SpiceLines

There are a handful of seductive food shops and restaurants in Cambridge which we’d love to have within walking distance of our own neighborhood: Formaggio Kitchen, of course, for its fascinating array of artisan cheeses and super-knowledgeable staff; Christina’s Spices, where we always discover tantalizing new seasonings from far corners of the globe (current passions include Tasmanian pepper and smoked Mexican black salt); and then there’s Oleana.

Praised for its innovative Arab-rooted Mediterranean cuisine, Oleana regularly makes Boston Top 10 Restaurant lists. In 2005 chef Ana Sortun was named Best Chef Northeast by the James Beard Foundation. But Oleana still feels more like a lively neighborhood bistro than a showcase for a star chef—and therein lies its magic. Pierced metal lanterns, wide planked wooden floors, stylish copper-rimmed tables, and walls the color of thick cream create a modern exotic vibe, which perfectly suits a menu inspired by cuisines of Turkey, North Africa and the Middle East. Just a few weeks ago, we sampled the vegetarian tasting menu: It began with a sweet-tart carrot puree with Egyptian spices, segued to lentils braised in white wine with fried fiddleheads and tangy romesco sauce, and finished with a flourish of rich ricotta dumplings, meaty porcini mushrooms and braised spring lettuces. Well, actually it finished with a tiny square of intensely rich dark chocolate marquise sprinkled with fleur de sel. It was great.

Some of these recipes can be found in Sortun’s new cookbook, Spice: Flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean. But when we talked with her by phone last week, she said her goal was never just to write an Oleana cookbook. “I really want to teach people how to be more comfortable with spices,” she said. “People are scared of or overwhelmed by spices. They don’t know what to do with them. So I’ve tried to introduce a different way of thinking about spices. I want to show people how to use them in a lighter Mediterranean way--to enrich foods without having to add fat.”

Sortun hasn’t organized her cookbook in the conventional “meat, fish, vegetables” manner. In the introduction, she writes: “People ask me so many questions about spices and herbs—their usage alone and in combination. What can I do with coriander? What spices go well with lamb? What can I do with all the mint in my garden?”

In answer, she has grouped spices and herbs, some familiar, some not, into families that complement each other. Each chapter focuses on one cluster—say, cumin, coriander and cardamom, or mint, organo and za’atar (a summer savory-like herb)--with recipes that highlight innovative ways to use each spice, either on its own or in combination. This was not an easy sell. “People usually don’t say, ‘I feel like having cumin tonight,’” she laughed.

Chef Ana Sortun in the kitchen at Oleana on a busy night.

We asked the chef why cumin and coriander are so often combined—and why she added cardamom to the mix. “Cumin is a warm, earthy, brown spice,“ she explained. “Coriander is bright with citrus notes. Cardamom is extremely fragrant and pepper-like. Each is wonderful, but when you blend them, they balance each other out.” You can follow this line of thought in recipes like Chickpea Crepes scented with cumin, Seared Salmon with Egyptian Garlic and Coriander Sauce, and Arabic Coffee Pot de Crème, a riff on the custom of pouring coffee over cardamom pods stuffed in the spout of the pot.

An embarrassing confession: Just as we were reading Spice, a bag of carrots well past their prime surfaced from the depths of the refrigerator. The very first recipe in the book is for Carrot Puree and Egyptian Spice Mix with Nuts and Olive Oil, so we pulled out the paring knife and started peeling. An hour later, an extraordinary transformation had occurred. The carrots were simmered till tender, coarsely mashed with olive oil, white wine vinegar and spoonfuls of harissa, a peppery Middle Eastern condiment, then seasoned with cumin and ginger. We served the puree with pieces of torn baguette, olive oil for dipping and dukkah, a complex Egyptian spice and nut blend, which includes coriander and cumin, as well as almonds, sesame seeds and coconut. The levels of flavor in this seemingly simple dish were astonishing: It was by turns sweet, tart, peppery, earthy, nutty. One of Oleana’s most popular prêt-a-manger dishes, for us it made a delicious light supper with a green salad and a glass of wine.

Some of Sortun’s combinations, like vanilla, saffron and ginger, are frankly surprising. “Again, it’s a matter of balance,” she said. “Saffron is a warm, earthy, brown, almost dirty spice. Vanilla is sweet and aromatic; ginger is spicy and peppery. In Moroccan cooking they often use combinations like this. They love that sweet-savory-spicy thing. Typically you find this in broths or in dishes like bisteeya. At Oleana we do a sweet potato bisteeya with saffon and ginger."

The way Sortun uses spices owes much to her exploration of traditional Turkish cuisine, as well as that of countries like Greece, Jordan, Syria and Lebanon. “What sets the eastern Mediterranean apart is the very light and subtle use of spice,” she explained. “It is very sophisticated because of the influence of the Ottoman Empire which was really decadent. The food can be very complicated, but it is not as heavily spiced as in Indian cooking. Ottoman chefs left their stamp on dishes like borek, kofte or ground meat kabobs, the bulgur-based kibbehs, raviolis with yoghurt and many other vegetable dishes. You see different variations running throughout the Mediterranean.”

One of the pleasures of Spice is reading about Sortun’s adventures as she travels around the Mediterranean in the company of great cooks. We meet people like Ayfer Unsal, a journalist and author of Turkish cookbooks, who organizes a stunning feast in the town of Gaziantep. All the women bring their specialties, such as kofte or kibbe, “some with lamb, others with potato and pumpkin, salads dressed with sweet-tart pomegranate molasses, fresh and intriguing vegetables spiked with the spice and herb combinations that are now staples” in her kitchen. She takes us to her favorite restaurants, such as Cupia in Athens where chefs char eggplant over a wood fire, then mix the creamy flesh with a garlicky mayonnaise and toasted pine nuts. Back home, Sortun crossed that dish with a Turkish preparation known as Sultan’s Delight to create her own version, Smoky Eggplant Puree with Pine Nuts and Urfa Pepper.

“Travel is far and away the biggest influence on me,” she told us. “When I went to Turkey for the first time I had genies and magic carpets in mind. When I got there it changed everything I ever thought about the country and food.” In fact, the Seattle-born chef seems to have spent much of her life exploring kitchens on the other side of the globe. After working in restaurants from age 14, she attended La Varenne in Paris. cooked in Italy, Spain and the south of France, then returned to Boston where she became chef at Casablanca in Harvard Square. During that time she took that first eye-opening trip to Turkey and since then, has returned two to three times year to the countries which have inspired her. “I’m a big believer in knowing the rules before you break them,” she said. “I have go back again and again before I can get creative.”

Some of the herb and spice mixtures in her cookbook will be unfamiliar to readers—Sortun gives recipes for Moroccan Ras Al Hanout, Egyptian Dukkah, and Jordanian Za’atar, among others—but to make it really easy, she has also created a signature spice collection that can be purchased with the cookbook through Oleana. There is one stack of five blends, and another of hard-to-find single spices such as Aleppo and urfa chilies, sumac and rigani, a fragrant Greek oregano grown on the slopes of Mount Olympus.

Now, you have no excuse for not making Crispy Chicken with Lemon and Za’atar or any of the other more than 100 recipes in this intriguing book.

Spice: Flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean can be purchased on the web at www.ecookbooks.com. To buy the cookbook and spice stacks, contact Oleana, 134 Hampshire Street, Cambridge, MA 02139. Telephone: 617-661-0505. Web: www.oleanarestaurant.com.

To see Ana Sortun's recipe for Carrot Puree and Egyptian Spice Mix with Nuts and Olive Oil, please go here.

In this recipe from Ana Sortun, carrot puree is served with dukkah,
a nutty Egyptian spice mix flavored with cumin and coriander.

The last time I had supper at Oleana, the vegetarian tasting menu began with a tantalizing carrot puree sprinkled with dukkah, a complex Egyptian spice mixture made of toasted almonds, coconut, and sesame, as well as coriander and cumin. The levels of flavor in this simple dish were astonishing: It was by turns, sweet, tart, nutty, earthy—and totally addictive. I was not surprised to learn that it is one of the restaurant’s most popular prêt a manger dishes.

In her new cookbook, Spice: Flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean, chef Ana Sortun says that she and Claudia Roden created this version of dukkah for a presentation on Middle Eastern food at Boston University in 2000. The coconut was an unusual addition which gave the traditional spice and nut mixture a new twist.

There are probably as many versions of dukkah as there are cooks. Sortun mentions one mixture made with nigella seeds and dried mint. It can be served quite simply with bread and olive oil, she says, but it is also “delicious on seared sea scallops and duck, or in a salad of raw fennel and orange. [It} is also fantastic in the summertime sprinkled on sliced tomatoes.”

Toasting not only brings out the richness of the nuts, but also transforms the raw cumin and coriander seeds by releasing their aromatic oils and giving them a nutty flavor.

Carrot Puree and Egyptian Spice Mix with Nuts and Olive Oil
(from Ana Sortun, Spice: Flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean)

To serve 8

Ingredients for the carrot puree:

2 pounds carrots, peeled and cut into 2-inch lengths
6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, plus more for dipping
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
4 teaspoons harissa (see note)
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
Torn pieces of French baguette
Salt and pepper to taste

Ingredients for the dukkah:

1/2 cup blanched almonds
3 tablespoons coriander seeds
2 tablespoons cumin seeds
2 tablespoons sesame seeds
1/4 cup unsweetened dried shredded coconut
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

To make the carrot puree:

1. In a large saucepan over high heat, cover the carrots with water and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer until tender, about 20 minutes. Drain the carrots and return them to the saucepan. Cook for 30 seconds over medium heat to thoroughly dry them. Remove the carrots from the heat and coarsely mash them with a fork or whisk. You should have a coarsely ground carrot puree that sticks together but still has rough pieces throughout.
2. Stir in the olive oil, vinegar, harissa, cumin and ginger. Season the mixture with salt and pepper.

To make the dukkah:

1. In a medium skillet over medium heat, toast the almonds until golden, about 4 minutes. Transfer the almonds to a work surface to cool, and then finely chop them.
2. Put the coriander and cumin seeds in the same skillet and toast, stirring until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Transfer the seeds to a spice grinder and allow them to cool completely before coarsely grinding.
3. In a medium bowl, combine the almonds with the ground spices.
4. Put the sesame seeds in the skillet and toast them over medium heat, stirring until golden, about 2 minutes. Transfer to the spice grinder.
5. Toast the coconut in the skillet over medium heat, stirring constantly until golden, about 2 minutes. Add the toasted coconut to the grinder and let it cool completely.
6. Grind the sesame seeds and coconut to a coarse powder. Combine with the almond and spice mixture and season with salt and pepper.
7. Serve the dukkah and carrot puree in separate bowls with torn chunks of crispy baguette and olive oil. Dunk the bread in the oil, dredge it in the dukkah, and spread on the carrots.

Note: Harissa is a peppery North African chili paste that can be stirred into almost any dish that needs a little zip. Middle Eastern food shops usually sell ready made-harissa in tubes. In her cookbook, Ana Sortun provides a recipe for harissa made from Urfa chilies, garlic and sun dried tomatoes.

Pain. Sharp. Like an ax cleaving my skull. I lay silently, keeping my eyes closed. An icy draft raised goose bumps on my left side. Where was I? A walk-in freezer? A vision of a pale, long-haired Canadian lynx coat floated into my head. It was hanging in a closet somewhere far away. Light as a cloud, but so warm.

I was not only cold, but intensely uncomfortable. I was lying on my back. So why were my legs bent under me? Strange. Gingerly I straightened my top leg and lowered my hip to the floor. A sudden surge of nausea made me stop. I tried to breathe through it, but the pounding in my head was vicious, like a croquet mallet slamming a stake into the ground.

Something was wrong. I couldn’t feel my other leg. Fearfully, I slid my right hand down to where it should be. I touched fabric. Something smooth, with a little ridge, maybe a seam. All right. It was there but completely numb. I grasped my thigh and pulled it out from under me. As I did so, it began to tingle and burn. It must have buckled under the weight of my body--

Had I fallen? Another image surfaced. It was dark and bitterly cold. I had my eye to the glowing crack in the shutters. I could see papers all over the floor. In fact, I was lying on them now. Every time I moved they crackled. But why was I on the floor?

I had opened the door of the tree house and there was the scent of night blooming jasmine…and now I was lying on some papers and my head was splitting open. Odd. It was winter. Everything was dead or dormant. How had that exotic fragrance—

I forced my eyes open. All I could see was a diffuse light. I squeezed my eyes shut and blinked. It was morning, I guessed, since the light seemed to be coming through the shutters. I blinked again.

It looked as if there had been an earthquake. Books were jumbled on the shelves; some had fallen to the floor, others were lying open, face down, with broken spines. The floor was a morass of papers and clippings and hand-jotted notes. File boxes were tossed helter skelter. The old maps of the subcontinent had been ripped off the walls, their frames and glass shattered, backs sliced open…

It was then that I heard the floorboards creak ever so slightly. Someone was in the room with me. I froze, afraid to move even a centimeter. Whoever it was had been waiting, silently, watching me. I shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold. I held my breath.

There was a book lying on the floor by my hand. Carefully I stretched out my fingers to grasp it. I could slam it into…

The floor creaked again, closer to me. Through half-closed eyes I could see jeans and scuffed suede boots. Round toes. It had to be a man. I could hear him breathing, smell something clove-like…

“You’re back,” said a quiet voice. Male. Deep, with a familiar timbre. It almost sounded like Marco.

I opened my eyes.

It was Marco.

Except it wasn’t.

Black, white and green peppercorns are the fruit of the piper nigrum
vine which flourishes in the tropical heat and rain of the world's
equatorial regions.

To learn absolutely everything you need to know about black pepper and more, follow this link to SpiceLines newsletter: www.globalprovince.com/spicelines/index9-05.htm.

Every issue of SpiceLines newsletter is devoted to a single spice. In our first issue, we explore the tantalizing world of peppercorns. We delve into the history of the pepper trade and give you seven spicy recipes to try, plus advice on selecting the very best peppercorns and peppermills. In Chef’s Interview, Floyd Cardoz of Tabla in New York tells us how black peppercorns are used in his own kitchen and in the cooking of Goa where he spent his childhood.

Follow these links to specific articles:

Feature Article: Black Pepper: The King of Spices

“One nibble of a pepper-encrusted claw and my lips began to tingle. A few more bites and my eyes were watering, my nose streaming, my mouth aflame—but I could not stop. The incendiary heat of the cracked black pepper paired with the sweetness of the crabmeat was irresistible….”

Chef Interview: Bombay Spice: A Conversation with Floyd Cardoz

“Tabla is not actually an Indian restaurant, but a wondrous cross cultural kitchen manned by Floyd Cardoz, whose inventive way with Indian flavors creates dishes that owe as much to French or American styles of cooking as to the subcontinent….”

Spice Kitchen: Pepper Recipes

Seven delicious peppercorn recipes, including Floyd Cardoz’s Black Pepper Shrimp, Watermelon and Lime Salad. Don’t miss Singapore Black Pepper Crab and Elizabeth David’s Steak au Poivre, or our Seven Tips for Cooking with Pepper.

Spice Shop: Best Peppercorns and Pepper Grinders

Our favorite sources for Peppercorns of all types—black, white, green pink, Sichuan and more—and a review of the best Pepper Grinders, with advice for picking the one that is right you.

And check out our Peppercorn Glossary for a thumbnail description of each type of peppercorn, plus botanical information, growing regions, and culinary uses.

Our Spice Library is your ticket to great reads: Books, articles and other websites devoted to the fascinating world of spices.

True cinnamon from Sri Lanka has soft, crumbly bark and a complex aroma:
sweet, warm and woody, with whispers of clove and citrus.

To learn absolutely everything you could possibly want to know about cinnamon (and more), follow this link to www.globalprovince.com/spicelines/index.htm.

Every issue of SpiceLines newsletter is devoted to a single spice. In our first issue we explored the tantalizing world of peppercorns. In our second, we savor the delectable flavors of true cinnamon, grown in Sri Lanka, and its closely related cousin, cassia. Eleven tempting recipes, from Perfect Cinnamon Toast to Estofado de Pollo, will lure you into our Spice Kitchen. In Chef’s Interview, Susana Trilling of Seasons of My Heart cooking school in Oaxaca, tells us all about canela and the way it’s used in traditional Mexican cooking.

Follow these links to specific articles:

Feature Article: Cinnamon: Eight Leagues Out to Sea

‘“The shores of the island are full of it and it is the best in all the world,” wrote a Dutch sea captain some centuries ago as his ship neared the coastline of Serendib. “When one is downwind of the island, one can still smell cinnamon eight leagues out to sea.” Once known as Ceylon, modern day Sri Lanka is still the source of the most aromatic true cinnamon, a spice almost unknown in America…”

What is the difference between cinnamon and cassia? Could the world’s most ancient spice be an aphrodisiac? Our feature plumbs the chemistry of cinnamon’s sweetly astringent taste, then peers into its tempestuous past. (Did you know that Nero burned a year’s supply of cinnamon at his wife’s funeral?) After a look at cinnamon-spiced desserts in America, we travel to Morocco and Mexico to learn how the fragrant spice is used in savory fare. This use of cinnamon has a long history reaching back into the Middle Ages—and it’s stirring again in the most current kitchens…

Chef's Interview: Oaxaca Spice: A Conversation with Susana Trilling

“Seven other students and I are lounging at a long, hand hewn table, sipping chilled Coronas, eating buttery black-skinned aguacates criollos we bought in the market earlier that day. I take notes but steal an occasional glance at the Sierra Madres from the window of the school at Rancho Aurora where we have gathered for a five-day cooking class. If culinary heaven exists, I’ve found it here…”

In our interview, Susana Trilling, vivacious chef and owner of Seasons of My Heart cooking school, tells how a Chinese junk washed up on the Pacific Coast of Mexico centuries ago may have introduced Ceylon cinnamon to the Western Hemisphere. She guides us through the celebrated cuisine of Oaxaca, where canela is used to flavor everything from the region’s seven spicy moles to the most delectable Mexican chocolate.

Spice Kitchen: Cinnamon Recipes

Eleven delicious recipes, from Perfect Cinnamon Toast and Fresh Apple Tarts with Cinnamon Ice Cream to Grilled Pork Chops with Moroccan Tomato Jam. Don’t miss Susana’s recipe for Estofado de Pollo, Oaxaca’s salute to Spain: This luscious, cross-cultural chicken stew combines Asian spices (cinnamon and black pepper) with ingredients from the Old World (green olives and capers)—and the New (tomatoes and chilies). Plus Seven (Very Useful) Tips for Cooking with Cinnamon.

Delirious bumblebees cling to Dutch lavender in full bloom at Sunshine
Lavender Farm in Schley, North Carolina.

Is there anything more sensuous than a field of lavender in bloom? At the moment gentle waves of icy blue, mauve, and deep violet are billowing all around me and I’m half-drunk on the flower’s warm, camphorous scent. The air is vibrating with the hum of delirious bumblebees clinging to bobbling purple spikes. A dragonfly zooms by, slows, then hovers, wings a blur. Like the rest of us, he’s in a lavender daze.

This is the peak moment for lavender in central North Carolina. It’s no coincidence that Sunshine Lavender Farm, located in the tiny town of Schley, is also holding its 3rd annual harvest festival this weekend. About a hundred sun-struck lavender worshippers have come to drink in the vision of a thousand plants in glorious but fleeting bloom. Artists have set up easels in the sea of purple, families are clipping armloads of fragrant stems, camera-toting gardeners have come to find out how to keep their own plants from rotting in the South’s humidity. Me, well, I’ve come to drink lavender lemonade and find out if you really can cook with lavender.

Sunshine Farm’s lavender grower-in-chief, Annie Baggett, wearing dark glasses and summer straw hat, is mingling happily with the crowd. Every 30 seconds, she is button-holed by someone who wants to know what kind of lavender will survive here (sturdy French lavandins like “Grosso” and “Provence” because they resist fungal rot better than the beloved English L. angustifolia) and why her plants are mulched with gleaming white oyster shells (to reflect sunlight, keeping plants dry and disease-free). With her 100-watt smile, she may be the most blissed out farmer I’ve ever met—and why not, since she spends her life inhaling a fragrance renowned for stress relief.

The word lavender is said to come from the Latin lavare, to wash. In the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, laundry women were called “lavenders” for their custom of placing sprigs of the fragrant herb in piles of freshly washed linens. A mainstay of the perfume industry, lavender also has a long history of medicinal use, from relieving chest congestion to healing insect bites. In The Complete Book of Herbs and Spices, Sarah Garland notes that “All the old herbalists describe the refreshing effect of lavender for ‘a light migraine’ and ‘swimming of the braine’.” Hospitals in Europe waft the scent into surgical waiting rooms, and modern aromatherapists tout the soothing effects of scented bath oils, candles, and room sprays on the frazzled psyche.

All this is a plus for Baggett, who never intended to grow the herb. The first year on her farm, she optimistically planted a community vegetable garden, but found that deer were her most avid consumers. “They ran through the fields, laughing, with spaghetti squash in their mouths,” she tells me. The next year, intent on finding deer-resistant plants, she installed a test plot of 5 lavender bushes. The deer went elsewhere, so she collected as many varieties as she could find. Today, she has 1,500 well-manicured lavender bushes in a field of less than one acre. Most of them are either “Grosso” or “Provence”—75 percent of the French lavandin oil crop comes from the robustly aromatic “Grosso”—but she has squeezed in other favorites such as “Hidcote,” “Jean Davis” and “Dilly Dilly.” “There are hundreds of varieties!” she says.

I pondered this while sipping a refreshing glass of lavender-infused lemonade. Americans have never taken to cooking with lavender, but the French, especially in Provence where there are vast fields, do use it in the kitchen. Lavender is sometimes mixed into herbes de provence, a blend of thyme, basil, rosemary and marjoram that is traditionally used to season beef, lamb and pork stews, soups, and as a rub for grilled fish. Locals make lavender infused liquers, and in Patricia Wells at Home in Provence, the American writer gives a recipe for Lavender Honey Ice Cream. But although one suspects that French lavender farmers must occasionally grill a whole lamb over dried stems, or infuse a creme anglaise with a few stray flowers, written recipes are hard to come by.

In The Lavender Garden, Robert Kourik suggests that lavender foliage can be substituted for rosemary in almost any dish. Both are members of the enormous mint family, and both have a powerfully aromatic flavor with resinous, slightly bitter undertones. His recipes include one for lamb chops cooked over lavender sprigs and garlic and another for boneless chicken breasts laid on top of fresh lavender stalks and cooked on a cast iron griddle over an open fire. Another idea is to use Grosso’s tough square stems to skewer shrimp marinated in lemon and olive oil; grilled over charcoal, the shellfish are imbued with just a mysterious hint of lavender.

And then there are desserts. Used in moderation, lavender blends well with lemon and other citrus flavors, makes a lovely summery ice cream, and adds a floral aroma to baked goods such as shortbread and pound cake. The Celebrate Lavender Festival Cookbook from the Sequim, Washington Lavender Growers Association takes this idea to another level with recipes for Lavender Crème Caramel Tart and Baked Figs with Ricotta and Lavender Honey Walnuts. Wherever your culinary experiments take you, the real secret is to use lavender with the greatest restraint, particularly if you are substituting the dried flowers for fresh blooms: A good rule of thumb is to use half as much dried lavender as you would fresh. And If you buy lavender, be sure that it is culinary—unsprayed—quality.

Culinary lavender can be ordered from www.adrianascaravan.com or from www.sunshinelavenderfarm.com, which also has bundles of organically grown dried lavender stems for grilling. Robert Kourik’s book, The Lavender Garden and the Celebrate Lavender Festival Cookbook may be ordered from www.lavenderfestival.com, which also provides information about the 10th Annual Sequim Lavender Festival, which will be held July 14-16, 2006.

The flowers of Lavender "Provence" have a sweet, mildly fruity aroma
that makes iced lemonade especially refreshing on a hot summer day.

Right now, the lavender is blooming madly outside the front door. Furry bumblebees are buzzing lazily amongst the rich violet spikes of “Provence”and the bluer ones of “Munstead". The flowers are so profuse that the bees don’t really mind if I steal a few from under their noses. (In the insect world, that would be “from under their probosces…”)

If you don’t have lavender in your garden, this is the moment to look for freshly harvested stalks at your local farmers market—but be sure that it’s organic, or at least unsprayed. One of the simplest and most refreshing ways to experiment with lavender is to use it as a flavoring for lemonade. Pick a few blossoms, make a simple syrup, add water and steep until the sugar mixture has a light floral taste. Then add freshly squeezed lemon juice to taste and chill until very cold.

Fresh lavender imparts a subtle flavor to the lemonade. If you are using dried culinary lavender, cut the amount in half since its stronger taste can quickly become overpowering. At Sunshine Lavender Farm, Annie Baggett makes lemonade by putting dried lavender in a tea ball and letting it steep in hot water until the desired flavor is reached.

Lavender Lemonade

Makes a generous quart

Ingredients:

3-1/2 cups water
1 cup sugar
5 fresh lavender flower heads, or 1-1/2 teaspoons dried culinary lavender (see note)
2/3 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice, strained
4 springs fresh lavender, for garnish

1. Combine 1 cup of water with the sugar in a medium saucepan over a hot flame and stir until the sugar has dissolved. Add the remaining 2-1/2 cups water and the fresh or dried lavender and bring the mixture to a gentle simmer. (If using dried lavender, put it in a tea ball.) Remove from the heat and let the mixture steep for 20 minutes, or until it has a light lavender taste.
2. Strain the mixture into a pitcher or jar, and stir in the lemon juice. Refrigerate until it is cold.
3. To serve, pour the lemonade over a glass of ice and garnish with a sprig of fresh lavender.

Note: Dried culinary lavender can be ordered from www.adrianascaravan.com or from www.sunshinelavenderfarm.com.

(Editor’s Note: Apologies to those who have wondered about Claire’s absence. She took another holiday—well, I call it a holiday, though naturally I am the last to know when or where she goes—and only resurfaced today. Neither threats nor cajolery make the slightest difference. She is really the most irritating person.

Well, enough of that: The last time we heard from her, Claire was lying on the floor of Marco’s aerie, having lost consciousness—we don’t know how--while spying on a mysterious treetop prowler on a cold winter night—the same night in which Marco’s mentor Max was found murdered in Marco’s Porsche, which the police removed from the river—oh, I can’t go on. You’ll just have to read the previous installments…)

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. The face hovering over me was intimately familiar: cropped hair, the color of dark roasted espresso, café au lait skin, a devastatingly handsome face, down to the cleft in the chin and chiseled cheekbones. Full lips, with a slight curl that could be mistaken for a smirk. Brilliant blue eyes…

I tried to raise my head. “Easy. You’ve had a nasty fall. Don’t move if it hurts.” His voice was reassuring, warm, mellifluous. So why did I suddenly feel warning prickles running up my spine?

I forced myself to sit up even though my head was throbbing and touched the back of my skull. Well, no wonder it hurt. There was a lump the size of the proverbial goose egg. My hair was stiff, probably with dried blood. Another surge of nausea welled up in my throat and I broke out in a cold sweat. Great. Now I’m going to throw up in front of—

“Who are you?” I blurted out.

He laughed easily and sat back on his heels. “Smart girl. Not everyone can tell us apart. Marco said you would know right away.”

“Sorry,” I squinted at him. “I’m not following. You’re—who are you?”

“I’m Maffeo, Claire. Marco’s twin. “ He narrowed his eyes and looked at me intently.

“Oh, right...Maffeo. It’s my head...I guess I'm all mixed up.” I had been married to Marco for four years and never, ever was there a whisper, a hint, even a glimmer that he had a brother, much less an identical twin brother.

“He’s the older actually, by 28 minutes and 17 seconds…at least that’s what our mother always said.” Maffeo looked at me quizzically, crinkling the corners of his eyes just the way that Marco did. “He did tell you about me, didn’t he?”

My mind was racing. What should I do? Admit that I didn’t have a clue, or play along? I decided to be evasive. “I’m going to stand up now,” I said.

He grasped my hand and pulled me to my feet. His skin was soft and smooth. Marco’s palms were calloused, an explorer’s hands, and I had found that oddly appealing at times. I took a wobbly step and sat down in the worn leather library chair.

“So, Maffeo,” I began, peering at shambles of Marco’s study. “Did you do this?”

“God, no, Claire,” he said, surprised. “Marco called me and said he needed my help, so I came. I got here a couple of hours ago. I kept ringing the doorbell, but nobody answered. Then I came around back and saw the light, so I climbed up and found you unconscious and--what is this place?”

“It’s where Marco worked. Works,” I corrected myself. Why was I using past tense? “He said he needed help? When was that?”

“Last week. I’m still jet-lagged--probably last Monday. I was on a boat in the Moluccas with a bunch of Portuguese divers. Had to finish the tour, catch the Twin Otter back to Ternate, get to Jakarta, then Singapore, L.A. and here. I’ve been traveling for 52 hours.”

I looked at Maffeo more closely. His eyes were bloodshot and he was unshaven. He appeared tired. Maybe his story was true. Maybe he had come all the way from Indonesia to help Marco. As if he knew what I was thinking, he pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, put one in his mouth and struck a match. A sweet, spicy fragrance filled the air, a scent I hadn’t smelled since our honeymoon in Bali.

“Incense!” I said to Marco, as we stepped into the sleek marble lobby of the Jakarta airport. I was so happy be in the land of white pepper and nutmeg that I could hardly control myself. “Kreteks,” he laughed. “Clove cigarettes. Everyone smokes them here. You can always tell—all the men have holes in their silk shirts. The cloves crackle and pop when they get hot and burn holes in their clothes.”

Monday. That was the day before Marco disappeared. I woke up on Tuesday and he was gone.

“What exactly did he say to you?” I asked.

“Hard to remember.” He rubbed his hand over his close-cropped hair, exactly the way Marco would do when he was thinking. It was strange, like looking at a mirror image of the man I’d been living with, yet knowing it was off kilter.

“ I was on the boat with these divers and one of them was having a rough go—first dive and all. My mobile rang, it was my brother and he said something about trouble. It was going to take two of us to handle it.” He took a drag on the kretek and looked around at the ripped books and smashed frames “I’d call this trouble."

“And you just got on a plane and came here?” I asked. “After not seeing him for—for how long?”

“Look, I don’t expect you to understand this, but we’re close. We don’t have to—“ He broke off angrily. I knew that quick flash of anger—I’d seen it a hundred times. “Look, I came to help. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on. Where is Marco?”

Suddenly I knew what was bothering me. Maffeo was Marco’s mirror image. There was a scar on his left cheek, not the right. But like Marco’s it was crescent-shaped. Marco told me he came by his scar years ago when an intoxicated curandero mistook him for a black dog, who, as everyone in Mexico knows, is the way the devil disguises himself when he’s up to his tricks.

So how did Matteo get the same scar on the opposite cheek?