SpiceLines

From top left, clockwise: Tellicherry peppercorns, paprika and Lebanese
za'atar from Internatinal Grocery on 9th Avenue in New York.

The bright blue and white awning of the International Grocery pops out like a beacon on the decidedly dingy block of 9th avenue between 40th and 41st Streets. It’s the vivid marine blue you see all over Greece—and on paper coffee cups all over New York--and once inside you might be forgiven for thinking you’ve been transported to a tidy neighborhood food shop on a back street in Athens.

Here is Dino Karamouzis--sturdy, bespectacled, energetic--bustling around the shop, dishing out portions of homemade baklava and spanokopita, wrapping up wedges of feta cheese, wishing a grey-haired woman buying an almond cake “a happy birthday to your daughter.” The refrigerated cheese case is topped with burnished antique copper cooking pots (“not for sale”) and by the cash register, you can pick up a package of wild Greek oregano (“the best”) or purplish Kalamata olives ladled from a big glass jar.

Mr. Karamouzis is a man of few words. How long has he been here? “A long time.” And how many years might that be? “Thirty five.” And how about those prices—$1.50 for a quarter pound of “imported” black peppercorns? Now you’ve touched a subject close to his heart: “I like to keep it old-fashioned. Prices are not the same as 35 years ago, but they are low because I sell so much.” He makes a rolling motion with his right hand. “People can buy a little, just one ounce, and take it home. They don’t have to buy a lot. They like that.” Customers do like his spices, and they call him up even after they’ve moved away. “I just sent a big order, 20 spices, to a lady in New Mexico,” he says.

Deborah, one of New York’s great cooks who also happens to be my sister-in-law, used to trek to 9th Avenue from the Upper Westside to buy Greek oregano, lamb, olives and feta cheese. You can still find wild Greek oregano there and in the bins opposite the front door, a score of spices: bright red paprika, golden turmeric, orange cayenne pepper, Tellicherry peppercorns, crescent-shaped cumin seed and more. Even though the bins are open-air, the contents are surprisingly fresh—testament to the store’s rapid turnover.

More tempting items: An old- fashioned coffee roaster on sale; dried Egyptian fava beans; sticks of “soft” or true cinnamon; Lebanese za’atar (“the best”); round cake pans hanging from the rafters with bunches of dried herbs; tubs of Arborio and jasmine rice, Israeli couscous, red and yellow lentils; Jerez sherry vinegar; dried cod; thick slabs of halvah…well, you get the picture.

What I bought: dried Greek oregano, Lebanese za’atar, Tellicherry peppercorns, paprika.

What I thought: When I opened the oregano, a light vibrant aroma filled the room, so the flavor of the herb came as a shock: strong, peppery, very pungent, not for the faint of heart. Lamb shanks braised with lemon and olives, perfumed with a sprig of that oregano would be Olympian.

The za’atar, rich with sesame seeds, fragrant with dried herbs, was heavy on the sumac, giving this traditional Middle Eastern mixture a distinct acidity. Mixed with olive oil and used as a dunk for peasant bread, its earthy flavors came forward. For a recipe for chicken cooked with lemon and za’atar, see Oleana chef Ana Sortun’s new book, Spice: Flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean.

The Tellicherry peppercorns were nearly as fresh and aromatic as those I keep in a tightly sealed jar in the pantry—and a lot cheaper. The paprika, besides being the most glorious shade of red, was nicely bittersweet, great on pork chops seared with onions, lemon zest and red pepper.

The scoop: International Grocery, 593 9th Avenue (between 40th & 41st Streets), New York, NY 10018. Telephone: 212.279.1000. 212.279.5514.

Claire,

I know you will find this because you love peppercorns more than anyone I know. But I don’t know when you will get to the bottom of the jar. So forgive me for choosing this curious way of communicating with you. A lot of bad things are happening. I want you to be safe--no one but you would look amongst the Special Extra Bold Indian Black…

I’m going to see Max tonight in hopes that he can sort things out. I don’t want to involve you, so the less you know the better. Let’s just say that there is something strange afoot at the Institute. Unless I resolve the—situation--I will have to leave for awhile. If you don’t hear from me within the week, meet me for coffee on the day you tumbled into my arms—you know the one—in the place you love the best.

In the meantime, be careful. Not everyone wishes you well, sadly, because you’re my wife. I could name names, but at this point, I’m not sure myself.

There’s a file on my computer at the Institute. I’ll try to remove it, but if I don’t, well, it’s up to you. You know the one, but I’ve changed the name. My old uncle passed there while enroute to his new post in China.

As I write this, you’re sleeping and the firelight is flickering across your shoulder blades. Your hair is the color of Balas rubies. I want to kiss you goodbye, but it’s better that you not wake.

I’ve never loved you more.

M.

Editor's Note: To see how Claire came to read Marco's message, go to her previous post, Claire Takes a Bath, and Finds a Forgotten Clue.

Learning to surf at Padang Padang on Bali. Image: www.balisurfingcamp.com/surf_school.htm

August is high season in Bali, especially for surfers. I’m newly addicted to Bali Surf Report which has live web cams at Uluwatu (“Indonesia’s first surf mecca…a sight you’ll remember forever…especially if a solid 10-foot swell is peeling off for hundreds of metres…") and Canggu (“the main escape route for Kuta beach breaks, best surfed early morning before trade winds…”). Right now a lone SUV is pulled up to the water's edge at Canggu and a blurry figure with surfboard is checking out the swells. (Remember the 12-hour Bali-EST time difference—when it’s 6:48 PM Monday here, it’s 6:48 AM Tuesday there.)

An international banker just back to Singapore after surf classes at Kuta Beach with his teenage daugher reports: “Surfing is cool until you cartwheel down the beach, dislocate your toe and smash up ribs on the left side.” Happily, that left him lots of time to enjoy this beautiful island’s resurgence after the 2002 and 2005 bombings: “It’s grown tremendously modern, but the spirituality is still there under all the trendy glitz and Euro-glitter.” New restaurants in Seminyak, a chic enclave north of Kuta, are “amazing if you want European food.” Three he liked:

Ku De Ta: This “chill out Australian beach bar restaurant” is the hub of expat activity in Seminyak. On the web, view menus (“wild salmon carpaccio, mushroom gruyere soufflé, black truffle vinaigrette”), listen to ultra-laid-back lounge music by Australian DJ Donni 1 and check out the summer party scene.

9 Jalan Laksama. Telephone: 62.361.736969. Fax: 62.361.736767. Web: www.kudeta.net

Kafe Warisan: French-Mediterranean cuisine, open air terrace overlooks rice paddy fields. “Saturday night there wasn’t a free table. Dinner for seven including wine was USD $414." Website has snaps of elegantly prepared dishes and menus featuring the likes of “Grilled Tasmanian Salmon, Basil and Corn Veloute, Citrus Soy Sauces, Baked Capsicums.”

Jalan Raya Kerobokan No. 58. Telephone and fax: 62.361.731175. Web: www.kafewarisan.com

La Lucciola: A top Italian beachfront restaurant. “You even needed reservations on Monday evening or you had to wait.” So cool, according to The New York Times, that “no signs advertise its presence.”

At the end of Jalan Oberoi. Telephone: 62.361.730838.

Our correspondent reports that “all of the top foreign restaurants have private security forces which check vehicles and customers very thoroughty, including patrolling the beachfront. Otherwise they would be empty.”

The dining room at the Amandari overlooks the Ayung River Gorge. Image: www.amanresorts.com

But what about authentic Indonesian food? For good food in a luxurious setting, he advises that “the Amandari's lunch menu selections are probably the best local flavors on the island—and the priciest.” Winning dishes included “mie goreng (stir fried egg noodles); nasi goreng (fried rice with prawns); babi bakar (spiced Balinese pork tenderloin); kalio ayam (chicken curry with lemon grass and lime); and gulai nangka (jackfruit curry) like you’ve never had before—or after. Lunch for four without drinks or dessert was USD 87 and worth it for the food and the view of the gorge.” To see current menus, see the extended entry below.

All this has reminded me of a long ago magical evening at the Amandari: armloads of tuberoses perfuming the night air, steamed rice served in an intricately woven conical basket, the infinity pool stretching into the darkness over the Ayung river gorge. Bliss, then and now.

Amandari Hotel, Kedeyawan, Ubud. Telephone: 62.361.975333. Fax: 62.361.975.325. Web: www.amanresorts.com/dari/home.htm

This fragrant spice paste is a blend of red shallots, garlic, ginger, turmeric and
coriander.

When is a recipe no longer the recipe?

This question came up a few days ago when I received a tantalizing receipt for jackfruit curry, a Balinese dish which sent our Singapore correspondent into culinary nirvana (see our last post) during lunch at the Amandari, an Amanresort in Ubud overlooking the Ayung River Gorge.
The recipe, sent by the Amandari’s Australian chef, Gary Tyson, poses a distinct challenge to stateside cooks in small Southern towns. Besides the tropical jackfruit, it calls for candlenuts, fresh turmeric root and fern tips, ingredients not exactly on the usual American shopping list. Still, I love nothing better than trawling through our excellent local Asian markets in search of exotic fare. After a day of scouting, though, I had to face up to the issue of substitutes.

First, there is the jackfruit problem. Oblong, green-skinned and covered with spikes, it is the largest fruit that grows on trees—it can weigh as much 90 pounds. Although common in tropical Asia and parts of Africa, fresh jackfruit is hard to come by here except, on occasion, in big city markets. Most Asian food stores carry canned jackfruit, but that seemed to miss the point of the recipe.

About this time, I had a sudden vision of a jackfruit the size of a small pig—I had seen it at Whole Foods several weeks earlier. I phoned in a special order, but the produce manager wouldn’t make any promises. Next I contacted Melissa’s Produce, where I was told that fresh jackfruit is currently hard to get and that lately it has been “all black inside. That means it was frozen.”

What to do? Tyson’s recipe actually calls for young jackfruit. “It does not have that much flavor but is a great vehicle to carry spices,” he explains. “If I could match it to flavour and texture, I would say that it is very similar to artichoke.” And in fact, Tyson suggests substituting fresh artichoke hearts for the jackfruit. “Young papaya would be good as well.”

As it happened, Grand Asia, a nearby Asian hypermarket, had piles of green papayas for making spicy Vietnamese green papaya salad. When I cut one open, the pale green flesh was just barely sweet and the texture was crisp—a good substitute, I thought, for young jackfruit, although in the end, it required a longer cooking time—35 minutes instead of the 20 minutes chef Tyson specified for jackfruit.

Green papaya, sauteed in the spice paste, is then simmered in coconut milk with
lemongrass, lime leaf, cinnamon and cardamom pods.

I had to make other substitutions and even left out a couple of ingredients:

1. Candlenuts: I used unsalted macadamia nuts in place of these oily, cream-colored nuts. Cashews are also an acceptable substitute. (See The Food Of Bali, Periplus Editions, 1995, p. 32.)

2. Turmeric root: This knobby rhizome of the ginger family is bright yellow-orange when cut open and has “a very emphatic flavor.” (Again, The Food of Bali, p. 33) I used very fresh powdered turmeric instead.

3. Fern tips and red beans: I left both out. By this time, I had run out of steam and they were basically a garnish.

4. As for other ingredients, fresh ginger, lemon grass, whole cardamom pods, and canned coconut milk can be found at most supermarkets and at Asian food shops. Lime leaves and long beans are also available at Asian markets. The fresher and brighter- tasting your spices, the more delicious the curry will be.

In the end, the turmeric-laced curry had a lovely pale golden hue. The papaya served admirably to convey the flavors of cinnamon, cardamom, lemon grass and lime leaf, all of which subtly perfumed the coconut milk. And I liked the crunch of the just cooked broccoli, cauliflower and carrots that were added right at the end.

Although Balinese spice pastes tend to be aggressively seasoned with fiery chilies, this recipe leaves them out, perhaps as a concession to western palates. If you, like I, crave the bite of the pepper, add a few bird’s-eye or Thai chilies when you make the paste.

How far can you go with substitutions and still keep some semblance of the original dish? Fortunately in this recipe, you can get pretty close.

The papaya curry is finished with carrots, long beans, broccoli and cauliflower
florets.

Young Jackfruit (or Papaya) Curry with Lime Leaf and Cardamom

(adapted from Gary Tyson, chef at the Amandari, Bali, Indonesia)

Ingredients for the spice paste:

1/2 cup red shallots, peeled and roughly chopped
2-1/2 tablespoons garlic, peeled and roughly chopped
2 tablespoons fresh ginger, peeled and roughly chopped
1/2 cup candlenuts, or unsalted macadamia nuts
2 tablespoons fresh turmeric root, peeled and roughly chopped, or 2 teaspoons powdered turmeric
2 teaspoons ground coriander
1 or more Thai or bird’s-eye chilies, to taste (optional)

2 tablespoons canola oil

Other ingredients for the curry:

1-1/2 pounds young jackfruit or green papaya, peeled and cubed (see note)

3 stalks lemongrass, trimmed to 5-inch-lengths, tough outer leaves removed, bruised in a mortar and pestle
6 lime leaves, fresh or frozen, torn
4 cinnamon sticks, about 3 inches long each, snapped in half
8 whole green cardamom pods
2-2/3 cups canned coconut milk, well-shaken (see note)
Salt and pepper to taste

Ingredients to finish:

1 cup carrots, diagonally sliced 1/8 inch thick
1 cup long beans, cut into 2-inch lengths
1 cup broccoli florets
1 cup cauliflower florets
1 cup fern tips (optional)
1/2 cup red beans, soaked and cooked (optional)

Method:

1. In a mortar and pestle or in a food processor, make a paste of the shallots, garlic, ginger, turmeric, macadamia nuts, coriander—and chilies if you are using them. The paste should be very smooth, with just a little roughness. (If you use the mortar and pestle this will take about 10 minutes, but it is well worth it for the lovely fragrance that envelops you.)
2. In a large, deep saucepan or dutch oven, heat the oil over a medium flame. Add the spice paste and gently sauté for 2 to 3 minutes. Add the cubed jackfruit or green papaya and stir to coat in the spice paste. Saute 5 minutes longer.
3. Add the coconut milk, cinnamon sticks, lemon grass, and lime leaves. Wrap the cardamom pods in a small piece of cheesecloth, crush lightly and add to the curry. Bring to a boil for just a moment (or the coconut milk may curdle) and lower the heat to medium low. Simmer for 20 to 35 minutes, or until the fruit is tender. (Note: Green papaya may cook unevenly, so be sure to test several pieces.)
4. When the fruit is almost done, add the carrots, long beans, cauliflower, broccoli, and fern tips and red beans if using. Cook for 2 to 3 minutes more.
5. Remove the whole spices from the curry.
6. Season to taste with salt and pepper and serve at once with steamed jasmine rise.

Note: Look for fresh jackfruit, green papaya and Chaokoh brand coconut milk in Asian markets. You can find all the other ingredients in this recipe at supermarkets and Asian food shops.

Life is full of unexpected twists.

When he was a 19-year-old film student at the San Francisco Art Insitute, James Oseland was waiting for a bus one rainy afternoon when he ran into Tanya Alwi, a fellow classmate. Over coffee he learned that she lived in Jakarta. Her father, Des Alwi, was a “descendant of an aristocratic Muslim family of nutmeg and pearl traders from Banda…” and a celebrated freedom fighter against the Dutch in the 1940's. After a probing conversation, she invited him to visit her family during summer vacation.

A few weeks later, the California boy who had grown up in a suburban tract house watching The Brady Bunch and eating frozen potpies found himself on a plane to Indonesia. Shortly after his arrival, Tanya took him to meet Bebe Huwei, a film star-turned-psychic: Drawing mystical circles on a piece of paper, Huwei told him that his life had changed for good: “You came here for three months, but you will stay for one year. Then you will keep coming back for the rest of your life….A revolution has begun inside of you. You must accept it.”

With this stroke of fate, Oseland conceived an all-consuming passion for the people and the cuisines of the legendary tropical islands that have lured spice hunters for two millenia. An award winning food writer and cooking teacher, he is currently executive editor of Saveur and author of an enthralling new cookbook, Cradle of Flavor: Home Cooking from the Spice Islands of Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore. It is a beguiling tale of two decades of travel through these fabled, turbulent lands and of the extraordinary cooks who opened their kitchens and their hearts to him.

My own copy is already spattered with flecks of the Malaysian sambal belcan, a fiery chili, lime and toasted shrimp paste that Oseland recommends serving with dishes like Pan-Seared Tamarind Tuna. I found it good enough to eat with just about everything, from a grilled pork tenderloin from our local farmers market to grocery store roast chicken. In all, the book offers 100 recipes which will likely bring tears of joy to anyone who has ever been seduced by the vibrant, flavorful foods of the region. In 25 trips over two decades, Oseland has foraged in wet markets, waded through rice paddies, learned to speak Bahasa Indonesia and Bahasa Malaysia, hung out in the kitchens of countless superb cooks learning to make dishes like Black Pepper Crab (go here for another version of this Singapore favorite) and Javanese Chicken Curry with cinnamon and lemon grass--and then relentlessly worked on the recipes until his taste memory tells him that he’s got it right.

The intelligence behind Oseland's passion for the region lends authenticity not only to the recipes, but also to the advice he tenders to cooks who are new to the ingredients and techniques used in this part of the world. If, for instance, you know nothing about kecap manis, the Indonesian sweet soy sauce, Oseland is your man. I’ve spent hours in Asian markets. bewildered by shelves of unfamiliar jars and bottles, trying to pick the "right" one. Now I know to look for Cap Bango brand (with a picture of pelican on the label) because it has no preservatives and “delivers a richer, more complex taste with hints of smoke and honey.” (Kecap manis, by the way, combined with hoisin, soy and rice vinegar, makes a delectable marinade for spareribs.) His pages on unfamiliar seasonings, such as fresh turmeric root, galangal and shrimp paste are worth the price of the book—as are his sections on making curries and spice pastes, the merits of food processors vs. mortars and pestles, and eating with Allah's silverware (the fingers of your right hand).

But I really fell for this book because of Oseland’s serendiptious encounters with fantastic cooks. In West Sumatra, a seatmate on a bus ominously loads a pistol. then insists that author spend the night at his home. Oseland awakes at 4 AM to the fragrance of stir fried garlic: Breakfast by candlelight is a feast of lemon grass fried chicken, a sweet-and-sour pickle, and garlic-laden fried rice topped with fried egg, cucumber and shrimp chips, made by Siti, the mother of his new friend. On the northeast coast of Malaysia, a Chinese woman, closing her tea shop for the night, whips up a divine herbal rice salad, fragrant with finely chopped basil, mint and lemongrass. A wild ride through Eastern Sumatra with Gatot, a vegetable vendor, leads to the Achson, the "Soto King," who sells the world's best spicy chicken soup from a pushcart. Are these encounters random, or, as the soothsayer implied, ordained by fate?

Who knows? Oseland’s first foray into Indonesian cuisine sets the tone for the book: Recovering from a bout of dengue fever, he wanders into the Alwis’ kitchen looking for lime juice. There he finds Inam, the family cook, crushing red chiles in a mortar, making bumbu bumbu, a flavoring paste for green beans in coconut milk. He begins to spend long hours in the kitchen with Inam, watching her make Indonesian fried chicken one day, gado gado (Javanese chopped vegetable salad with peanut sauce) the next, and always writing down the recipes. “You’re strange,” she tells him, “but it’s good for a man to learn to cook.”

Yes, indeed.

For more on James Oseland, see www.jamesoseland.com. Cradle of Flavor, Home Cooking from the Spice Islands of Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore (W.W. Norton & Company, 2006) may be ordered from www.amazon.com.

This Malaysian rice salad is ideal summer fare: light, cooling, and scented with
green herbs like basil, mint and kaffir lime leaves.

In Cradle of Flavor, James Oseland tells of stopping in a teashop on the northeast coast of Malaysia just before nightfall. The Chinese cook had only one dish left to offer him: a jasmine rice salad tossed with freshly toasted coconut and aromatic herbs so finely slivered that they looked like “green lace” draped over the rice. It was so intensely fragrant, Oseland says, that he became an instant convert.

Herbal Rice Salad is a perfect summer dish: light, delicately flavored, redolent of anise-flavored basil and cooling mint, citrusy lemongrass and lime. Before you begin, sharpen your knife since all the herbs must be slivered very finely. The author notes that the flavors of the salad are not cast in stone—you could add more of any herbs that please you, or even use other leafy herbs that are running riot in your garden—say lemon verbena, purple basil and black-stemmed mint.

Resist the temptation to skip the dried shrimp, however. They are available in most Asian markets, and, although pungent-smelling, these tiny crustaceans add just a whisper of the briny deep once they have been pulverized in a food processor and mixed with the rice. I did cheat on one ingredient, though—Instead of grating and toasting fresh coconut meat, I made do with the packaged variety, lightly toasted until it turned golden brown. I know fresh coconut would have been luscious, but even this poor second added richness to the rice salad.

This is a dish that engages all the senses—taste and smell of course, but also the sense of touch if you toss the rice with your hands as Oseland suggests. Its light green herbal flecks are cooling to the eye, and, as for the ear, well, you are likely to hear little whimpers of delight from everyone at your table.

Herbal Rice Salad

(adapted from James Oseland, Cradle of Flavor: Home Cooking from the Spice Islands of Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore)

Makes 4 servings as a main course, 6 servings as a side dish

Ingredients:

4 heaping tablespoons toasted grated coconut (recipe follows)
About 50 fresh lemon basil, Thai basil or Italian basil leaves (about 1 small bunch)
About 35 fresh mint leaves (about 1/2 small bunch)
About 60 fresh Vietnamese basil leaves or cilantro leaves (about1 small bunch) (see note)
1 thick stalk fresh lemongrass
3 whole fresh or thawed frozen kaffir lime leaves (see note)
3 to 4 tablespoons small dried shrimp (see note)
3 shallots, very thinly sliced lengthwise
5 cups cooked jasmine rice at room temperature (recipe follows)
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
About 1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Method:

1. Prepare the toasted grated coconut: If using fresh coconut see recipe below. If using packaged coconut (very finely grated and unsweetened), heat a skillet over a medium low flame. Add the coconut and with a spatula, gently stir until it begins to change color. Continue to stir until the coconut becomes a light caramel color. If it darkens too quickly, remove it from the heat and keep stirring. After a minute or so, return the pan to low heat and continue to stir until it has turned a rich golden brown. Place the toasted coconut in a bowl and allow it to cool. (If you have used shredded rather than finely grated coconut, place it in a food processor, and pulse until it resembles sawdust, 30 seconds to 1 minute.) Set the coconut aside.
2. Working in batches, stack the lemon basil leaves, roll up lengthwise into a tight bundle and slice crosswise as thickly as possible with a very sharp knife. You should have about 5 loosely packed heaping tablespoons of the sliced herb. Cut the mint leaves in the same manner; you should have about 3 loosely packed heaping tablespoons of the sliced herb. Finally, cut the Vietnamese basil leaves in the same manner; you should have about 5 loosely packed, heaping tablespoons of the sliced herb. Set all the herbs aside.
3. Cut off the hard brown bottom and the bristly green top of the lemongrass, which should leave you with a pale white and lilac piece about 5 inches long. Discard the 2 or 3 tough outer layers. With the same sharp knife, cut the lemongrass on the diagonal into the thinnest possible slices, making them as close to paper-thin as you can. (The lemongrass slices will be difficult to chew if they’re too thick.) Set the lemongrass aside.
4. Again with the sharp knife, remove the tough center vein and hard stem of each kaffir lime leaf. Cut the leaves lengthwise into the narrowest possible strips—as narrow as a strand of hair if your knife will allow it. (The lime leaves will be difficult to chew if they are sliced too thickly.) Set the sliced lime leaves aside.
5. Place the dried shrimp in a small food processor and pulse until you have a fine powder resembling sawdust. Set the powdered shrimp aside.
6. In a large bowl, combine the sliced herbs, lemongrass and lime leaves; the powdered shrimp; the shallots; and the rice. With a large spoon (or better yet, your hands, which will allow you to distribute the ingredients more evenly), combine the ingredients until the herbs and the rice are well mixed and the rice is free of clumps. Add the lime juice and mix once more.
7. Add the salt and pepper and taste for seasoning. Because the herbs and shallots are intensely flavored, you may need to add less than 1 teaspoon salt. This dish should be neither salty nor acidic. It should be subtle and intensely fragrant with the clean taste of each herb clearly coming through. Add a squeeze of lime juice if needed.
8. Transfer to a serving bowl and eat at once. The herbs in this dish will wilt and lose their zing if allowed to sit longer than 30 minutes.

Note: Look for Vietnamese basil, lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves and dried shrimp at markets carrying southeast Asian ingredients. If you cannot find peppery Vietnamese basil, substitute cilantro—As Oseland notes, it tastes nothing like Vietnamese basil, but its fresh, clean taste makes it a pleasant addition to the salad.

See below for recipes for Steamed Rice and Toasted Grated Coconut.

“Claire!”

I could hear Lala’s voice calling up the stairs. I shoved Marco’s note back into my pocket and pulled the green silk robe over my pajamas. I looked in the mirror and saw a stranger: ghostly skin, red-rimmed eyes, hair sticking up wetly. My hands were trembling.

“Claire? It’s Lala! Are you up there?

I ran my fingers through my hair and half stumbled down the hall to the spiral stairs. I could feel the smooth oak under my bare feet and cool bronze as my fingers skimmed the banister, but my legs were shaking violently. Marco. What had he done?

Lala was at the bottom of the stairs, peering up. My oldest friend had an odd look on her face—anxious and wary—and as she pushed back the fur lined hood of her parka, I could see shadows under her gold-flecked eyes.

She flung her arms around me. “My God, Claire. You look like hell. What are you doing in your pajamas? Where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling! It’s all over the news! What is going on?”

I inhaled Lala’s scent—a powdery trace of Je Reviens mingled with—was it toast? It was her own smell, warm and comforting. Something burst inside me.

“Oh Lala, it’s so horrible—“ I began. I could feel the tears coming to my eyes. Stop it, I told myself. You will not cry. I sat down on the bottom stair step and began to sniffle.

“You don’t mean—Marco didn’t—“ She stopped short.

“Kill Max? I don’t think so, but—Oh, Lala, they found his body in the Porsche and it was in the river and there was a bullet hole—and I don’t know where Marco is and—“ A big tear slid down my cheek. I licked it away with my tongue. It was salty. “And then I found this—“

I thrust the small tightly scrolled piece of paper at Lala. She perused it, frowning slightly as she got to the end.

She pursed her lips. I could see a dozen questions forming in her mind. “Where did you get this?” she asked sharply.

My voice quavered: “I broke a jar of pepper yesterday and it was there on the floor with the glass and the peppercorns. The phone rang and I just stuck in my pocket. I forgot about it and then I found it again a few minutes ago. He must have written it the night he disappeared.“

“There’s a lot of strange stuff here. It’s like he was writing in code. What is the day you tumbled into his arms and the place you love the best? And his old uncle? And what the heck are Balas rubies?”

I wiped my eyes. “Do you have a Kleenex?” Lala pulled a pale blue tissue out of her pocket. I blew my nose. “I’m hungry.” I stood up and padded down the hall to the kitchen.

Not everyone wishes you well… Could he have meant Lala, my oldest and dearest friend, the one who knows all my secrets? Maybe I was too quick to show her Marco’s note. Could I trust her? Could I not? Because if I couldn’t, there was no one. Miserably, I felt a hard cold knot of suspicion twisting inside me. I was becoming a paranoiac.

Lala followed me down the hall, taking off her parka. “Claire, stop doing that!” I turned. “Doing what?” She glared at me. “You know what. Avoiding the matter at hand. That is so typical. Whenever you don’t want to face something, you start cooking.”

It’s true. I always cook when I’m upset. Or when I’m trying to duck some unpleasantness, like a deadline, or the memory of a dead man, or the possibility that my husband is a murderer. I cook when I don’t know what to do next.

There is something reassuring about kitchen rituals. You can feel quite productive even when you are procrastinating up a storm. Dicing onions with a sharp blade, pulverizing garlic in a mortar and pestle, toasting long pepper and cumin seed, inhaling their warm fragrance, sizzling them together in oil, pouring in homemade chicken stock and waiting for it to come to a bubble—well, before you know it, you’ve made an Indonesian Cauliflower Soup. You can lose yourself in the cutting, pounding and toasting, and kill (bad choice of words) an hour—and then you get to sit down and eat something delicious.

“Claire,” Lala said firmly. “You have to let me help you.” I stood there, wavering.

Then, from behind us, came a voice. “Did I hear something about food?”

Cardamom-infused coffee has a refreshing, aromatic flavor--and is a
traditional sign of welcome in the Arab world.

A thousand years ago an Abyssinian herder, dumbstruck by his wildly cavorting flock of goats, sampled the same shiny red berries his charges had chewed before beginning to twirl like dervishes. The berries were from the coffee tree, of course, and the goat herder soon felt a surge of vitality coursing through his veins. In time big swathes of the human race became addicted to the brew’s energizing lift.

Naturally this is an apocryphal story. But it is true that today, coffee is the second most widely traded commodity in developing counries (oil is first) and that it is consumed by tens of millions of people on a regular basis. I have adored the taste of coffee ever since I was 10 when my father used to slip a silver teaspoon of his Folgers into my breakfast milk. I have friends who cannot be civil before that first eye-opening cup; one gets migraines if she doesn’t partake. And then there are the headaches that come from the health police who want us all to abandon our caffeine addiction. We’ll sleep better, they say, be thinner and less jittery.

Ah, but now it seems we can indulge our habit to our hearts’ content. Well, almost. According to an August 15, 2006 article in The New York Times (“Coffee as a Health Drink? Studies Find Some Benefits” by Nicholas Bakalar), drinking up to 5 cups of coffee daily cuts the risk of getting heart disease, cirrhosis of the liver and type 2 diabetes. It turns out that coffee is full of antioxidants—more even than blueberries or oranges—which curb inflammation associated with cardiovascular disease, alcohol-induced cirrhosis and liver cancer. Scientists are still teasing out the reasons why it slows the onset of diabetes—one possibility is chlorogenic acid, a coffee component that reduces glucose build-up.

(The bad part: Forget coffee if you already have heart disease. Cardiologists point out that the caffeine in coffee raises blood pressure and slows blood flow to the heart, especially during exercise at high altitudes—no mountain biking, please.)

Coffee as medicine is not a new idea. In the 11th century, the renowned Persian physician Avicenna (there is a crater on the moon named after him) wrote that it “fortifies the members, cleans the skin, dries up the humidities that are under it and gives an excellent smell to all the body.” Medieval Arab traders brought Ethiopian coffee to their own lands around 1000 AD, and as Norman Kolpas notes in A Cup of Coffee, by the 16th century “coffee drinking was widespread in the Arab world—even in the holy city of Mecca, where it had been brought by dervishes who drank it during their strenuous ceremonies of worship.”

One of the most pleasurable ways to enjoy coffee is to drink it Arab-style, infused with aromatic green cardamom pods. Although cardamom is native to tropical Sri Lanka and South India (where it is known as the Queen of Spices), it was transported by Arab traders to the Mediterranean nearly two millennia ago. In the first century AD, it was a favorite spice of the ancient Romans, who also used it to clean their teeth and purify the breath. In the past it has been thought to have vague medicinal benefits, useful in treating colds, fevers and various inflammatory complaints. Combining coffee and cardamom seems like a natural, especially since it tastes so good.

In the Middle East, crushed cardamom pods are stuffed into the spout of a coffee pot—when the hot coffee flows over the spice, the brew acquires an aromatic, refreshing flavor. However, in her new cookbook The Arab Table, May Bisou says Arab coffee tastes best when dark roast coffee is simmered on low heat for 3 to 4 hours with as many as 10 coarsely ground cardamom pods. Sugar is never added and certainly not milk, which was thought to induce leprosy in medieval times. This hair-raising inky brew is sipped all day long, but never at breakfast when most Arabs prefer to drink tea.

Bisou, who is of Palestinian descent, notes that cardamom coffee is a traditional gesture of welcome in an Arab home and that you should never refuse the first cup of coffee offered by your host. You should drink at least three tiny cups and when you’ve had enough, signal your host by shaking the empty cup half a dozen times. (If no one offers coffee, you might begin looking for nearest exit.)

Coffee is an intensely personal brew—as Starbucks has learned to its great profit—so view the following recipe, made in a French press pot, as a starting point. The first time you make cardamom-scented coffee, try it my way. The next time, make it your own.

Cardamom-Infused Arab Coffee

To make two 8-ounce cups

Ingredients:

4 very fresh green cardamom pods (see note)
5 to 6 heaping tablespoons freshly ground coffee (see note)
16 ounces fresh, cool water

French press pot (17 ounces or larger)

Method:

1. Lightly crush the cardamom pods in a mortar and pestle. If the seeds slip out of the pods, crush them gently. Scoop up the pods and seeds and put them in the bottom of a French press pot. Spoon in the freshly ground coffee and set aside.
2. Heat the water in a kettle until steam curls out of the spout and the water is rumbling in the pot. Just before it boils, pour it slowly into the press pot. Put the plunger unit on top of the pot but do not press down.
3. After one minute, remove the plunger unit and stir gently with a spoon. This will cause the grounds to sink to the bottom of the pot. Replace the plunger unit, but again, do not press down. Let the coffee brew for 3 or 4 more minutes. At the end of this time, press the plunger down and pour the coffee into two cups. Drink immediately.
4. For iced Arab-style coffee, pour the coffee into a pitcher and let it cool to room temperature. Refrigerate until cold. To serve, fill two glasses with ice and pour the coffee over it. For a delicious if even more inauthentic version, add 1 to 2 teaspoons of sugar or simple syrup to each glass and milk to taste before pouring in the coffee. Stir to dissolve the sugar and serve at once.

Note: If you prefer a stronger cardamom flavor, add more cardamom pods rather than increasing the brewing time of the coffee. For best results with a press pot, grind coffee beans for about 12 seconds for a medium, uniform grind. Many press pot users insist that a burr grinder is necessary to produce a uniform grind from which the maximum flavor can be extracted. I have had excellent results, however, with my old Braun blade grinder.

Editor's note: A Cup of Coffee: From Plantation to Pot, A Coffee Lover's Guide to the Perfect Brew by Norman Kolpas (New York: Grove Press, 1993) and The Arab Table: Recipes and Culinary Traditions by May S. Bisou (New York: William Morrow, 2005) are both available through www.amazon.com.

Indian garam masala is made of whole spices--cinnamon, cloves, peppercorns,
cumin, coriander and cardamom seeds--which must be ground to fine powder.

Let me begin by admitting defeat. Last spring I didn’t buy the Sumeet Multigrind when it was briefly featured in the Williams Sonoma catalogue. Made in India, this rocket-shaped, wet and dry electric spice grinder inspires rhapsodic testimonials from practically everyone who’s used it, even though it looks like something invented in a 1950’s Lab of the Future. Its secret appears to be a muscular 400 watt motor that instantly pulverizes whole spices to a silky powder and whips ornery ingredients like grated coconut, lemon grass and dried chiles into perfectly smooth pastes. Avid cooks of Indian, Thai and Mexican food swear by the Sumeet.

But by the time I got around to ordering, Williams Sonoma was out of the Sumeet. After phone calls and emails too numerous and frustrating to mention, I finally connected with Sumeet’s North American rep in Toronto and placed an order. That was on March 17th. I’m still waiting, but optimistic: A new shipment is expected in October.

The Sumeet is currently priced at $80. In the meantime, I’ve been testing a trio of under $30 blade coffee grinders from Krups, Cuisinart and Kitchenaid. I was curious to see if a mixture of assorted whole spices could be ground to a fine powder in machines made for coffee beans---and if so, how easily. Though I love my volcanic stone mortar and pestle from Singapore, I don’t have the muscle power to pulverize tough spices like star anise and cinnamon, nor the stamina to grind anything to a powder that takes more than a few minutes.

For the spice blend I chose Julie Sahni’s Garam Masala, the recipe for which appears in Classic Indian Cooking. It is a wonderfully fragrant mixture of cardamom seed, cinnamon sticks, cloves, peppercorns, cumin and coriander seed, popular, she writes, in Punjab and Uttar Pradesh. The whole spices are roasted in a cast iron skillet and, after cooling, ground very fine. If you are using hard cinnamon sticks (these are actually cassia, a tree related to true cinnamon which is grown only in Sri Lanka), you must smash them into little pieces in a mortar and pestle or with a mallet—otherwise they are too tough to be ground to a powder. (For the recipe for Julie Sahnie’s Garam Masala, see the end of this post.)

I tested three grinders under $30: the Krups Fast Touch Coffee and Spice Grinder, the Kitchen Aid Blade Coffee Grinder and the Cuisinart Grind Central Coffee Grinder. All had stainless steel blades and all the removable parts were dishwasher safe. Note that the oils of spices like cloves and allspice will cloud the plastic tops of these containers, even if you wash them frequently.

Here are the results:

Krups Fast Touch: $19.95 at www.broadwaypanhandler.com

How does it look? Compact and lightweight; a slim white oval base with a clear top so you can see what’s going on inside. (For unknown reasons, mine came with a pale aqua top.) The blades are stainless steel, as are is the non-removable “grinding chamber.”

How much power? 200 watt motor (half the horsepower of the Sumeet)

How much will it hold? Up to 3 ounces or 5 tablespoons of whole spices. Not a problem for most recipes, but if you want to make a larger quantity, you’ll have to do in batches.

How well does it work? The Krups is easy to fill and to operate. Spoon or pour whole spices into the oval bowl, cover with the lid and depress the plastic “on” button. Of the 3 grinders, this is the quietest.

I tested 1/4 cup or 2 ounces of whole spices for garam masala After the recommended 25 seconds, the mixture was finely ground, though with more texture than I wanted. Another 15 seconds reduced the mixture to an almost silky powder.

Cleaning: The plastic top can be washed on the top rack of the dishwasher. However, the stainless grinding “chamber” is not removable and must be cleaned with a damp sponge or soft cloth.

The bottom line: Recommended by many restaurant chefs, the Krups is a good, inexpensive tool for grinding small quantities of spices quickly and easily. I was impressed by the way it pulverized hard stick cinnamon and cloves. Although the “on” button feels flimsy, it has not broken in three months of fairly regular use.

Kitchenaid Blade Coffee Grinder (BCG100WH): $29.95 at www.cooking.com

How does it look? A curvaceous appliance with a heavy plastic base, it has a sturdy “professional” look and feel. A clear rounded “polycarbonate” top fits over a removable stainless steel cup and blade. It comes in 4 collors: white, black, red and blue.

How much power? 200 watt motor.

How much does it hold? Up to 1-1/4 cups of whole spices.

How well does it work? Easy to fill and to operate. Pour or spoon whole spices into the bowl, fit the plastic top into its grooves and press down.

I tested1/3 cup of spices. After the recommended 25 seconds, the garam masala was coarsely textured. After a total of 90 seconds, it was much smoother, although I did discover a few hard “grains” of cinnamon.

Cleaning: The stainless bowl and attached blade twist off for cleaning. Both the bowl and plastic top can be washed on the top rack of the dishwasher.

The bottom line: This is a reasonable choice for grinding larger quantities of spices. However, grinding for a full 90 seconds tends to heat up the spices, which can cause them to lose volatile oils and flavor. One solution is to grind in shorter bursts and to let the grinder cool slightly in between. Kitchenaid recommends grinding for no more than 25 seconds at a time.

Cuisinart Grind Central Coffee Grinder (DGB-12BC): $29.95 at www.amazon.com

How does it look? A rectangular, brushed stainless steel “box” with an unfortunate resemblance to a mini-trash can. A square plastic top covers a round stainless bowl with measurement lines: The lines refer to the quantity of beans needed to produce 4, 10 and 12 cups of coffee. With some difficulty, the cord can be forced inside a hole in the base for storage.

How much power? 175 watts.

How much does it hold? Up to 1-1/4 cups of whole spices.

How well does it work? Easy to fill and to operate. Pour spices into the bowl, fit the plastic top in place and depress the rectangular “on” button.

I ground 1/2 cup of whole spices. After 25 seconds, the spices were virtually untouched. It took another 3 minutes, grinding in 10-15 second bursts, to achieve a powdery texture—and even then, the grinder missed some fragments of cinnamon.

Cleaning: The stainless bowl and attached blade twist off for cleaning. Both the plastic top and bowl assembly can be washed in the top rack of the dishwasher.

The bottom line: Not recommended for spice grinding. Although the large capacity cup is appealing and the grinder is easy to operate, the less powerful motor is a real problem. The long grinding time caused both the grinder and spices to overheat. The blades are set higher than in the other models we tested, which may reduce the grinder’s ability to reach small seeds in the bottom.

For Julie Sahni’s Garam Masala recipe, see below:

“Could you PLEASE, PLEASE send me your bread-pudding recipe from your original book—my husband gave it to me years ago with a wonderful message comparing our marriage as a mixture of ‘spices.’”—Elaine Acosta, in an email to Paul Prudhomme, from “Comforting Food: Recapturing Recipes Katrina Took Away,” by Rick Brooks, The Wall Street Journal, August 26-27, 2006, p. A1.

Ian Hemphill's herb and spice "encyclopedia" lays out guidelines
for creating vibrant spice blends.

Like spouses in a good marriage, spices complement each other when they are properly combined. A sprinkle of hot, freshly ground black pepper perks up a blend of sweet spices—like cinnamon, allspice and vanilla—which might be otherwise be cloying. Tangy spices like sumac, with its bright acidic edge, give zest to the earthy flavors of the Middle Eastern mixture za’atar. And then there are mildly aromatic spices like coriander and fennel that pull diverse tastes together—acting as mediators, of a sort, to create a harmonious marriage of flavors.

In his superb reference book, The Spice and Herb Bible, Sydney-based spice merchant Ian Hemphill offers some useful rules for blending spices. The book embodies all that Hemphill has learned about his métier during a lifetime in the business: As a boy, he worked in his parents’ herb nursery, then ran a spice company in Singapore before returning to Australia to set up his own outfit, dubbed Herbie’s after a childhood nickname. The firm’s wide-ranging catalogue of 300 spices, herbs and flavorings--which includes tantalizing items like Australian wattle seed, brown cardamom from Bhutan and Egyptian rose petals—can be seen at www.herbies.com.au. The book devotes detailed chapters to nearly 100 herbs and spices: where they come from, how to use them (with recipes), how to buy and store them--and how to combine them.

Hemphill writes, “The art of making a good spice blend is to bring a range of different kinds of tastes and textures together so they create an ideal balance that tantalizes the taste buds.” As a starting point, he divides spices into five basic flavor categories and suggests relative quantities to use when creating a blend:

Sweet (2 teaspoons): allspice, aniseed, cassia, cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla;

Pungent (1/2 teaspoon): ajowan, asafetida, bush tomato, calamus, caraway, cardamom, celery seed, cloves, cumin, dill seed, fenugreek seed, galangal, ginger, juniper, licorice, mace, nigella, orris root, star anise wattleseed, zedoary;

Tangy (1 teaspoon): amchur, barberry, black lime, caper, kokam, pomegranate, sumac, tamarind;

Hot (1/2 teaspoon): chilli, horseradish, mustard, pepper;

Amagamating (5 teaspoons): coriander seed, fennel seed, paprika, poppy seed, sesame seed, turmeric.

A few more ideas:

1. Consider the intensity of flavor and aroma of individual spices within each category and adjust accordingly when mixing. As Hemphill points out, “although pepper and chilli are both hot spices, the relative differences in their flavour and heat strength makes some variation in quantity appropriate.”
2. When measuring spices for blends, measure by weight or by volume, but do not mix the two methods.
3. Allow spice mixtures to mellow for 24 hours before using them, so that the ingredients can balance out.

And a final tip: Consider the suggested proportions a starting point. Your own taste buds will guide you to the right combination. In spice blending as in all cooking—and even in marriage--you must know the rules before you can bend them.

Herbie's Spice Blend for Steak
(from The Spice and Herb Bible by Ian Hemphill)

Hemphill created this spice blend for sprinkling on steak before grilling. It includes spices from all the flavor categories--sweet, pungent, sour, hot and amalgamating—in the recommended proportions, although he has slightly increased the quantity of black pepper for a spicier touch.

Ingredients:

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon amchur powder (see note)
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon ground chilli (see note)
5 teaspoons ground sweet paprika

Method:

Combine all the ingredients and mix well. Allow the blend to mellow overnight before using. Rub on steaks or other meat 20-30 minutes before grilling.

Note: Amchur powder comes from the dried unripe fruit of the mango tree. It not only adds a pleasantly tangy note to the spice mix, but also serves as a meat tenderizer. It can be found in Indian food markets or ordered from www.herbies.com.au and as "amchoor powder" from www.kalustyans.com.

As for the chilli, you can experiment with any pure ground chili pepper. See Penzey’s website for mild ancho peppers (3,000 Scoville units), Turkish Aleppo peppers (10,000 units) or smoky chipotles (15,000 units).

In September 2006, the 2nd edition of The Herb and Spice Bible by Ian Hemphill will be available from www.amazon.com.

A vodka martini is garnished with pickled cherry tomatoes, plucked
green from the garden at summer's end.

It’s the tail of August and though we can look forward to a few more weeks of lusciously ripe tomatoes, the end is in sight. Squadrons of Canadian geese are flying overhead in V-shaped formations, honking loudly as they touch down in the pasture behind us. It’s a rest stop on their flight path to the Outer Banks and points south. The air is soupy, but the sun feels gentler on the skin.

Soon the tomato vines will begin to wither, leaving behind clusters of hard green fruit that will never blush even the faintest pink. This miserable state of affairs is enough to drive a tomato lover to despair. But Rick Field of Rick’s Picks, a Brooklyn-based pickle maker, has a solution.

I met Rick at the New York Fancy Food Show last month. He was wooing gourmet food buyers with jazzy jars of Windy City Wasabeans, green beans in a wasabi-spiked brine, and Bee n’ Buzz, a nouvelle bread and butter pickle with coconut, dried cherries and ginger. A former PBS producer for Bill Moyers and a Yale-Andover grad, Rick has re-invented himself as an upscale pickle maestro whose artisanal spears can be found at New York’s Union Square Greenmarket and on the shelves of fancy food shops across the country.

The urge to pickle started at the family home in Vermont, where Rick’s parents “spend most of their time from snow melt to the frost tending flower beds and looking after the garden.” His mother, Holly Field, traditionally put up dill pickles —and it was her simple recipe—Kirby cucumbers, dill heads, black peppercorns and garlic—that launched Rick on his new path.

His father, Dan Field, professor emeritus of Russian History at Syracuse University, created his own pickles at summer’s end when the cherry tomato vines were laden with fruit that would never ripen. “My Dad’s pickle evolved out of a desire to capture the late-bloomers whose very existence is threatened by early frost,” says Rick. “Pull them off the vine and pop them in the jar while they still have a brick hard exterior.”

Dan Field’s recipe calls for 6 pints of cherry tomatoes. My own garden is not quite so bountiful, so I called Elise at Elysian Field Farm, our favorite local CSA. Every Wednesday, Elise trucks in boxes of the most delectable organically grown vegetables: heirloom tomatoes, pale purple Asian eggplant, tiny red new potatoes (some the size of my thumbnail), freshly cured garlic, red, yellow and green peppers, slender leeks, a handful of fresh basil…and that’s just last week’s allotment. Luckily Elise had unripe cherry tomatoes—heirloom Black Cherries and Juliets--to spare and brought me a few pints.

The recipe is simple: Pack six pint jars with green cherry tomatoes (no tinge of pink or yellow allowed) into which you have already put bay leaves, dill heads, pickling spice, garlic and onion. Pour over them a boiling mixture of water, cider vinegar and kosher salt. Seal and let them sit for a couple of weeks. (The tomatoes are so acidic that you can skip the final boiling water bath.)

As we move toward the warm days of Indian Summer, we’ll be having our cocktails in the garden—martinis, extra dry, with a pickled cherry tomato or two instead of an olive. That’s one way to end summer: With a flourish and a grateful nod to the garden which has given us so much pleasure.

Dan Field’s Pickled Green Cherry Tomatoes
(adapted from Rick Field of Ricks Picks)

Eat these cherry tomato pickles as soon as they are ready—2 weeks. Ours were slightly sweet, gently sour, very crunchy and tasted of fresh tomato. They are delicious in a martini—the alcohol brings out the salty side of the pickle—but they are also very good with grilled pork tenderloin.

Makes 6 pints.

For each pint jar:

2 cups (approximately) hard green cherry tomatoes, washed
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon pickling spice (see note)
2 cloves garlic
1 dill head (or 3 sprigs fresh dill and 1 teaspoon dill seed)
1 slice onion
1/8 teaspoon celery seed

For the brine:

4 cups water
2 cups cider vinegar
1/2 cup Kosher salt

Method:

1. Sterilize jars and lids in a large pot of boiling water to cover for10 minutes. Using tongs, lift the jars and lids out of the hot water and place them on clean dishtowels on the kitchen counter.
2. Into each jar, as indicated above, place bay leaves, pickling spice, garlic, dill, onion and celery seed. Firmly pack tomatoes in each jar, to just below the fill line (the extruded line on the jar approximately 1/4-inch below the top of the glass). This can be tricky since the cherry tomatoes are so small. Don’t skimp on the tomatoes and try to wedge them tightly in the jar to prevent shifting.
3. Bring the water, vinegar and salt to a boil. Pour the brine, still boiling, into the jars. The liquid should cover the solids--but only just cover them.
4. Wait 1-2 minutes to allow the brine to settle. If necessary, add a little more liquid to cover the tomatoes. Put on the tops and store for two weeks in the refrigerator or a cool, dark cupboard.

Note: The pickling spice I used came from Whole Foods and included mustard seed, cinnamon chips, allspice, dill seed, celery seed, bay leaf, mild chiles, cloves, caraway seed and ginger.