Vigorón Cacao Chile Criollo & Chimichurri: We Went Back for More

I walked through the Bacon & BBQ Festival hoping for more of my nom de grandparent, Bacon, but completely satisfied with the candied pork-belly popsicles I was carrying, purchased from one of the food trucks outside.

I love pop-up markets.

Even when I don’t buy a damn thing, they’re inspirational window shopping. Somebody is always making something, growing something, cooking something, or trying to turn some weird little idea into enough money to justify making another one.

This particular event was chock-full of Temu-turned-home-businesses—all manner of cast, molded, twisted, poured or folded materials turned into what the hawkers hoped would soon become gifts.

And faaaar too many people selling 3D-printed things far too tactile not to interact with.

I don’t NEED an iridescent, faceted, segmented dragon.

But the 12-year-old inside me says I want one.

So I pick the damn thing up.

And then the adult in me remembers that every one of these things represents a downloaded file punched into a replicator—the vendor hoping they’ve discovered a literal money-printing machine.

Yes, I’m clearly a little butt-hurt about people selling 3D-printed wares that I think we should all simply be able to make at home.

I’m firmly convinced 3D printers are going to become one of those every-home-has-one appliances in the not-too-distant future.

Apparently we’re not there yet.

So somebody is still making money selling dragons.

There were a couple of actual woodworkers offering a myriad of cutting boards, trays and charcuterie-serving creations, many with poured epoxy—all the rage lately because, when it’s done well, the contrast is pretty damn eye-catching.

Those I can stand around and look at for a while.

Somebody selected that wood. Somebody decided where to cut it. Somebody screwed something up along the way and had to figure out how to make it not look screwed up.

That’s my kind of thing.

And food.

There was food.

Far too much to cover here.

By the time we were walking back toward the exit and passing the Vigorón Cacao table, though, I was pretty much over the sensory assault that crowds provide my Cold-War-trained brain.

I had my pork belly.

I’d fondled somebody else’s dragon.

I was ready to go home.

Then Liz stopped.

Of course she did.

At the last vendor, who had annoyingly flagged us down to try yet another “free” sample.

I’m well aware of TANSTAAFL.

There Ain’t No Such Thing As A Free Lunch.

We all know it, deep down.

But it’s remarkably easy to lose track of that when you’re assaulted by the vinegary acridity coming off a little sample cup containing a fresh dollop of vegetables and a single fried plantain chip—conveniently, another product they sell.

Their plantain chips, incidentally, are made from green plantains they say are sourced from farms in Ecuador.

That did not help my predicament.

I’m trying HARD to stay low-carb.

At the time of this writing I’m down to 191 pounds, a number I hadn’t seen in about a decade and roughly 55 pounds below what I weighed when we returned to Florida from our Alaska life in January 2025.

Plantain chip?

Dammit.

Pass.

Carbs that crunch.

Seems like most of the crunch I crave comes with carbs attached.

But that salsa-looking stuff?

That appeared to be fair game. There wasn’t enough carrot in that little sample cup to derail anything.

So I took the first bite.

Grudgingly.

And my tongue immediately told my brain to get my right hand into my pocket and retrieve some of that paper we trade for goods.

NOW.

My brain, meanwhile, was busy trying to figure out how to make the transaction funny.

Dumb brain.

Always worried about the laugh. 🙄

The Chile Criollo

Turns out the “salsa stuff” has a proper name: Chile Criollo Spicy Relish.

Vigorón describes it as a traditional Nicaraguan spicy relish made with minced vegetables and hot peppers, with a spicy, tangy flavor and no added sugar.

They also call it keto-friendly.

Well.

That certainly wasn’t going to help me say no.

This stuff slaps me in the face with nothing but flavor and excitement.

It’s sweet enough, hot enough, sharp enough and crisp enough, all at the same time.

My first reaction wasn’t particularly suitable for a respectable food publication.

Fortunately, FloridaHillbilly has never been accused of being one of those.

My inner monologue uttered a four-letter word beginning with F.

And it wasn’t free or food.

Although, technically, it was about both.

Liz had another frame of reference entirely.

She’s spent time in Ecuador, and the flavor immediately reminded her of the Criollo sauces she’d had there. For her, it hit a familiar note—and she thought the heat might actually have been even better.

For me, none of that mattered yet.

I just knew I wanted the jar.

Then There’s the Chimichurri

Chimichurri normally isn’t my thing.

I can appreciate it. I understand why people like it. But it’s generally not something I’m going to chase somebody down the street to acquire.

Liz, however, knows what she wants from chimichurri.

Her verdict on this one was pretty simple: fresh.

Garlicky. Herby. Bright. The kind of thing where the ingredients still taste like ingredients instead of becoming some homogenized green condiment that happens to have garlic listed somewhere on the label.

Vigorón describes theirs as a fresh, Nicaraguan-style chimichurri made with herbs and garlic. They say it’s made without preservatives or added sugar and suggest it for meats, chicken, seafood and vegetables, or as a condiment or marinade.

Liz didn’t need the suggestions.

She liked it.

I liked the Criollo.

So we bought both.

Then we went home.

That Should Have Been the End of the Review

The Bacon & BBQ Festival was a two-day affair, Saturday and Sunday.

We’d done Saturday.

Sunday, if it’s a good Sunday around our house, involves very little getting dressed. We seldom get out of our pajamas, and consider that an accomplishment rather than a failure of ambition.

This was shaping up to be one of those Sundays.

Then we remembered the two jars.

For brunch, we fired up a little snacky tray and opened them.

The little sample cup wasn’t doing the selling anymore.

It didn’t have to.

No vendor. No festival. No crowd. No sales pitch.

Just two open jars, some spoons, and us.

And the Chile Criollo was still ridiculous.

The chimichurri was still fresh and garlicky.

We kept eating.

At some point we looked at the jars.

Then at each other.

Then at the clock.

The festival was still running. Sunday was day two.

Son of a bitch.

We were going to have to put on pants.

We got dressed again.

Got back in the vehicle.

Drove back to the festival.

They recognized us when we walked up.

I laid twenty bucks down.

“Another set, please.”

There was some amusement on their side of the table.

“You’re not done yet?”

Nope.

I wanted to load up before they did.

I mentioned that I was writing a review, took my second set of jars, and left smiling.

That’s about as complicated as my rating system needs to get.

I can tell you something is good.

I can describe the flavor.

I can tell you what Liz thought.

I can stare thoughtfully into the middle distance and invent seventeen paragraphs about mouthfeel.

Or I can tell you this:

We got home and drove back to buy more.

Go Find Them

This part matters.

I love pop-up markets even when I’m only window shopping. They’re one of the few places where you can walk twenty feet and go from somebody’s woodworking obsession, to a questionable plastic dragon, to somebody else’s grandmother’s recipe.

And every once in a while you find something worth turning around for.

Vigorón Cacao says they do craft festivals around Florida and local farmers markets on select weekends, along with pop-ups and tastings. They maintain an events calendar because the locations change.

So if you’re somewhere in Florida, you may actually be able to do this the way we did it:

Go taste it.

Don’t take my word for it.

Let them put a little cup in your hand and see whether your tongue starts issuing financial instructions to your brain.

Check their current schedule at the Vigorón Cacao Events Calendar.

And if they’re nowhere near you, you can find their sauces, plantain chips and other products directly through Vigorón Cacao online.

I’m telling you where to find them because I want them to stay in business.

Selfishly.

I’ve got a local supplier as long as they keep making the stuff.

Sometimes the best review isn’t what somebody says about a product.

It’s getting dressed again and driving back to buy more before the people who made it pack up and go home.

Peace,
db

P.S. FWIW, I paid my money, just like you will. This is not a paid advertisement. I’m pushing it because I LIKED it, and I think you will too.

And with that being said, don’t EVER expect a review on kale.

db