlight a few years ago, overshadowed by flashier newcomers. I’d almost forgotten about it myself until I stumbled across some old photos while planning this year’s crop. There it was, a reminder of why I loved it so much in the first place.

For a superhot, the Komodo Dragon is remarkably prolific. The plant has a habit of putting on a show, with pods that start out in muted greens and slowly blush into deep reds as they ripen.

The Chinese Space Chilli isn’t just a plant; it’s a story. Somewhere between the fields and the stars, this peculiar chilli hitched a ride into orbit, part of an agricultural experiment to see how life behaves in zero gravity. The result? A chilli that seems to carry a touch of the extraordinary, even as it thrives in the very ordinary conditions of my greenhouse.

It’s an old favourite of mine, mostly because it never lets you down. From July onwards, the plant is always ready with a handful of pods, their bright little forms waiting to be picked, crunched, and sprinkled over… well, anything you fancy. They’re crisp and satisfying, with a medium heat that manages to be bold without overshadowing the rest of the meal. I chop them raw, scatter them over salads, soups, or even a plain bowl of rice. They’re the chilli equivalent of a reliable friend—always there, always welcome.

The Chocolate Rocoto is a chilli that doesn’t play by the usual rules. At first glance, it’s all contrasts—lime-green foliage against deep chocolate-brown fruit, little globes that seem almost too polished to be real. They’re much smaller than their cousin, the Rocoto Roja, but somehow more arresting, like jewels nestled among hairy leaves that shimmer slightly in the sunlight. And then there are the seeds: black, glossy, and utterly unexpected. It’s a chilli that seems to delight in being different.

I haven’t grown these for a few years, but the thought of them has stayed with me. They’re not the fastest growers—far from it. They sulk a little in the early days, protesting against too much water or not enough care. But once they settle in, they surprise you with their resilience. Long after other plants have thrown in the towel, the Chocolate Rocoto is still there, ripening its fruit as if to prove a point.

Raging Bull is a chilli that feels as if it’s bursting with purpose. Its teardrop-shaped pods, a perfect marriage of Biquinho’s elegance and Habanero’s fiery intensity, are the kind of fruit you grow not out of necessity but out of sheer, uncontainable enthusiasm. For me, this plant embodies the thrill of discovery—a variety so perfectly balanced it’s almost theatrical.

Last year, I found myself utterly charmed by the Biquinho. Hundreds of little pods, like droplets of sunshine, festooned the plant. Their fruitiness was delicate and bright, a Chinense flavour without the sting—a chilli so mild it invited generosity in every dish. But, like a story without a twist, it left me yearning for just a touch more drama. Enter the Raging Bull.