SpiceLines

In Japan, cabbage, carrots and scallion are lightly "pickled" in salt. After a few hours, the
salt draws out the sweetness of the vegetables, which remain crunchy and fresh-tasting.

I’ve been using ancient Japanese sea salt a lot this week: Its delicate but fulsome flavor, the result of steeping pure Inland Sea salt water with seaweed--has become so irresistible that I’ve been nibbling it when no one is looking . I started to wonder: Do the Japanese use salt differently than we do?

In Hiroko Shimbo’s book, The Japanese Kitchen. I found a recipe for salt-pickled cabbage, or kyabetsu no sakuseki zuke, that is about as far from Kosher dills, bread and butter pickles and hot garlic dills as you can get. There’s no vinegar at all in this recipe, only salt, cabbage, carrot, peppery shiso leaf and the paste of a single umeboshi plum that has itself been pickled in salt. And unlike most Western pickles, this quick cabbage pickle tastes fresh and despite the salt, ever so slightly sweet.

For centuries, the Japanese have pickled vegetables in salty brine as a way of preserving them. But for more modern pickles, ready to eat in hours, Shimbo says that salt should amount to only 2 percent of the weight of the vegetables. Normally such pickling is done in a special pickling pot which has “an inner lid that is screwed down to apply the proper pressure to the vegetables,” But, she suggests, you can also put the vegetables in a container and top them with a plate weighted down with cans of food weighing about 2 pounds. After 5 hours in the refrigerator, you have a very mild, still fresh-tasting “pickle.”

I decided to try it, with a few small changes. I used both green and red cabbage to make it more colorful, and as shiso leaves are in short supply around here in January--my favorite Asian greengrocer mournfully held up a dead plant and said, “Not till summer”--I substituted slivered scallions. Obviously they lack shiso’s minty, peppery taste but I liked the mild onion flavor the scallions added to the pickle. And instead of buying whole umeboshi plums, I used a teaspoonful of sour, salty umeboshi paste.

I gave some thought to the salt. I made one batch with Oshima Island Red Label sea salt, a simple but expensive Japanese sea salt. And, quite profligately, I made another with fluffy French fleur de sel. The Oshima Island salt made a good pickle, but the fleur de sel coaxed all the sweetness of the cabbage to the fore. Shimbo, incldentally, just uses plain salt.

Be sure to eat the cabbage as soon as it is ready. At 5 hours, there is a pleasing balance of sweet and salty flavors, and, though slightly wilted, the cabbage is still crunchy. If it sits much longer, especially overnight, the salt will take over.

Quick Salt-Pickled Cabbage
(adapted from Hiroko Shimbo, The Japanese Kitchen)

Makes about 3 cups

Ingredients for the pickle:

1/2-pound green cabbage cut into 1-1/2 inch pieces
1/2-pound red cabbage, cut into 1-1/2 inch pieces
1 medium carrot, julienned
1 rounded teaspoon umeboshi paste (see note)
2 tablespoons mirin (sweet cooking wine) (see note)
3 scallions, green tops only, slivered and cut into 2-inch lengths
1 tablespoon sea salt
White sesame seeds, toasted (for garnish)
Shoyu (Japanese soy sauce) (see note)

Method:

1. Bring 2 quarts of water to boil. Put the cabbage and carrot in a colander and pour the boiling water over them. Cool the vegetables under cold running water and drain them well.
2. Mix the umeboshi paste with the mirin. In a large bowl, combine this mixture with the vegetables and the scallions. Add the salt and toss.
3. Put the vegetables in a flat-bottomed container, position a plate on top to cover them, and weight the plate with a clean stone or unopened food cans weighing about 2 pounds. Refrigerate for 5 hours.
4. Before serving, toast the sesame seeds: Heat a small skillet over a low to medium flame, then add the seeds and toast them, shaking the skillet occasionally, until the seeds are heated through and plump looking, about 1 to 2 minutes. Grind them coarsely in a mortar and pestle.
5. To serve, drain the liquid from the pickled cabbage. Sprinkle with the sesame seeds, drizzle with a little soy sauce and serve with grilled pork, chicken or meaty fish, such as swordfish, and rice.

Note: I found Eden Umeboshi Paste at Whole Foods. Mirin, shoyu, and, in season, shiso (or perilla) leaves, are available at Asian markets. Mirin and Japanese soy sauce can also be found in the international aisle of some supermarkets.

This chili gets its rich red color from a puree of ancho and pasilla chiles.

It’s snowing outside, fat flakes falling thickly, rimming the edge of a weathered urn, making a slatted white cushion for a green café chair carelessly left outside.

Inside, a log is burning brightly in the fireplace and on TV, Marcello Mastroianni is raising a cynical eyebrow in Fellini’s 8-1/2. It’s the most luxurious kind of day, an unexpected midweek holiday. For me, it’s a day to make chili.

In Texas I sometimes made this recipe with venison. But if venison isn’t in the larder, you can certainly use chopped beef. And please do chop it—chili with ground beef just isn’t the real thing. This recipe is made with blade chuck roast, cut into bite size pieces. It’s flavorful but tough and has to simmer for 3 to 4 hours until it becomes tender. Perfect for a slow snow day.

This chili will likely not taste like any you have ever had. Contrary to most chili which is spiced with commercial chili powder, this one is made with whole dried chile pods, soaked and pureed, then simmered with the beef. The first chili powder, incidentally, was invented in Texas in 1896 by one Willie Gebhardt—Gebhardt’s is still a big name in the chili world—and if you check recipes from the annual Terlingua Interntional Chili Cookoff, you will find that every trophy winner for the last 18 years has used arcane blends of chili powders—light, dark, habanero, jalapeno, Gebhardt’s, Pendery’s, and Mexene, But before chile powder, the dish was made with whole dried chiles.

If you love chiles, a good ratio is four pods per pound of meat, fewer if you’re less enthusiastic. Normally I use ancho chiles with a chipotle thrown in for extra heat. But today I’m running short of anchos, so I’m adding half dozen pasilla peppers. The ancho, actually a dried poblano, is a meaty, fat, triangular chile, with wrinkly almost black skin and a dark rich flavor. It ranks near the bottom of the Scoville scale at 1,000 to 2,000 units. The pasilla, also on the mild side of hot, is a long and narrow dried pepper that tapers to a point; the ones I’m using have a chocolatey, slightly fruity taste. Together they make a luscious base for the chili, warm enough to create a glow, but not so hot that you’ll break a sweat. Of course, all bets are off if you include the small but fiery chipotle (5,000 to 10,000 Scoville units).

There’s a lot of debate about the other ingredients: Can you use tomatoes? How about onions? And does real chili have pinto beans? Many Texans are adamant about not using tomatoes or even onions—though here again, most Terlingua winners don’t blanch at a can of Hunts. But I think tomatoes and onions give the chili a rounder, more complex flavor, so in they go. Personally I would never add pinto beans or frijoles; they are just too bland and starchy for this spicy stew.

Decades ago, the San Antonio chili queens stirred their pots over smoky wood fires in front of the Alamo. To get some of that outdoor flavor into the chili, I sometimes sear the meat over mesquite coals before putting it in the pot. Not now, though, as the snow has turned to sleet and the day is “dreek” as a Scottish friend likes to say. Instead I’m adding a little smoked black salt from Mexico—but you could use any of the smoked salts that are so popular now. Of course salt smoked over oak Chardonnay barrels might be a bit over the top for a dish that once was a poor man’s feast—but the taste is what counts.

Like all slow-simmered dishes, the chili tastes better the next day or even a few days later. As it sits, the flavors mingle and intensify. The problem is waiting that long...

Texas Style Beef Chili with Dried Chiles and Smoked Salt

Serves 6

Ingredients:

3 to 4 pounds blade chuck roast
1 tablespoon canola oil (more if necessary)
6 dried ancho peppers (see note)
6 dried pasilla peppers (see note)
1 dried chipotle pepper (optional) (see note)
2 cups chopped onion
1/2 head garlic, cloves peeled and chopped
3 to 4 Roma tomatoes, peeled, and chopped
4 teaspoons ground cumin, or to taste
2 teaspoons oregano, or to taste
Smoked salt, to taste
1/2 cup fresh cilantro, chopped

Method:

1. Ask your butcher to chop the chuck roast into 1-inch pieces. Chuck has quite a bit of fat; you can cut away a little of it, but don’t even think of removing all or even half of it. The fat gives the chili a richer, more luscious flavor.
2. Remove the stems and seeds from the dried peppers and place them in separate bowls. Pour boiling water over each to cover and let them soak until they become suave, or soft and pliable. Drain the peppers, but keep them separate and save the soaking water for the ancho and pasilla peppers.
3. In two separate batches, puree first the ancho and then the pasilla peppers until they are very smooth, adding 1/2 cup or more of the soaking water to each batch. There will likely be small bits of tough skin remaining. You can leave the skin in the puree, but I prefer to pass it through a food mill so that the chiles are very smooth. If you are using the chipotle, chop it very finely and set aside.
4. In a large pot over medium heat, add the canola oil and lightly brown the meat on all sides. Do this in two or three batches, as necessary. Remove to a bowl and set aside.
5. In the same pot, add a little more canola oil and sauté the onions and garlic until they are soft. Return the meat to the pot, add the ancho and pasilla chile purees, the tomato, cumin, oregano and 6 or 7 cups of water. Simmer very gently over low heat for three to four hours, uncovered, until the meat is very tender. Add more water if necessary. The chili should be fairly thick, but still liquid. About one hour before it is ready, taste and correct the seasonings, adding the chipotle pepper if you want extra heat, and more cumin and oregano if desired. This is the time to add the smoked salt, but take it easy. Some, like the black Mexican smoked salt, are very intense and can taste acrid if you use too much. Start with 1/2 teaspoon, stir to dissolve, and taste, slowly increasing the quantity if you want a smokier flavor.
6. The chili will keep in the refrigerator for 4 or 5 days. It tastes best if you can wait at least a day for the flavors to mingle. When you're ready to eat, reheat the chili and sprinkle with chopped cilantro. Serve with corn tortillas (or torn pieces of toasted baguette) and a crisp green salad.

Note: Packages of dried ancho, pasilla and chipotle pepper can be found at Latin American markets or in the international section of some supermarkets. They are also available from penzeys.com.

McCormick predicts unusual flavor pairings,
such as wasabi powder and maple syrup,
will appeal to American cooks in 2007.
Photo from www.mccormick.com

One of the surest indicators that the American palate is craving ever more sophisticated and unusual flavors is a forecast for 2007 from McCormick & Company. A few years ago, the world’s biggest ($2.6 billion in 2005) spice company launched the Gourmet Collection, an up-market, higher-priced line of spices and herbs aimed at relatively affluent foodies whose tastes have been titillated by Food TV. Some items, like powerful Saigon Cinnamon (actually Vietnamese cassia), capitalize on restaurant menu obsession with “terroir” as well as the appeal of stronger flavors. Others, like Black Sesame Seed and Smoked Paprika, show how celebrity chefs and ethnic influences have influenced the tastes of the American public.

So what flavor combos will we be seeing in 2007? After consulting with “the hottest chefs, television cooking personalities and cookbook authors,” the company decided on 10, including Thyme & Tangerine, a riff on the savory-sweet theme, Wasabi & Maple, a spicy-sweet blend, and Toasted Mustard & Fennel Seed, a pairing which comes straight from Indian cooking. Not all the combinations are based on McCormick’s product line. A recipe for Beef and Noodles in Smoked Tea Infused Broth calls for unbranded sea salt and lapsang souchong tea bags along with the company’s own anise seed and red pepper flakes. (To see the complete list with recipes, go to mccormick.com)

Wasabi could prove a tricky sell, however. In “A Little Wasabi Ginger with That Burger?” (The Wall Street Journal, December 26, 2006, pages D1 and D3), Janet Adamy writes that after flirting with the sinus-clearing Japanese condiment, middlebrow restaurants like Bennigan’s have ditched new menu items like the wasabi-ginger burger after customers complained that the fiery flavors burned their mouths. Outback Steakhouse, on the other hand, reported that a “sashimi-grade seared yellow fin tuna appetizer with wasabi vinaigrette”—a dish clearly inspired by popular tuna sushi--is a “very solid seller.”

Meanwhile McCormick’s stock is trading near its 52 week high of $39.82. They must be doing something right.

James Oseland, author of Cradle of Flavor

One blustery morning last November I found myself huddled over a glass of lukewarm tea at Happy Joy, a blue collar Malaysian-Cantonese eatery on Canal Street in New York. Most days this small pink-walled, lineoleum-floored restaurant is thronged with hungry people coming and going from work, but today, Sunday, there are just a few bleary-eyed Chinese families in puffy down jackets hunkered down over steaming bowls of noodle soup.

A dozen red-lacquered ducks hang in the front window and their fragrance—or it the smell of succulent roast pork?—is driving me mad with hunger. I scan the enormous menu, which features “Famous Malaysian Hawker Food,” wondering about specialties such as Congee with 1000 Year Old Eggs, Curry Beef Skids Soup, and the many varieties of handmade noodles. I want to order everything.

The door bursts open and James Oseland blows in on a gust of icy wind. His nose is red from the cold and he has a long woolen scarf double-wrapped around his neck. Small and slight, with bright inquisitive eyes, the new executive editor of Saveur throws off so much energy that the desultory atmosphere in the restaurant is suddenly charged. Heads swivel, eyes widen. The waitress, clearly intrigued, sidles over to our table. They confer intensely over the menu. James jumps up to investigate the prepared food counter across the room, studies the menu again, and finally orders wonton mee for both of us, thin yellow noodles with dark soy sauce and scallions, topped with fish balls for him and some of that roast pork for me.

Over breakfast, we chatted about his new book, Cradle of Flavor: Home Cooking from the Spice Islands of Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore, arguably the best, and certainly the most enthralling, cookbook of 2006. It is the tale of two decades of passionate travel through the seductive tropical islands where spices grow and, equally, of the extraordinary cooks who shared the secrets of their aromatic cuisine. The recipes are delicious, rigorously authentic and, thanks to Oseland’s intelligent advice on ingredients and cooking methods, very accessible to American readers. (See my review of Cradle of Flavor here.)

This is a portion of our conversation:

Q. Why did you call your book Cradle of Flavor?

A. It’s pretty basic. That part of the world—Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore—was my place of apotheosis. It was where my palate woke up, so it’s my own “cradle of flavor.” I used my experiences there as a conduit for the reader, to convey a sense of place and to put the food into context. And then so many of our best-loved flavors come from there—nutmeg, cloves, mace, ginger, lemongrass. We’re beginning to discover some of the lesser known aromatics too, such as galangal.

Q. How long did it take you to write the book?

A. Five years—except it really took 20, if you take into account that I was writing it in my head for that many years!

Q. Where did you write most of it—in New York, on the road?

A. I wrote about half of it in my Brooklyn home, and the other half in Kerala, South India, and in Malaysia and Indonesia.

I actually finished the book in Kuala Lumpur, which is the most amazing food city. I rented a room so I could hunker down and get it done. There were at least 20 hawker stalls right down the street and every night I would plan out what I would eat for breakfast the next day—nasi lemak [ginger-scented coconut rice] or idlis [steamed rice cakes] with curry or dal. After breakfast, I would have to plan what to eat for lunch and then an afternoon snack.

I also made friends with some illegal Bangladeshi immigrants who had a room across the alley. They were great cooks and invited me to share their food—usually fantastically spiced biryanis and mango pickle. They were amazingly accommodating hosts.

Q. Do you cook at home?

A. Not much right now. The magazine keeps me busy. This morning I’ve been trying to finish the Saveur 100 list for the January issue.

But a year ago I’d make a curry that would extend for a day or two, with rice, invariably, and stir-fried Asian greens such as choi sum. When I made rice for the curry, I’d double or triple the quantity. Then the next day I’d make beautifully stir-fried rice, very simple, with fried red chiles, kecap manis [Indonesian sweet soy sauce], and shallots or garlic. Or a pared down Chinese rice with light soy sauce, browned garlic, egg, black pepper, and fresh green chiles.

Q. What’s your favorite kitchen tool?

A. My Cuisinart Mini-Prep food processor.

Q. Seriously? I would have guessed a mortar and pestle.

A. Yeah, it would be nice to do everything that way, but I don’t have time. In places like Jakarta food is still mostly prepared by hand because there are so many people to help. Around 10 o’clock in the morning the women of the house get together in the kitchen. A friend from next door might stop by and maybe a couple of cousins or aunts. Everyone chops and grinds ingredients to make fresh spice pastes for that day’s meals. But the Cuisinart is a perfectly good substitute.

Q. Where do you shop for spices in New York?

A. Patel Brothers in Jackson Heights. The turnover is fast and the quality is great.

Q. What are your favorite markets in other parts of the world?

A. In Padang, there’s Pasar Besar Kota Padang. The best thing is the vast section (sections, really) dedicated to all the aromatics used in local dishes—shallots, galangal, fresh spices, daun pandan [vanilla-scented pandan leaf]; and most of all, ruby red chiles called lada merah in Bahas Minang, the local language.

In Kuala Lumpur, Pasar Pudu is a rambling produce and meat market not far from the center of town where shoppers make a beeline for an amazing mix of ingredients, including Indian spices, Chinese vegetables, and Malay aromatics.

There’s a market in Bangkok that has fabulous stalls manned by people from Isaan, Thailand’s northeast and home of its spiciest food. I also like Mercado de la Merced in Mexico City, which is apparently the world’s largest market. My favorite thing? The aisles and aisles of mole vendors, offering sumptuous smelling moles in seemingly endless variety.

Q. How about here in the U.S.?

A. The Saturday morning farmers market in central Stockton, California specializes in pristine, mostly Asian produce—a visit there is like a trip to Southeast Asia.

Q. So where do you get your vegetables in New York?

A. I go to a lot of places in Chinatown, but one I really like is Choi Kun Heung on Chrystie Street. It’s small and a little hard to find, but you can get beautifully fresh vegetables there—baby bok choi, garlic chives, long beans.

Q. If you had to pick a single spice you couldn’t live without, what would it be.

A. Coriander—there’s something so exquisitely, richly fragrant about that spice, plus I love its adaptability. The seeds were first brought to the Malay archipelago by Indian spice traders and they soon became a keystone ingredient, especially in the earthy, zesty flavoring pastes and marinades of Java. Two types of seeds are available: One is round and light brown to tan and has a lemony taste. The other is egg shaped and has a green-yellow tint, with a fresher, grassier taste. It’s especially important to use whole seeds rather than the preground spice, as the latter has little taste. The best, freshest-tasting coriander seeds come from Bangladeshi, Indian and Pakistani spice shops. They usually carry both varieties and have a high turnover, ensuring aromatic seeds.

Moments later James hurried off to buy a few ingredients for the cooking class he was giving that evening at the Institute of Culinary Education. Among the wondrous dishes we made that night was Acar Terung, a South Indian-Style Eggplant Pickle. Chunks of pre-fried Japanese eggplant were stirred into a vibrant flavoring paste of dried red chilies, garlic, ginger, and fennel, cumin and—yes—coriander seed.

I left with a gift—two envelopes, one of fiery black peppercorns “from somebody’s backyard in India” and another of enormous nutmegs from the Banda Islands. Yesterday, I made James’ version of Spekkuk, or Indonesian spice cake, using one of those wildly fragrant nutmegs. For that recipe, go here.

Happy Joy Restaurant, 125 Canal Street, New York NY 10002, 212-388-0264. Patel Brothers, 3727 74th Street, Flushing, NY 11372-6337,
718-898-3445, www.patelbrothersusa.com. Order the Cuisinart Mini Prep Plus Processor from www.amazon.com. Stockton Saturday Farmers’ Market, 208-934-1830, www.stocktonfarmersmarket.org.

Spekkuk, an Indonesian spice cake, is rich in butter and scented with nutmeg,
cinnamon and clove.

This aromatic spice cake is a sweet, if haunting, legacy of the 350-year Dutch colonization of the islands now known as Indonesia. Like other Europeans, the Dutch were lured to that part of the world by their lust for spices, but once in control, they ruled with a brutality nearly unparalleled for the times. This cake, known as spekkuk (after the Dutch spekkoek), is a sort of cross-cultural dessert—rich with butter like a pound cake, but perfumed with the very spices that drove the conquest of the East Indies—nutmeg, cinnamon and clove.

Although nutmeg seems to have fallen out of favor these days, once it was the most eagerly sought of all the spices—as much for its curative powers as for its flavor. As Giles Morton relates in Nathaniel’s Nutmeg, the pale shriveled-looking nut “was the most coveted luxury in seventeenth-century Europe, a spice held to have such powerful medicinal properties that men would risk their lives to acquire it. Always costly, it rocketed in price when the physicians of Elizabethan London began claiming that their nutmeg pomanders were the only certain cure for the plague…” At one point, a pound of nutmeg sold for a premium of 3,200 percent on the London market.

The recipe for this cake comes from The Cradle of Flavor: Home Cooking from the Spice Islands of Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore. (See SpiceLines review here.) The author, James Oseland, was given it by his friend Mami, an elderly woman who shared a box of handwritten recipes with him one sleepy afternoon in the town of Bandung. As James tells it, the recipes “were like pressed flowers in a diary, each revealing some moment in Mami’s past.” The spice cake is made with three sticks of butter—and because of this extravagance, Mami only baked it for “important guests…or for her berbuka puasa (literally ‘opening the fast’) feasts during Ramadan.”

When I made this cake, I was fortunate to have a supply of nutmeg that grew in the Banda Islands. Most of the nutmeg consumed in America comes from the much closer island of Grenada, and this Indonesian spice, which James shared with me, was a revelation. The nutmegs, encased in shiny brown hulls, are double the size of any I’ve seen before, and when freshly grated, their sweet, warm aroma is almost intoxicating. (Consumed in large quantities, nutmeg is said to induce hallucinations and euphoria—but that is another story.) I have never smelled a batter as fragrant as the one for this cake.

Be sure to eat the spekkuk warm, as James suggests, with a glass of milk.

Indonesian Spice Cake
(from James Oseland, Cradle of Flavor)

Ingredients:

2 cups sifted cake flour, plus more for dusting
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
4 teaspoons ground cinnamon
Pinch of kosher salt
1-1/2 cups unsalted butter (3 sticks), at room temperature, plus more
for greasing
1-2/3 cups granulated sugar
4 large eggs, at room temperature
3 large egg yolks, at room temperature, lightly beaten
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 tablespoon powdered sugar (optional)

Method:

1. Position a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Grease and lightly flour a 9-inch tube pan with 3-1/2-inch sides (or, my preference, use a nonstick pan of the same size but don’t grease and flour it).
2. Resift the flour along with the baking powder, nutmeg, clove, cinnamon and salt into a bowl. Now, resift the flour mixture and then set it aside.
3. In another bowl, using an electric mixer on high speed, beat the butter until it’s soft and very pliant, about 1 minute (or 4 to 6 minutes by hand with a wooden spoon). Gradually add the granulated sugar and beat on high speed until the mixture is pale and fluffy, 3 to 5 minutes (or 6 to 8 minutes by hand).
4. One at a time, add the 4 whole eggs and beat on high speed until the mixture is light and fluffy, about 2 minutes (or 5 minutes by hand).
5. Add the flour mixture to the butter mixture in 3 equal parts, beating on low speed or stirring with the wooden spoon until the batter is smooth and the flour is well combined with the butter mixture. Add the egg yolks and vanilla and continue to beat or stir until they’re well mixed into the batter.
6. Pour the batter into the prepared pan, smoothing the surface. Place on the middle oven rack and bake until a toothpick inserted into the thickest part of the cake comes out clean, about 1 hour (though I’d recommend checking it after 45 minutes).
7. Remove the pan from the oven and let the cake cool in the pan on a wire rack for 10 minutes. If necessary, carefully run a thin knife around the perimeter and the inner rim of the cake to help loosen it from the pan. Invert the pan onto the rack and lift it off of the cake. Turn the cake right side up and let it cool on the rack.
8. Transfer the cake to a serving platter. Using a fine-mesh sieve, dust the top with powdered sugar, if desired.

A dark chocolate truffle from Carolina Confectionery is filled with fresh
strawberry-infused ganache.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

Naturally I’m eating chocolate. Euphoria-inducing, seratonin-boosting, bliss-provoking dark chocolate. Pralus, to be exact. Seventy-five percent cacao, from Venezuela. Dense, tasting of dark fruits, some leather, maybe a trace of vanilla, with a long, lingering finish.

Pralus is French, of course. And so are a lot of the best bars. But eventually even Pralus’ Pyramid Tropique—a square stack of 10 delectable single origin bars the size of child’s palm—will be just a memory. Happily a serious craving can be assuaged with chocolate made closer to home.

At Carolina Confectionery, lawyer-turned-chocolatier Mary Butler uses Valrhona to make small batches of truffles in appealing fresh fruit flavors. A dark chocolate truffle dusted with pink pearlized sugar was filled with a strawberry-infused ganache; another, faceted like a gemstone, tasted of luscious, sweet-tart pomegranate. In spring, look for fresh blueberry and key lime infused truffles. Butler’s buttery walnut-almond toffee, based on a family recipe that inspired her new career, is a perennial favorite.

All these confections are handmade in the spotless Carolina blue and white shop in a small strip center on the north edge of Cole Park Plaza. Carolina Confectionery, 11624 – A U.S. 15-501 N, Chapel Hill, NC. 919-967-7500. www.carolinaconfectionery.com.

If you’re craving the impossibly rich, so-thick-you-can-stand-a-spoon-up-in-it, hot chocolate you had on your last trip to Paris, go straight to 3Cups and order a cup, or maybe two, of the new, deep, dark Euro-style drinking chocolate. Each cup is made from a nearly three ounce disk of chocolate ganache infused with a touch of cinnamon and star anise. Melted into a scant half cup of hot milk and frothed for 45 seconds, it is the sort of luxurious indulgence that can make you hunger for a cold, rainy day. The ganache is a blend of bittersweet Valrhona Grand Cru Guanaja (70 percent cacao) and heavy cream, so oozingly soft that they have to keep it refrigerated.

The genius behind this new offering is Jonathan Wallace, formerly of the Harvard Libraries, who’s fortuitously returned to Chapel Hill to pursue a degree in French and international relations. His chocolate tasting classes at 3Cups have been sold out, and no wonder. He is knowledgeable, articulate and possessed of an extraordinary palate. At last night’s class, he led a small group of us in a tasting of Valrhona and Pralus single origin bars from Madagascar, Venezuela and Trinidad, guiding us through the confusing world of snap, aroma and mouthfeel—not to mention flavors like raisin, earth, leather and smoke. If you ask nicely, he will give you a list of his favorite Paris chocolatiers. To see photos of Jonathan's own chocolates, as well as macarons from Pierre Herme and more, go to: http://flickr.com/photos/54727746@N00/

3Cups, 431 West Franklin Street, Suite 15, Chapel Hill, NC 27516. 919-968-8993. www.3cups.net

A heavy volcanic stone mortar and pestle makes short work of grinding shallots,
ginger, macadamia nuts and other ingredients for a spice paste for jackfruit curry.

I adore the volcanic stone mortar and pestle I got in Singapore, even though crushing spices by hand is so last century.

But that’s precisely why I love it. There’s a lot of primal satisfaction that comes from dashing the heavy stone pestle against unsuspecting peppercorns and chiles reposing in the mortar. The pestle is hefty enough (1.5 pounds) to smash garlic to a paste and very nearly pulverize whole spices like cumin and coriander, while the rough surface of the 7-pound bowl keeps them from leaping out onto the counter. The intoxicating aromas that are released are a side benefit—a kind of spice-perfumed inhalation therapy for the senses.

In today’s Wall Street Journal (“Catalog Critic: Crushing the Competition,” February 16, 2007, p. W8), Shivani Vora writes that Suvir Saran, executive chef at New York’s Devi restaurant, uses a mortar and pestle daily. The reason? Crushing spices creates flavors that are more vivid than in a food processor, and also allows for more control over the texture of a blend.

One caveat: Saran recommends buying a non-porous set: “You don’t want the olive tapenade you’re making today to pick up the taste of the garlic cloves you crushed last week,” he advises. That leaves out the seductive olive wood mortar and pestle I’ve been admiring at Williams Sonoma. Come to think of it, it also leaves out my own volcanic stone set.

The Journal tested five non-porous models, first by smashing coriander seeds, and, second, by making a tasty blend of cilantro, almonds, green chiles, olive oil and salt. Although not impressed by four of the sets—“most lacked the force to pulverize the almonds quickly”—the writer found one exception: the $20.95 Thai Stone Granite mortar and pestle from importfood.com. Rating it “Best Overall and Best Value,” Vora says it took just two minutes to make a smooth paste.

Old-fashioned muscle power combined with a heavy mortar and pestle is indeed the secret to successful grinding. I won’t give up my porous set, however. After each use, I scrub it with a stiff kitchen brush and hot water (never soap) and let it air dry. I haven’t noticed lingering flavors, though admittedly I don’t use it everyday.

Here is a list of the other mortars and pestles that were tested:

Amco Stainless Steel Mortar and Pestle
chefsresource.com ($17.95)

Typhoon 2 in 1 Mortar and Pestle (cast iron)
cooking.com ($25.95)

Mason Cash Mortar and Pestle (ceramic)
bowerykitchens.com ($46.50)

Marble Mortar and Pestle
surlatable.com ($19.95)

Rich with tomatoes, cream and spices, butter chicken was invented at Delhi's
Moti Mahal restaurant, using leftover tandoori chicken, during the 1950's.

His voice was a little plaintive: “I want to ask a favor. Could you post a recipe for butter chicken? You start with tandoori chicken and then cook it in a creamy tomato sauce until it becomes really rich and creamy…It’s my favorite dish.” I was already halfway across the room, headed towards a cache of Indian cookbooks.

Christian is the wizard who keeps SpiceLines humming. He has two great sites of his own, christiansarkar.com, a strategy, business innovation and double-loop marketing website, and soccerblog.com, which exhaustively covers news of the world’s most popular sport, from players and teams to Beckham’s latest misadventures and YouTube videos.

Butter chicken was “invented” at the Moti Mahal restaurant in Delhi in the 1950’s. As Madhur Jaffrey writes in her recent autobiography, Climbing the Mango Trees, this Punjabi restaurant first captivated Delhi diners with the taste of food cooked in “large clay ovens shaped like vats” that were “embedded in the floor.” These were the famous tandoors and they were brought to Delhi and other cities by Hindu refugees fleeing from the Northwest Punjab after the creation of West Pakistan. One family opened the Moti Mahal restaurant where customers feasted on “young, whole-roasted chickens…so tender and moist they could be pulled apart and devoured in seconds.” Butter chicken, or makhani murgh, was made with leftover tandoori chicken, cut into small pieces, and simmered in a rich, creamy sauce of tomatoes, butter and spices.

This recipe is adapted from Julie Sahni’s book, Classic Indian Cooking. You must begin with tandoori chicken—with luck, you can pick it up from a nearby restaurant. If not, you’ll have to make your own—Sahni has a good recipe, or you can use a ready made tandoori mix from any Indian grocery—but that will turn it into a two-day dish. The first day, make the tandoori chicken, either by broiling it in the oven or, for a smokier taste, by cooking it outside on a charcoal grill. Be sure to use very small, young chickens, about 2 pounds—you can buy them frozen, already quartered, at most Indian food markets—since they will readily absorb the delicious flavors of the yoghurt and spice marinade. The second day, you can use the leftovers for Butter Chicken—just as the Moti Mahal chefs did.

Julie Sahni’s Velvet Buttered Chicken
(from a recipe in Classic Indian Cooking)

Ingredients:

2 quartered tandoori chickens, about 2 to 2-1/4 pounds each (or 8 legs and breasts of chicken in any combination)
3 cups canned tomatoes in puree, measured with puree
4 green chilies, seeded (or 1/2 teaspoon red pepper, or to taste)
2 tablespoons fresh ginger root, peeled and chopped
10 tablespoons (1-1/4 sticks) butter
4 teaspoons ground cumin
1 tablespoon paprika
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1-1/2 cups heavy cream
2 teaspoons garam masala (see note)
2 teaspoons ground roasted cumin seeds, optional (see note)
1/4 cup firmly packed minced fresh coriander leaves

Method:

1. Cut the chicken pieces neatly into halves, so that you have 16 pieces of chicken.
2. Put tomatoes, green chilies and ginger in a blender or food processor and blend to a fine puree.
3. Place 1 stick of butter in a large, heavy-bottomed pan, preferably one with a non-stick surface, over medium heat. As the butter melts, tilt the pan in all directions to coat the surface. When the foam begins to subside, add the chicken pieces, a few at a time, and sear until they are nicely browned all over (about 2-3 minutes per batch). Remove them with a slotted spoon into a bowl and put aside.
4. Add the 4 teaspoons of cumin and the paprika to the butter in the pan and cook, stirring rapidly, for 10-15 seconds. Add the tomato mixture and cook, uncovered, until the sauce is thickened (about 5-8 minutes), stirring constantly to prevent sticking and burning.
5. Add salt, cream and chicken pieces (with any juices that have accumulated in the bowl). Gently stir the chicken to coat the pieces evenly and thoroughly with the sauce. Be careful not to break the fragile chicken pieces. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, uncovered, until the fat begins to separate from the sauce and a thin glaze appears on the surface (about 10 minutes). Check and stir often (but only one or two stirs at a time) to ensure that the sauce is not burning.
6. Stir in the remaining 2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) of butter, garam masala, and roasted cumin if you are using it. Turn off the heat, and let the dish stand, covered, for 1/2 hour before serving. When ready to serve, heat thoroughly, check for salt, and fold in the chopped coriander leaves. Serve with rice, pilaf or nan, a tandoor-cooked flat bread which can be found frozen at Indian food markets.

Note: Garam masala, a blend of many different spices including cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, black peppercorns, and nutmeg—and sometimes cumin and coriander--is sold at Indian food markets and at penzeys.com and kalustyans.com.

To “roast” cumin seeds, heat a cast iron skillet over medium heat. When it is hot, add the cumin seeds and stir them continuously, to prevent burning, for a few minutes, or until the seeds are lightly browned and they have released their fragrance. Remove them to a bowl and let them cool before grinding in a spice grinder.

Black, white and green peppercorns all come from the same piper nigrum vine.
The color is determined by ripeness at harvest and the method of processing. The
small white peppercorn spike pictured here is immature.

Confused about pepper? Here are a few simple facts:

One Vine, Three Peppercorns: Black, white and green peppercorns are the fruit of the piper nigrum vine, which flourishes in the tropical heat and drenching monsoons of the world’s equatorial regions. In India alone, there are over 75 piper nigrum cultivars.

Top Peppercorns Named for Point of Origin: As with wine, local terroir—the soil, its mineral composition, the amount of sunshine and rainfall—contributes dramatically to the flavor and aroma of the peppercorn. The best peppercorns are named after the regions in which they are grown or the ports from which they are shipped. Less stellar peppercorns are named after the country in which they are grown.

Ripeness, Processing Determine Color: A peppercorn’s color--black, white or green--depends upon its ripeness when harvested and the way in which it was processed; these methods also affect taste and fragrance.

Not All “Peppercorns” are Genuine: There are a few peppery-tasting spices that are not true peppercorns. Among them are “pink” peppercorns, Sichuan peppercorns and grains of paradise. There are exotic cousins as well, including long pepper and cubebs.

To read more, please follow the links below:

(Editor's note: This is a work in progress. If the link you're looking for is not live, please check back.)

Black Peppercorns

White Peppercorns

Green Peppercorns

True Red Peppercorns

Pink peppercorns

Sichuan Peppercorns

Grains of Paradise

Ball park mustard gets its bright yellow color from turmeric. The popular "curry
spice" contains curcumin, which can heal burns--and may be a cure for everything
from cancer to heart disease.

Not long ago every burner on the stove was going full blast. A garlicky Cuban pork shoulder was sizzling in the oven, while I was cooking Moros y Christianos (black beans and white rice), simmering a peppery orange mojo sauce for the pork, and boiling water for a pot of Lapsang Souchong tea.

A cast iron skillet was lurking on the grate, perilously close to the flame. I grasped the handle to move it and shrieked. It was blisteringly hot. I could actually feel the flesh of my hand searing.

When my head cleared, I found myself at the sink, squirting French’s Classic Yellow Mustard over the burn. I wrapped it in layers of gauze and went on with the show. The next morning my palm was stained yellow, but as for the burn—well, it was gone.

The People’s Pharmacy on NPR once aired a wonderful segment about healing burns with mustard. A listener recalled scorching his hand on the stove—sound familiar?--and plunging it into a gallon jar of ball park mustard during a 3-hour ride to the nearest hospital. When the doctors examined his hand, the burn had vanished.

Mustard's magic ingredient is turmeric, the spice which gives the ball park kind its chrome yellow hue. Turmeric contains the compound curcumin, which, scientists now believe, may have near-miraculous anti-inflammatory, anti-oxidant, anti-bacterial—actually anti-everything-bad—properties. Naturally this is nothing new: In India Ayurvedic medicine has used turmeric for over 5,000 years as a cure-all for everything from wounds to stomach problems.

At scientificamerican.com, a January 14, 2007 article, “Spice Healer,” explores current research into the medical uses of curcumin. It all started in the 1990’s when Dr. Bharat Aggarwal, then a Genentech scientist, was searching for a way to stop inflammation associated with the spread of cancer cells. He recalled that in India turmeric was widely used as an anti-inflammatory and decided to try it. “We took some from the kitchen and threw it on some cells….We couldn’t believe it. It completely blocked TNF and NF kappa B [substances that ‘turn on’ genes involved in inflammation and cell proliferation].” Now clinical trials at M.D. Anderson and other institutions are investigating the targeted use of curcumin to cure most of what ails us, including Alzheimer’s, diabetes and cardiovascular disease.

A medical miracle? Well, it’s not certain. A 2004 Israeli study suggests that curcumin can “encourage the survival of cancer cells” and tumor growth when it circulates freely in the blood stream. Clearly more research is in order—and a host of biotech companies, including Aggarwal’s own Curry Pharmaceuticals, are racing to do just that.

In the meantime, I’m keeping a big bottle of French’s in the refrigerator. Oh, in case you’re wondering, Dijon won’t do much for burns: It contains no turmeric.

Tellicherry peppercorns grown on India's Kerala coast are considered the
world's finest. Larger than other peppercorns, they have a bold, assertive
flavor and a rich, almost intoxicating aroma.

There is no polite way to eat Singapore Black Pepper Crab. It requires all ten fingers, a stack of napkins and a certain abandon. I discovered its incendiary pleasures one moonlit night when I faced a platter of sizzling crustaceans, flame red claws and shells so thickly strewn with cracked black peppercorns that I could scarcely identify what was on the plate. The pungent fragrance that tickled my nose was dark and richly aromatic.

One nibble of a claw and my lips began to tingle. A few more bites and my eyes began watering. My nose streamed, then my mouth caught fire. But I couldn’t stop eating. The searing heat of the black pepper and the sweetness of the succulent crab were irresistible. That night in Singapore explained a lot about why black pepper has long been known as the King of Spices…

What exactly is black pepper? Here are a few quick facts:

Plant Family: Piperaceae

Botanical Name: Piper nigrum

Description: Black peppercorns are the fruit of a tropical vine which flourishes within 15 degrees of the equator, in places where the sun is hot and monsoons bring over 100 inches of rainfall per year. India, Malaysia, Indonesia, Vietnam, and Brazil are the biggest producers, but it is also grown around the world, from Sri Lanka, Thailand and China to Madagascar, Nigeria, Australia and Guatemala.

The vine has shiny, vibrant green, heart-shaped leaves that are deeply veined and have a sweetly aromatic flavor. In late spring, it produces tiny white flowers which develop into spikes of 50 to 100 small green berries that turn yellow and eventually a deep rosy red as they ripen into long, dangling clusters.

Black peppercorns come from berries plucked when they are full size but still green, about six months after flowering. Traditionally they are laid out on woven mats to dry in the hot sun, although some growers now scald the berries in boiling water and dry them in kilns. Either way, heat activates an enzyme in the peppercorn’s outer shell that turns it black or dark brown. At the same time, pungent compounds such as piperine and fragrant essential oils develop, creating pepper’s spicy flavor and aroma.

The Best Peppercorns Are Named After Their Point of Origin:

The finest peppercorns come from India’s Kerala coast, where hot sun, drenching rains and loamy, red “laterite” soil laden with iron and other minerals produce luxuriant vines with vibrantly flavored fruit. There are two named categories of Indian black pepper:

Tellicherry black peppercorns: From India, Kerala, north of Kochi. Premium grade black peppercorns produced from top-size mature berries left on the vine until they begin to turn yellow. Unusually large and round, dark brown to black. Complex, robust flavor. Pungent, almost intoxicating aroma. The pepper of choice for steak au poivre, Singapore black pepper crab and other dishes requiring a bold, assertive flavor.

Malabar black peppercorns: India, Kerala, south of Kochi. The best mass market grade. Smaller than Tellicherry, slightly wrinkled, dark brown. Full-bodied, woody flavor, pungent aroma, plenty of heat. A good everyday pepper to use in salad dressings, on meats, poultry, fish and vegetables, and in spice blends such as ras al hanout and garam masala.

Other black peppercorns from named regions include:

Sarawak black peppercorns: Malaysian Borneo. Small, wrinkled, nearly black peppercorns. Light toasty flavor with fresh green, slightly resinous notes, mild heat and aroma; a delicate pepper. Delicious over pineapple and other tropical fruit; great for baking.

Lampong black peppercorns: Indonesia, island of Sumatra, port of Lampong. Small, dimpled dark brown to black peppercorns. Pleasant, almost fruity taste followed by explosive heat; rich aroma. An unusual pepper, not always available.

You will also find black peppercorns labeled only with the country of origin:

Prolific producers like Vietnam (the world’s biggest exporter) and Brazil are relatively new to the game and the pepper tends to be undistinguished, although Vietnam, in particular, is taking steps to improve its production methods. Australian black peppercorns, grown in Queensland, tend to be small, quite fragrant and not too hot.

For more on black peppercorns, see The Spice and Herb Bible by Australian spice merchant, Ian Hemphill; Gernot Katzer's Spice Pages, and the Fall 2004 issue of SpiceLines newsletter, Black Pepper: The King of Spices.

If you love black pepper and adore Vietnamese food as much as I do, check out Andrea Nguyen’s Quick Bites for February 23. This is the newsletter for her amazing website, Viet World Kitchen—and in it you’ll find a link to SpiceLines recipe for Gio Thu, a traditional Hanoi-style New Year’s snack made of fresh bacon and pig’s ears, sautéed with garlic, scallions, onions and black fungus, seasoned with fish sauce and cracked black pepper to taste (the more the better for me). Traditionally, the pork mixture is wrapped in banana leaves and compressed in a wooden mold until the gelatin in the pig’s ears causes it to stick together--or you can weigh it down with a large stock pot filled with water. Sliced like pate and served over a bowl of hot rice, it makes a delicious, peppery snack—an easy quick bite after partying all night.

Viet World Kitchen is devoted to Vietnamese culinary traditions. It has wonderful recipes, restaurant picks and tantalizing tidbits of food culture. Right now you can read all about the Year of the Pig (people born this year are “chivalrous, generous and smart”), learn how to say Happy New Year in Vietnamese (chuc mung nam moi!) and download a traditional Tet couplet to be posted on your door. Don’t miss Andrea’s articles on Pho, the delectable Hanoi-style beef and noodle soup, for the San Jose Mercury. (For SpiceLines pho recipe, go here.) Andrea is also the author of Into the Vietnamese Kitchen, one of the best cookbooks of 2006, and a cooking teacher.

In the newsletter, Andrea refers to Gio Thu as “Vietnamese Head Cheese”.

Juan Mari and Elena Arzak in the "flavor bank" of their
110-year-old restaurant in San Sebastian, Spain.
Photo: www.arzak.info

I’m designing the next house in my head. Off the kitchen there will be a spice room. Actually two of them: a big sunny one for reading, writing and dreaming, and a small dark one, with floor to ceiling shelves stacked with spices, rare and common, from around the world.

So my heart beat a little faster this morning when I opened the Dining In section of The New York Times. There, in “Kitchen Chemistry is Chic, but Is It a Woman’s Place?” by Laura Shapiro (February 28, 2007, page D2), was a photograph of Elena Arzak “in the spice room of her family’s restaurant in Spain.” Behind her were dozens of plastic containers, each neatly labeled, in perfectly arranged stacks of four on shelves from floor to ceiling. The geometric rigor of the arrangement was breathtaking. Not one was a millimeter out of place.

Arzak is a 110-year-old former tavern in San Sebastian, Spain which has won international accolades for its inventive approach to local fare. The late R.W. Apple preferred Arzak to the more renowned El Bulli. In the last article he wrote before his death (“The Global Gourmet,” The New York Times Travel Section, October 5, 2006), he lovingly described the food as “modern and entertaining…often witty, never overwrought.” It was a blend, he said, of "an older French-inspired style of innovation…and the new wave of ground-breaking Spanish cooking." The pleasure he took in a flower-like poached egg or a lamb chop “wearing a tissue-like coffee flavored veil” conveys the central idea: simple, fresh ingredients magically transformed by unexpected flavors and textures.

But about that spice room. At Arzak’s website, I discovered a little more. On the “Investigation” page there is a single cryptic line: “This is one of the best kept secrets from Arzak.” The accompanying photograph says it all: A smiling Elena and her father, Juan Mari, are posed in the spice room. Behind them are literally hundreds of those perfectly ordered containers. At waist level, there appears to be a bank of fluorescently lit, probably refrigerated, cases for perishables. And is that a red floor? Can I get one just like it?

Probing a little further, I found that the spice room is actually the restaurant’s “flavor bank”: a repository of 1,000 products and ingredients that feeds the “laboratory” where father and daughter “lead a group of alchemists” in a daily “investigation.” Their goal: “to find a perfect balance between the avant-garde and the roots of tradition.”

The Squid Circle is one of the fascinating, very complicated recipes that give traditional fare the scientific treatment. Among its ingredients are dried orange peel, powdered sarsaparilla, bergamot tea, cocoa powder and Modena vinegar—all, undoubtedly, plucked from the shelves of the flavor bank. For the record, Elena Arzak told The Times that “a chemistry-based cuisine can be as warm and personal as any other. ‘The science just helps me cook,’ she said.”