Al­most e­ve­ry na­ti­on has its own San­cho Pan­za, and t­his jolly, so­mew­hat g­ro­tes­que fi­gu­re ne­arly al­ways be­ars t­he na­me of a fa­vo­u­ri­te na­ti­o­nal fo­od or dish.
In Hol­land he is cal­led Pic­kel­her­ring, in F­ran­ce Je­an Po­ta­ge, in Eng­land his nick­na­me is Jack Pud­ding, in I­taly Ma­ca­ro­ni, in Ger­many Hans­wurst.
In Hun­ga­ry we call him Pap­ri­ka Jan­csi. Yo­u might won­der why t­his po­pu­lar c­lown­li­ke jes­ter w­ho per­forms at o­pen a­ir pup­pet s­hows and May-­Day fes­ti­vi­ti­es has be­en gi­ven t­he na­me "­Pap­ri­ka". Per­haps t­he pup­pe­te­ers li­ke t­he b­right co­lo­ur and t­ho­ught it an o­ri­gi­nal na­me, or we­re ins­pi­red by t­he nar­row co­ni­cal s­ha­pe of t­he f­resh pods, or its hot s­pi­ci­ness, w­hich al­so me­ans hu­mo­ro­us in t­he phra­se, 'a s­picy jo­ke'.
Any­way Pap­ri­ka Jan­csi is an o­ri­gi­nal cha­rac­ter. He al­ways b­rings t­ro­ub­le and in­va­ri­ably gets in­vol­ved in it him­self. He is quick tem­pe­red, t­ru­e to his "­pap­ri­ka li­ke" na­tu­re. In his va­ri­o­us es­ca­pa­des he of­ten fa­res badly. If he wins t­he vic­to­ry is not his but his com­pa­ni­on's, Lász­ló Vi­téz's, t­he rat­her simp­le­min­ded k­night. T­he app­la­u­se of t­he s­pec­ta­tors, ho­we­ver, is al­ways for Pap­ri­ka Jan­csi, w­het­her he wins or lo­ses. With his na­i­ve­té and go­od na­tu­re he ga­ins a p­la­ce in e­ve­ryo­ne's he­art. T­he s­to­ry of pap­ri­ka has so­me si­mi­la­ri­ti­es-it was dis­co­ve­red, cul­ti­va­ted, be­ca­me po­pu­lar and lo­ved by e­ve­ryo­ne, and is fo­und e­ve­ryw­he­re.
T­he fi­nal pa­ges of t­he bo­ok con­ta­in re­ci­pes re­com­men­ded for pic­nics and ot­her o­ut­do­or fes­ti­ve oc­ca­si­ons.