SpiceLines

There are a lot of spicy nuggets in Clifford A. Wright’s article, “The Medieval Spice Trade and the Diffusion of the Chile,” which appeared in the Spring 2007 issue of Gastronomica (No. 72, pp. 35-43).

The chile, he writes, “is the world’s most used spice,” especially in “the fourteen culinary cultures [that] can be characterized as highly piquant. These cultures”—among them West Africa, Algeria, Tunisia, Ethiopia, Yemen, the Indian subcontinent, Thailand, Indonesia, and the Sichuan region of China—“have absorbed the chile into their local foodways and use it abundantly.” All were stops along the trail as the chile traveled from its home in Mexico and South America to other parts of the globe. But what happened to Europe where the market for spices was insatiable?

Wright tackles a question that has long perplexed food historians: “Did the arrival of the New World chile in the Old World contribute to or cause the dramatic decline in the spice trade that occurred in the mid-seventeenth century?” From the eleventh to the sixteenth century, pungent spices like black pepper and ginger were the backbone of the highly lucrative trade between Europe and the far off countries where they were grown. Yet just as the fiery chile pepper—the Marquis of Langle described it as a “fruit” which “leaves your mouth burning, and your breath on fire for the rest of the day”--made its way into Spain, Italy and Portugal, European demand for traditional spices began to wither.

Wright concludes that the two events were coincidental: “…the plant does not seem to have had a dramatic, instantaneous, or measurable effect on the East-West spice trade which was dominated by black pepper, ginger, cloves, nutmeg and cinnamon. Although the rapid introduction of the chile around the world coincided with the diminishing of the spice trade, the phenomenon can be equally attributed to changing tastes: western Europe became less interested in highly spiced foods and more enamored of the sophisticated cooking emerging in France in the mid-seventeenth century, especially after La Varenne published La Cuisine Francois in 1652.”

There are many other tantalizing side trails in Wright’s article, among them a succinct analysis of the lingering effects of the Dutch stranglehold on the spice trade in Indonesia. “The Dutch policy was to plant and then destroy crops through mass uprooting. This policy…certainly kept prices high in Europe, but its local cost was the cruel treatment of the indigenous peoples, including thousands of deaths, the destruction of incomes, bankruptcies, rebellions and starvation—leading to endemic poverty and, some would argue, an easy acceptance of Islam.”

This last was the subject of Nathaniel’s Nutmeg, Giles Milton’s extraordinary tale of the fierce battle between the Dutch and the English for control of the island of Run. Clifford A. Wright is the author of A Mediterranean Feast, a sweeping, scholarly history (with 500 recipes) of the birth of the cuisines surrounding the Mediterranean Sea. In a later book, Some Like It Hot, Wright lets his hair down and celebrates the chile in all its culinary guises.

“Wherever my travels may lead, paradise is where I am.”

--Attributed to Voltaire (in an email received today)

I adore this idea, even if Voltaire didn’t say it that way.

The actual quote, which is the last line of Le Mondain (1736), reads: "Le paradis terrestre est ou je suis," or “Earthly paradise is where I am.” No allusion to travel, alas. The poem celebrates worldly pleasures: “luxury,” “softness,” “taste,” “ornament,” “all the arts,” the “gold of the earth” and “the treasures of the waves.” Paradise is right here on earth, said Voltaire, not in some far off afterlife awarded to pious abstainers.

Cheers, Voltaire. I approve: Let’s enjoy life in all its divine abundance.

At the moment, my own worldly paradise can be found right outside the French doors, where a tropical jungle is erupting from a collection of pots, some huge, some not, that crowd the deck. Sublimely perfumed angel trumpets tower over a Chinese water pot filled with tadpoles and papyrus. The passion flower vine extends its wicked, vise-like tendrils in all directions, redeemed by crimson flowers, but not, alas by the luscious fruit I was expecting. There are spices growing here: piper nigrum, the pepper vine, is heavy with aromatic green peppercorns. and around the corner, edible ginger sprouting pointy leaves. Only the hickory nuts that bounce off the roof and the brown squirrels chasing through the luxuriant sweet potato vines remind us that we’re not in Bali—and that fall is in the air.

But at the moment, it’s still hot and the tropical deck is glorious. Just last week, I unfurled a gold-crested Balinese parasol over the green chaise. The umbrella’s checkered black and white poleng pattern is found on sacred objects all over Bali: I once saw it on a sarong draped over a huge stone frog by the lily pond at the Amandari in Ubud. The dark and light pattern represents dualism, the dynamic tension between creation and destruction which holds the universe together. It is a reminder that without one, there can be no other: no woman without man, no day without night, no good without evil. (All this is written about in B.’s weekly letter, “The Lost Art of Luxury,” on The Global Province.)

And, of course, there is no summer without winter. Even on these sweltering days, the mornings are distinctly cooler. In the ate afternoon, I love to lounge on the tropical deck, with a drink in hand and a seductive book, like Carlos Eire’s Cuban memoir, Waiting for Snow in Havana, on my lap. If I’m lucky, I may glimpse a hummingbird whirring over the elegant apricot blossoms of the canna lily. Or maybe just listen, eyes closed, to water trickling from the bamboo fountain. As darkness falls, magic unfolds when the Moroccan lantern is lit.

The drinks served here in the tropical zone are inspired by the garden: a vodka martini enlivened by a pickled green tomato and a few drops of the spicy pickle juice, a classic mojito packed with fresh mint leaves and lime, and a refreshing pomegranate-green tea cooler also spiked with lots and lots of mint. (Recipes coming soon.)

Here’s to le paradis terrestre, Voltaire. My version, anyway.

For a tropical plant list with sources, please go here.

The pale apricot and rose blooms of Canna 'Panache' bring a glimpse of
paradise to the tropical garden. They also attract hummingbirds.

Le paradis terrestre requires a few plants—37 to be exact.

Unlike Voltaire, I’m obsessed with tropicals. But B and I live in a more temperate zone 7, bordering on 8, and many of these potted beauties shrivel and shrink when the temperature drops below freezing. (Maybe that’s why our garage looks like a jungle in January. Only the monkeys are missing.)

Anyway, all is revealed in this list of plants. I’ve included my own sources, even though Singing Springs, the nursery where I found most of my favorites, closed in 2006. In her last letter. owner Pam Baggett, who now spends her time writing about gardens, provided a list of mail order nurseries that sell tropicals. I’ve added it to the end of my own list, in case you simply can’t live without your own 'Hilo Beauty.'

Here are 37 plants for your own private jungle:

2 Brugmansia suaveolens (Angel’s Trumpet), dangling yellow trumpets, fragrant, especially in the evening. Singing Springs Nursery.

1 Brugmansia ‘Sunset’ (Angel’s Trumpet), soft apricot flowers, pale green leaves splotched with cream. Singing Springs Nursery.

1 Brugmansia, unknown (Angel’s Trumpet), pale pink flowers. Raleigh, N.C. Farmers’ Market.

In the evening, the air is perfumed with the honeyed fragrance of
these exotic Angel's Trumpets. The color of the blossoms may be
white, yellow, apricot or pink, depending upon the variety.

The four brugmansias are in huge pots underplanted with purple ‘Heat Wave’ petunias, cascading Ipomoea batatas ‘Margarita’ (lime green ornamental sweet potato vines) and gold Lysimachia nummularia ‘Aurea’ (Creeping Jenny)

1 Cymbopogon citratus (Lemon grass) Delicious roots and leaves, used in Asian cooking and for tea. Carrboro, N.C. Farmers Market.

1 Dahlia, unknown. Hot pink blooms on dark purple stems. Dickinson’s Nursery, Chapel Hill, N.C.

1 pot Agapanthus species ‘Elaine’ (Lily of the Nile), 4’ stems, strappy green leaves, dark blue-violet blooms. Plant Delights Nursery.

1 Ficus caprica ‘Violette de Bordeaux’ (Fig) “Purplish black fruit with rich strawberry flavor. Considered by many the finest tasting fig.” Has not, however, borne for me but there’s always next year. Edible Landscaping.

1 Pennisetum ‘Purple Majesty’ (Purple Fountain Grass). Dickinson’s Nursery.

1 Dwarf papyrus. Stems are 2-1/2 to 3 feet tall. Perfect size for Chinese water pot. Raleigh, N.C. Farmer’s Market.

1 Sarraccenia flava (Yellow Trumpet Pitcher Plant). Insect trap, submerged in the other Chinese water pot. Plant Delights Nursery.

1 Olive tree ‘Frantoia’, rescued from the sidewalk at Smith & Hawken a few years ago. Hasn’t borne any fruit, but the silvery leaves and willowy branches are lovely.

1 Meyer lemon tree. Saved from sure death at Whole Foods during a heat wave this summer. Three lemons ripening now. A predecessor from Edible Landscaping lived five years in a pot and bore 12-18 lemons annually. Skins are especially fragrant and can be grated over pasta and potatoes, into dough for lemon tart, and into lemon pots de crème.

The 'Ruby' passion flower has spectacular blossoms, but does not
produce the luscious tropical fruit of Passiflora 'incarnata.'

1 Passiflora hybrida ‘Lady Margaret’ (‘Ruby’ passion flower) Exquisite crimson blossoms on a twining vine. Grow this and other passion flowers in pots, or they will spread uncontrollably through the garden. Raleigh, N.C. Farmers Market. For fruit, try Passiflora incarnata from Edible Landscaping.

1 Phormium tenax ‘Atropurpureum’ (New Zealand Flax). “Swordlike…chocolate purple leaves 2” wide but 3-5’ long.” Singing Springs Nursery. Looks wonderful in a weathered copper urn underplanted with cascading pink and rose striped petunias found at Home Depot.

1 pot Colocasia antiquorum illustris (Elephant ear), “charcoal black leaves dramatically veined with green.” Singing Springs Nursery.

1 Agave attenuata ‘Huntington Blue’. Pale green leaves with a grayish-blue cast. Tender. Singing Springs Nursery.

1 Plumeria, unknown. (Frangipani) bought last year at the Raleigh, N.C. Farmers Market. Has yet to produce the promised pale yellow, intoxicatingly perfumed blooms, but it did grow 4 feet this year.

1 Wollemi Pine Tree, Jurassic era “living fossil” discovered in Australia. Graceful pine with feathery blue green needles. A gift, via National Geographic.

2 Alocasia ‘Portadora’ (Elephant ear),. Huge, deeply ruffled green leaves that point upwards to the sky. Singing Springs Nursery. Both are underplanted with dark purple Ipomoea batatas “Blackie” (ornamental sweet potato vine)

3 Eucomis ‘Sparkling Burgundy’ (Pineapple Lily). Dark burgundy strap-like foliage with a single long-stemmed blossom of clustered white and purple flowers that looks like a tiny pineapple. Plant Delights Nursery.

1 Canna glauca ‘Panache’ (Canna lily) Gorgeous soft apricot, rose-centered blossoms that draw hummingbirds. Attractive bluish-green foliage. Plant Delights Nursery.

1 pot Polianthes tuberosa ‘Single Mexican’ bulbs. (Tuberoses) Intoxicating white blossoms that exude their fragrance in the evening. An instant trip to the tropics. Brent & Becky’s Bulbs.

1 Citrus hystrix (Thai ‘Kaffir’ Lime) Divine citrus-scented leaves for Asian cooking, especially in soups and broths. Found at Shades of Green Nursery in San Antonio and carried home on the plane.

1 Pineapple sage. Pretty red blossoms on fruit-scented leaves. Carrboro, N.C. Farmers Market. Great for tea or as a garnish for summer coolers.

1 Piper nigrum (pepper vine). Heart shaped, deeply veined leaves with small white flowers that produce aromatic spikes of immature green peppercorns. This is the vine that produces black, white and green peppercorns, but grown in a pot in our temperate climate, the peppercorns do not ripen fully. Sometimes I add the immature spikes to Asian stir fries. Yucca Do Nursery.

No self-respecting backyard jungle can do without a banana tree.
This Musa Rojo, now in its second year, is especially lush.

1 Musa Rojo (Banana) Small banana tree with endlessly unfurling burgundy-streaked leaves. Home Depot Garden Center.

2 Colocasia esculenta ‘Black Magic’ (Elephant Ear) Dark, nearly black purple stems and veins on 1’ lightly ruffled leaves. Singing Springs Nursery. Underplanted with cascading Ipomoea batatas ‘Margarita’ (chartreuse sweet potato vine)

2 Alocasia ‘Hilo Beauty’ (Elephant Ear). Lovely dark green leaves splotched with cream and celadon. Tender. Singing Springs Nursery. Underplanted with trailing Ipomoea batatas ‘Blackie’ (dark purple sweet potato vine).

2 Buxus sempervirens ‘Suffruticosa’ (English boxwood). Carrboro, N.C. Farmers Market. Wonderful round exclamation points amongst the lush tropicals.

1 Hibiscus tree, unknown. Stunning triple ruffled dark rose blossoms on a plant that has been limbed up to a small tree. Blooms sporadically all year. Rescued from Whole Foods parking lot.

1 Agave ‘Victoria Regina’ Small agave with grey-green succulent leaves edged in white and tipped with lethal thorns. Yucca Do Nursery.

1 Zingiber officianale (edible ginger). A potted clump of very fresh Hawaiian ginger from Whole Foods. now producing leaves.

Need some of your own? Here is Pam Baggett’s list of mail order nurseries that sell tropicals and other tender plants:

Avant Gardens
Color Farm
Cottage Garden
Fairweather Gardens
Niche Gardens
Plant Delights Nursery
Select Seeds
Stokes Tropicals
Wayside Gardens
White Flower Farm
Yucca Do Nursery

. .

The classic mojito is made with a dozen mint leaves, rum, and lime juice. It can be
sweetened with simple syrup or, more authentically, with sugar cane juice.

Tropical storm Gabrielle is skirting the Outer Banks today, sending us cooling breezes but not a drop of rain.

That makes this evening perfect for drinks in the garden. Also perfect for drinks from the garden. Right now, I’m sipping a classic mojito, packed with just-plucked mint leaves and splashed with the juice of a lime.

According to an article in the Miami Herald, the name of the drink comes from the African “mojo,” which means “to place a spell”—no surprise to the legions who have fallen under the enchantment of this potent drink. Rumor has it that the mojito was “invented” in 1589 when the English navigator and sometime pirate Sir Francis Drake tried but failed to plunder Havana for its gold. To soothe his ire, perhaps, another pirate, Richard Drake, concocted a drink made of aguardiente (“firewater,” probably made from fermented sugar cane juice) mixed with sugar, lime and mint. He named it “El Draque” (“The Dragon”), after Sir Francis Drake’s nom de guerre.

Can this be true? Others claim that the mojito was really invented by African slaves working in the Cuban sugar cane fields during the 19th century. According to The Mojito Company, slaves drank both aguardiente, and guarapo, fresh sugar cane juice, and the stories may have become muddled—in theory, if not in fact. However it evolved, recipes for the mojito were found in bartending manuals by the 1930s. In Cuba, and again Key West, it was a favorite of Ernest Hemingway who first sampled it at La Bodeguita del Medio, a popular bar and restaurant in Havana.

There are a thousand spins on the mojito, but Bacardi’s classic recipe is a good starting point. I use fresh peppermint leaves from the garden instead of the recommended spearmint, though the latter would also be delicious. The key thing is to “muddle” or crush a dozen leaves gently in the bottom of the glass to release their flavor, before adding the other ingredients. The Mojito Company sells all sorts of muddlers, including one made of Honduran rosewood, but I find that the non-business end of a pestle works very well. (That way you avoid any other flavors that may linger on the pestle.) You could also use the plunger from a juicer, a small wooden mallet, or just about any long-handled implement with a flat end that can be inserted in a glass.

Because I love lime, I use the juice of a whole fruit--or two Key limes, if I can find them--instead of the half that Barcardi suggests. And to balance out the flavors, another tablespoon or two of simple syrup. (To be truly authentic, you should use sugar cane juice.) Oh yes, and I substitute Pellegrino for club soda and use a lot less of it.

But in the end, this really is a classic mojito, one that even El Draque would enjoy.

Spellbinding Mojito with Mint and Lime

(adapted from bacardimojito.com)

To make 1 mojito

Ingredients:

12 fresh mint leaves (peppermint or spearmint)
Ice to fill the glass
1-1/2 ounces rum
3 tablespoons simple syrup, or to taste (see note)
Juice of one lime, or to taste
3 to 4 ounces Pellegrino (or club soda)
Sprig of mint for garnish

Method:

1. Put the mint leaves in the bottom of a tall glass. Gently smash or “muddle” the leaves with a muddler, pestle or other instrument to release their flavor.
2. Fill the glass with ice. Add the rum, simple syrup and lime juice. Stir to mix well.
3. Top off the glass with Pellegrino or club soda. Stir again. Taste and adjust the flavorings, if desired. Serve with a sprig of mint.

Note: To make simple syrup, combine one cup sugar and one cup water in a small saucepan. Stir and bring to a boil. When the sugar has dissolved, remove from the heat and set aside to cool. Refrigerate before adding to a cold drink.

In a nod to summer's waning days, pickled green cherry tomatoes garnish a vodka
martini, which must, of course, be imbibed in the garden.

There’s a wonderful story about Winston Churchill and his martinis.

During World War II, when no French vermouth could be found, Churchill would make martinis with a “{respectful] bow in the direction of France.” According to Pete Wells (“The Gin Crowd,” Food & Wine, August, 1999), Churchill’s gin of choice was Plymouth, an English gin created in 1791, which made “fanastic” martinis. Wells writes: “All the same ingredients--cardamom, coriander, citrus peel, bitter almonds and, of course, juniper--are thrown into the Plymouth stills, but thrown in so carefully that no single flavor dominates. The result is an unusually well-balanced and intensely aromatic drink.”

Somehow this story has been subverted in the retelling. In latter day versions, Churchill merely bowed in the direction of a bottle of vermouth—he may have preferred his martinis very, very dry.

Anyway, this is not Churchill’s martini. In a salute to the waning days of summer, it's garnished with pickled green cherry tomatoes from the garden. It’s made with vodka, not gin, and has a touch of vermouth mixed in. It’s not James Bond’s martini either: It’s both shaken and stirred. I can hear the purists squawking.

At the moment, the vodka in my martini is Tito’s Handmade Vodka, from Austin, Texas and winner of the 2001 Double Gold at the San Francisco World Spirit Competitions. If you’re wobbly about your own tastes, Raymond Sokolov’s recommendations from an August 29, 2003 article in The Wall Street Journal--Grey Goose, Olifant and Jewel of Russia—are a reasonable jumping off point.

Whatever your poison, pickled green cherry tomatoes are a delectable if non-U addition to the martini. If you have a late crop on your own vines, they won’t ripen before frost. Pick them all and spend a pleasant hour or so making Dan Field’s recipe for these addictive little flavor bombs. (Dan was the late father of New York pickle maven, Rick Field, who is probably elbow deep in exotic brines and spices at this very moment. One of Rick’s Picks’ latest, Smokra, is flavored with smoked Spanish paprika.) But it’s OK to cheat and buy your pickled green tomatoes too. You can get Tomolives from Bryant Preserving Company.

Enough talk. Here’s the recipe:

Vodka Martini with Pickled Green Cherry Tomatoes

To make one martini

Ingredients:

2 ounces vodka
Small capful vermouth (cap measuring about 1/2-inch), or to taste
Ice cubes
2 or 3 pickled green cherry tomatoes on a toothpick, for garnish
Few drops pickled cherry tomato brine (optional)

Method:

1. Pour vodka and vermouth into a cocktail shaker. Add ice cubes and stir well. Shake vigorously for one minute.
2. Pour the martini into a glass. Garnish with pickled green cherry tomatoes. Add a few drops of the brine, if desired.
3. Serve at once, bowing in the direction of the garden.

The last of this trio of garden drinks is non-alcoholic.

Before your eyes glaze over, I must tell you that it is divine. The cooler is made with just three ingredients: green tea—such as Green Dragon Oolong-- for backbone, a handful of peppermint leaves for refreshing flavor, and pure pomegranate juice for lusciousness. Oh, and water, so that makes four. Five, if you choose to garnish it with an aromatic sprig from the garden— lemon verbena, purple basil or pineapple sage.

With all the anti-oxidants, flavenoids, polyphenols and catchecins in green tea, you know you’re doing wonderful things for your body. Especially if you’ve been sampling the mojitos or martinis I told you about earlier. And pomegranate juice has been used as a restorative since it was quaffed in ancient Babylon. It too is high in antioxidants that help protect the heart. Come to think of it, in the ancient world it was a symbol of resurrection.

Don’t waste this beautiful elixir by guzzling it while juggling two phones at once, haranguing your accountant or fending off kamikaze drivers on the interstate. No, wait until the late afternoon, when the sun is low and you can lie on the chaise under the Balinese parasol, watching hummingbirds sip the nectar from an Angel’s Trumpet and feeling the breeze from a far off tropical storm stir the air around you.

It’s that kind of drink.

Pomegranate Green Tea Cooler with Mint

(adapted from the West End Cooler at Three Cups)

Ingredients:

30 ounces fresh spring water
1-1/2 tablespoons green tea, such as Green Dragon Oolong
Large handful of fresh mint leaves and stems
Pure pomegranate juice to taste
Ice cubes
Sprig of purple basil, pineapple mint or lemon verbena for garnish

Method:

1. Place the green tea and mint in a teapot. Heat the water in a kettle just until wisps of steam curl out of the spout. Pour the water into the teapot, cover and let steep for 20 to 30 minutes. Strain the tea into a glass container and let cool to room temperature. Refrigerate until cold.
2. To make a cooler, pour four to six ounces of tea over ice in a tall glass. Add pure pomegranate juice to taste. Stir.
3. Garnish with a sprig of purple basil or other herb, if desired. Serve at once.

In “To Burundi and Beyond for Coffee’s Holy Grail,” (The New York Times, September 12, 2007, Dining Out, pp. D1 and D8) Peter Meehan writes about “coffee hunters” who “will go almost anywhere, do almost anything and pay almost any price in pursuit of the perfect cup of coffee.” This handful of globe trekkers—Meehan talked with four of them—mostly work for small coffee roasters that “buy their beans directly from the farms and cooperatives that grow them, not brokers.” According to Connie Blumhardt, publisher of Roast, in some circles, coffee hunters are worshipped as “megagods.”

Vivid, out-of-the mainstream flavor is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow for these coffee hunters. George Howell, who heads George Howell Coffee Company in Acton, Massachusetts, told The Times, “We’re finding flavors we’ve never ever tasted before, different fruit and floral flavors from really pristine, clean coffees. These are flavors that have been lost or diluted in the old methods of blending coffee down to an average product.”

Among the coffee roasters mentioned in the article is Counter Culture Coffee in Durham, N.C. which supplies many restaurants and gourmet shops in our area, as well as Café Grumpy and Ninth Street Espresso in New York, described by The Times as two of the city’s “most highly regarded cafes.” Counter Culture’s co-owner and coffee hunter, Peter Giuliano, often speaks at 3 Cups in Chapel Hill; his comments are a regular feature in the shop’s weekly newsletter.

But Will They Drink Pumpkin Spice Lattes?

Starbucks currently has over 14,000 outlets in 43 countries. That’s a lot of skinny lattes and mocha chip frappucinos.

Last week the world’s biggest coffee company got a little bigger. In “After Long Dispute, a Russian Starbucks,” Andrew E. Kramer reported that Starbucks opened its first coffee shop in a mall in Khimki, a small city outside Moscow. (The New York Times, September 7, 2007, Business, p. C3) The opening was a triumph for Starbucks, which had refused to pay a “trademark squatter” to “yield the Starbucks name in Russia.” The company eventually won in court.

But it will cost Russians plenty to enjoy a venti mocha: New Yorkers pay $4.71 for the drink; Russians will have to fork over a stunning 230 rubles, or $8.96. Prices, notes Kramer, “are a reflection of the oil-driven economic boom here.” Russian stores will offer the same coffee drinks as Starbucks everywhere, but sandwiches—mushroom and cheese—will be adapted to “local tastes.”

One thing Starbucks will not offer, I imagine, is Russian atmosphere. In June B and I rose early every morning for the fabulous strong coffee served in the bar of St. Petersburg's Hotel Astoria. Around 6:40 our first morning, we observed an Ivana Trump lookalike and a flashily dressed rube drain a bottle of wine and lurch to their feet. She began to lean dangerously backwards and when her friend reached out to steady her, she punched him in the face. They then tottered companionably to the elevator. Our waiter chuckled and said, “Open till the last customer leaves.”

Out of—or Into Africa?

Paying for a café con leche in a Boston Starbucks on Labor Day, I spied Marcus Samuelsson’s wonderful cookbook, Soul of a New Cuisine: A Discovery of the Foods and Flavors of Africa, at the cash register. But was it? The book was awfully slim, and a cover photo of plantain strips had been replaced by one of coffee beans.

Samuelsson, the Ethiopian-born, Swedish-raised chef and co-owner of Aquavit in New York, has teamed up with Starbucks to create new coffee blends—Ubora and Joya del Dia-- and pastries. (See “He Probably Makes a Mean Skim Latte” in The New York Times, September 2, 2007, Business, p. 2). To promote the partnership—the theme is “Coffee is Culinary”--Samuelsson has just finished a 10-city tour “signing cookbooks, offering samples of his chocolate cinnamon bread and probably posing for lots of photographs.” The cookbook, which includes recipes from 5 Starbucks baristas, is a seriously abridged version of the original; the company will donate $1 for every cookbook sold before October 1 to UNICEF.

Although Starbucks has stores in 42 countries outside the U.S., according to the most recent information on its website only one country—Egypt—is on the African continent. As for Samuelsson, he’s about to open a new African-inspired restaurant—Merkato 55—in New York. Could Africa be the next target for the giant coffee company’s ambitious expansion plans? According to The Times, it aims to increase its overseas presence to 20,000 stores.

In Kauppatori market, a vendor sells both plain and salty licorice.
Finnish licorice has a sweetly aromatic, almost earthy taste.

Helsinki on a cloudless summer day. Verdant parks. Sailboats gliding out to sea. In the distance, the gilded onion domes of Ouspensky cathedral. Much of Dr. Zhivago was shot in Helsinki. And why not? It’s a supremely photogenic city, especially today.

Then there’s the rug pier. For obvious reasons, the Finns wash their carpets in summer. They scrub out winter’s grime with pine soap, rinse the rugs in the brackish water of the Gulf of Finland, and lay them out to dry on a wooden railing—even leaving them overnight, since no one would think of stealing them. “If the men come to wash the carpets, they’re allowed to do what ever they want the rest of the year,” says our guide with a small, ironic smile.

The most televised sport in this country of 5 million, after ice hockey, is a race to see how far husbands can carry their wives on their backs. The heavier your spouse, the more points you get—and the more beer you get to drink when it’s all over. Tarja Halonen, the country’s president, famed for her large black doctor’s bag, is called a "Moomin mother" after a popular series of books featuring a family of trolls who, says Wickipedia, “are white, round and furry in appearance, with large snouts that make them resemble hippopotamuses…” Most dinner parties end in the sauna.

No matter. The Finns know how to eat. In fact they consume 22 liters of ice cream per year. And at the end of June Kauppatori, Helsinki’s famous outdoor market, is brimming with summer delicacies like tiny potatoes, fresh crayfish and smoked moose meat. As our buxom blonde guide says, ”You know a culture by its food.”

Actually there are two markets: Kaupahalli or Market Hall is a handsome brick building from 1888, where well-heeled customers politely throng the aisles, noshing on shrimp salad sandwiches, moose salami, licorice-flavored chocolate, and strong espresso. Outside, at the eastern end of the long green Esplanade, you'll find Kauppatori or Market Square, where all of Helsinki shops for gorgeous produce shaded under dark red umbrellas.

Here’s a little of what’s on offer today in Kaupahalli:

Open-faced salmon and shrimp salad sandwiches on rye. Slabs of fresh salmon marinated in crushed “rose pepper” (pink peppercorns) and dill, and in coarsely ground black pepper and lemon zest.

Handmade chocolate bars from Kultasuklaa: white chocolate studded with fruity lingonberries, dark chocolate crunchy with puffed rice, and milk chocolate flavored with bits of salmiakki, or salty licorice. “Not too popular outside Finland,” says our cheerful guide.

Packages of smoked, salted reindeer meat from the north of Finland, canned bear meat, and moose salami.

Glass cases stocked with orderly rows of cheese: There’s a nutty-tasting Swiss, a creamy, slightly tangy oltermanni, and juustoleipa made from reindeer milk. This last cheese has a crust that is caramelized during baking. (According to igourmet, Finnish mothers used to offer a slice of juustoleipa and a cup of coffee to their daughters’ suitors: if a man liked the cheese, he married the girl.)

Paella pans heaped with plump, sautéed crayfish.

Falksalt from Sweden; enormous, crumbly flakes and a clean, sea-sweet salty taste. Jars of golden cloudberry jam.

But I can’t wait to exit the back door into the outdoor market. Kauppatori sprawls lazily along the harbor and at least one gentleman is selling onions and potatoes from his parasol-shaded boat. The sun is strong and most stands are covered by red umbrellas which cast a lurid glow over produce so fresh from the farm that it makes me ache for a kitchen:

Piles of dazzling green peas, swiftly scooped and measured in tall tin cans. We shell and pop them into our mouths as we walk.

Local strawberries, dripping with luscious juice, so fragile that we have to eat them right on the spot. The extra summer sunlight intensifies their crimson hue--there are only four hours of darkness in summer.

Bunches of green onions, feathery dill, and electric orange carrots. Small cauliflowers.

Lots of tiny freshly dug potatoes, crumbly earth still clinging to their golden skins.

A bewitching dark-haired girl scoops chunks of black licorice into candy-colored red and black bags. Finish licorice has a sweetly aromatic, almost earthy taste. It comes salted or not--and since I love salt, I have a new craving for salmiakki.

At lunchtime, salmon steaks and potatoes the size of ping pong balls sizzle on oily planchas or grill pans. The crusty golden potatoes topped with garlicky sour cream are irresistible. All the cooks are offering tastes, especially of the tiny crisply fried fish. In a huge pan, there is an enormous seafood paella piled with mounds of tiny shrimp, salmon, red peppers, mussels and more.

Deeper into the market, we come upon sleek reindeer pelts and soft furs, bright wool sweaters and tables of homemade jewelry, including an irridescent shell strung on a thin black leather thong.

That evening, as we sail out of Helsinki’s harbor, the chef delivers a plate of delicacies from the morning’s haul: We fall upon slices of creamy cow’s milk cheese topped with spoonfuls of golden cloudberry jam, thin slices of dark red reindeer meat, salty and smoky, and a platter of tangy moose salami strewn with red currants.

But the fresh peas and strawberries are only a memory.

These small, naturally buttery potatoes could be served plain, but they are
absolutely delicious with a smattering of dill and a dollop of garlicky sour cream.

You could say that the delicate golden-skinned potatoes in Helsinki’s Kauppatori market are the essence of… potato-ness.

Or you might not.

But in these little tubers—most are the size of ping pong balls—the sublime nature of the potato is revealed. They are most certainly not biogenetically engineered, steroidal, tasteless lumps of starch that require slatherings of butter and generous pinches of salt for any sort of flavor.

No, these are potatoes that could be eaten naked. Sautee them whole, in a few drops of olive oil, over a low flame until they yield gently to your touch and their skins are wrinkly and lightly browned. Now bite. Their pale yellow flesh is soft and creamy, with a taste that is both buttery and earthy. There is an undertone of sweetness, as if the potato has put every bit of its energy into reaching the peak of flavor during the short summer growing season.

There are all sorts of Finnish potatoes with wonderful names. I was at Kauppatori in June, so I might have eaten an early potato called Hankkja Timo. There are also Van Goghs and Nicolas, and in the fall, an “almond potato” called Lapin Puikula, traditionally served with reindeer stew and lingonberry jam in Lapland, Finland’s northernmost province.

But whatever their names, Finnish potatoes fall squarely into the “waxy” category, due to the high level of a polymer known as amylopectin. This makes them good for roasting and for potato salads, but not for baking or French fries. (Starchy russets have lots of another polymer called amylose.)

Back in the nineties, the Waldorf Astoria apparently served Finnish potatoes with lobster, foie gras and truffle vinaigrette. They are that good. But at Kauppatori, you can get them the way they really should be eaten—on a paper plate, sizzling hot from a saute pan, sprinkled with a little salt, flecked with fresh dill, and drizzled with garlicky sour cream. Bliss.

The Finns, by the way, do love their potatoes. (They eat about 60 kilos annually.) The Times of London recently quoted a 36-year-old divorcee on her affair with Finland’s Prime Minister: “Oven baked potatoes are what Matti loves above all else….Once after kissing me he said I taste better than an oven-baked potato. That was great!”

Two kinds of potatoes for sale outside a food stall at Helsinki's Kauppatori market.

Recipe: Almost Naked Finnish Potatoes with Dill and Garlicky Sour Cream

I didn't bother to peel the potatoes since their skins are so fragile and delicious. But you can certainly peel them, if you wish, as they do in the food stalls at Kauppatori.

To serve 4 as a side dish:

Ingredients:

1-1/2 pounds of very small Finnish potatoes (see note)
1 teaspoon olive oil
1/2 cup sour cream
1 large clove garlic, grated, or to taste
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh dill

Method:

1. Rinse the potatoes and dry them well. Coat the bottom of large sautee pan with the olive oil. Warm the pan over medium heat. When it is hot, add the potatoes. Reduce the heat to medium low and sauté the potatoes for 3 minutes, tossing and coating them with oil on all sides.
2. Cover and cook for 20 to 25 minutes. Turn them every 5 minutes to prevent them from browning too quickly. If necessary, add a few drops more olive oil and reduce the heat to low to keep them from burning.
3. While they are cooking, mix the sour cream and garlic in a bowl and set aside.
4. When the potatoes are soft and their skins are wrinkly and slightly browned, toss them in the pan with salt and pepper to taste. Add the dill and toss again. Cook for another minute and remove from the flame.
5. Serve the potatoes in a bowl with garlic sour cream on the side. They are delicious with grilled or roasted salmon and a salad of frisee, endive and raddiccio dressed with olive oil and white balsamic vinegar.

Note: I used Melissa’s Yellow Baby Dutch Potatoes. Maybe they are Dutch, but they have a buttery sweet flavor similar to the Finnish potatoes I tasted in Helsinki. You could substitute baby Yukon Gold potatoes or wait for the yellow Finnish potatoes that will appear in markets this fall. Whichever potatoes you use, they should be no larger than 1-1/2 to 2 inches in diameter.

In October James Oseland, editor in chief of Saveur and author of the enthralling Cradle of Flavor: Home Cooking from the Spice Islands, will moderate two food discussions at Asia Society.

On October 15, 2007, “A Chocolate Affair: The Asian Palate Falls in Love” will explore the marriage-made-in-heaven between chocolate and luscious Asian flavors such as jasmine, ginger, green tea, Thai chili, tamarind and lychee. The panel, which will chat about the use of chocolate in Asian cuisines, includes Kristy Choo, pastry chef, Jin Patisserie (Venice, California); Kee Ling Tong, chocolatiere, Kee’s Chocolates (Soho); and Pichet Ong, chef-owner of P*ONG restaurant (New York) and author of a new dessert cookbook, The Sweet Spot.

On October 29, 2007, “From Saigon to Soho: The Rise of Vietnamese Cuisine” will celebrate the vibrant cooking of Vietnam, which seems to be on a global roll. (Count us in: we’re avid for pho, Hanoi’s tantalizing beef noodle soup.) The panel will include Bobby Chinn, chef and restauranteur, Bobby Chinn Restaurant (Hanoi); Corinne Trang, author of Essentials of Asian Cuisine; and Andrea Nguyen, California-based teacher, writer and author of Into the Vietnamese Kitchen. Andrea also maintains a terrific website which is a must for anyone who loves Vietnamese food.

A light food tasting will follow each presentation.

Contact: Asia Society, 725 Park Avenue at 70th Street, New York, NY 10021. Telephone: 212-517-ASIA. Web: www.asiasociety.org. For tickets: https://tickets.asiasociety.org.

Tonfisk's "Warm" teapot and cups present an study in contrasts:
sleek, smooth ceramic and natural, almost rustic materials, such
as the bentwood "bracelets" which keep the contents war. Photo:
www.tonfisk.fi

OK, I confess. I’m guilty—of design obsession in the third degree.

So Helsinki was pure pleasure. There’s the gently curved marble expanse of Alvar Aalto’s Finlandia Hall. Its sinuous, wavy-sided tower looks amazing and creates splendid acoustics in the concert hall. (The form doesn’t exactly follow function, but you get the idea.)

Then there are the 600 stainless steel tubes of the Sibelious Monument, designed in the 1960’s by Eila Hiltunen. The clustered silvery pipes are suspended in mid-air: You can stick your head right up into the larger ones and hear a symphony of eerie musical vibrations. The pipes could almost be alive, quivering in the Baltic breezes.

But let’s get to the point: Some of Helsinki’s best design shops are to be found along the Esplanadi, the lush green park that begins just above Kauppatori Market at the harbor. There’s sleek glassware at Ittala, for instance, and at Artek, you can decide if you really like Alvar Aalto’s classic bentwood furniture. But I’m food obsessed and the coup de foudre came when I eyed Nicholas Uga’s gorgeous Mortelli O+ mortar and pestle. In black granite or white marble, the deep rounded bowl fits snugly into a scooped out block of wood—and the pestle fit my hand as if the two had been molded for each other. But mortars must be heavy to be properly grounded, and I could scarcely lift this one. Trying to haul it back to the boat would have been grounds for divorce—sadly, B was not raised in the school of “travel means lugging objects of desire in your hand luggage for thousands of miles, even when they weigh as much as a cast iron anvil.”

Oh, well. More portable were form-fitting t-shirts from Aarikka, a cheerful shop that displays jewelry, clothing and objects inspired by nature. I never ever buy t-shirts when I’m traveling but the Monument shirt was simply irresistible. Emblazoned across the bust are black silhouettes of five famous statues that exhibit “national values so precious to Finns.” These include the hammer-wielding Smiths (“work and cooperation”) and the Olympic gold medal runner Paavo Nurmi (“perseverance and sports”).

I could have skipped the fluorescently lit environs of Marimekko—all those bright poppies seemed a little weary—but up the block and around the corner at Design Forum Finland, I found nirvana in the shape of the Warm Teapot and cups designed by Tonfisk. This is one of the best modern tea sets ever. It even surpasses my Three Rules for a Perfect Teapot:

First it is pleasing to the eye and to the touch: The tall cream-colored ceramic teapot sits firmly in a laminated bentwood sleeve or “bracelet.” The lid is a weathered cork stopper that looks old and worn, yet fits snugly into the pot. It is a brilliant pairing of opposites: Smooth, sleek ceramic and natural, almost rustic materials. Both beg to be touched.

Second, although the teapot has no handle, it lifts and pours with ease. To pick it up, grasp the bentwood sleeve, which also shields your hand from the heat. The pot is light and nicely balanced. No dribbles, either.

And of course, it makes excellent tea. There’s a stainless steel mesh filter, big enough to hold two to three tablespoons of loose tea, without which you might as well just forget it and drink hot water. The wood sleeve helps to insulate the pot—hence the name. And, as long as you remove the sleeve—this does take some doing the first time or two—it’s dishwasher safe.

Tonfisk, which means “tuna fish,” is a design collective formed in 1999 by Tony Alstrom, a Finn, and Brian Keany, an Irishman, who met when studying at the University of Art and Design in Helsinki. Their cheeky motto is “Form follows function doesn’t mean all objects have to look the same.” The product line includes a sculptural Oma lemon squeezer and a chunky ceramic Kinos sushi set whose shape vaguely echoes that of the sushi.

Happiness. For the next 10 days I traipsed around the Baltic, through Finland and Sweden, in and out of customs, with a Warm teapot and two ceramic mugs in my trusty Longchamps bag. Now. here in the kitchen, it's the right pot for a cool autumn morning, perfect for brewing strong Winey Keemun from Grace Tea. And whenever I see it, I remember bright red strawberries and sea breezes setting Silbelious’s pipes to singing.

Naturally you don’t have to go to Finland to find the Warm teapot. Here’s a list of other sources. The memories, though, are mine.

The smoky aroma of chiles roasted over hot coals--sweet Bell peppers, dark green
poblanos, fiery jalpenos and mild Japanese shishitos--signals the arrival of autumn.

One sure sign of fall—along with the early pumpkins and bronzey green scuppernog grapes—is the aroma of fresh peppers roasting over an open fire. At Carrboro Farmer’s Market, the folks from Peregrine Farm will sell you a pound or two of capsicums—your choice, anything from sweet Bells to the spiciest habaneros—tumbled over hot coals in a revolving wire drum. The succulent, smoky aroma perfumes the morning air, drawing ravenous crowds who’ll wait for nearly an hour to take home a warm bag of delicious charred peppers.

But you can also roast fresh peppers at home. Yesterday I mixed fiery red and green jalapenos from the garden with an assortment of peppers from the market: dark green poblanos with just a touch of heat, mild shishitos, the long yellow-green pepper popular in Japan (for more, see The Serendiptious Chef, and red and yellow Bells. Together they ran the gamut from sweet to mild to hot, which is one of the great things about mixing them up.

There are two easy ways to roast capsicums. One is to heat a dry cast iron skillet over a medium flame, toss in whole peppers and turn them until they are charred all over. This can take a while, but if you’re feeling lazy, it’s a pleasant way to while away part of a Sunday afternoon. Or, if you’re planning to cook outside, you can put them on the grill while the flames are high and the coals are still too hot for the meat. Using tongs, turn them often until they’re blackened and blistered all over.

Add thick slices of onions to the grill and you can make a version of rajas. Rajas are strips of sauteed poblano peppers and onions, and in northern Mexico, they are often served with a very thin, delicious steak known as a tampiquena. Rajas go well with almost any cut of grilled beef and also with grilled pork chops and pork tenderloins.

Grilled pork tenderloin with fresh peppers roasted over hot coals gets an extra
kick with a spicy sauce of lightly toasted ancho peppers, peanuts and cumin.

Now if you are serving pork, as I did last night, you might want to do a riff on roasted peppers by also preparing a delicious sauce of lightly toasted ancho peppers blended with onions, fresh tomatoes, a little cumin and crushed roasted peanuts. Wrinkly, blackish-brown anchos are simply dried poblanos. Gently heating them in a hot pan the them brings out their deep, fruity flavor, while the peanuts add richness to the sauce.

Spoon the ancho-peanut sauce over the top of the sliced pork tenderloin or over a grilled pork chop, add a tangle of the roasted fresh peppers alongside and serve with a tangy coleslaw dressed with while balsamic vinegar and olive oil.

Fall is here—at last!

Fire-Roasted Fresh Peppers and Onions

Ingredients:

2 pounds assorted fresh peppers, as desired
2 medium onions, peeled and thickly sliced
Olive oil

Method:

Here are two ways to roast peppers:

1. Heat a large, dry cast iron skillet over a medium flame. When it is hot, add the whole peppers. Turn occasionally until they are blackened and blistered all over. The small peppers will char faster than the others; remove them as soon as they are done. When all the peppers are roasted, set aside. Add the onion to the hot pan and turn until it is lightly charred on both sides. Set aside.

Or if you are cooking outside, make a fire in your grill and place the grill on top. Rub the whole peppers and sliced onions with a little olive oil. When the coals are red hot and the flames are high, put the peppers and onions on the grill. Using tongs, turn until they are charred all over. Remove and set aside.

2. When the peppers are cool enough to touch, cut out the stems, slit them open and remove the seeds. Rub off some of the skin if you wish, but it is not necessary to do so. Cut them into strips and set aside.

3. When you are ready to serve, heat a skillet over a low flame, add a a tablespoon of olive oil, and gently sautee the peppers and onions for 2 to 3 minutes. Add salt to taste and serve while still warm.

Roasted Ancho-Peanut Sauce

Ingredients:

6 ancho peppers (see note)
1 large onion, quartered
2 large garlic cloves, unpeeled
2 small tomatoes, peeled and cored
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
Olive oil
1/2 cup roasted, unsalted peanuts, coarsely ground
Salt

Method:

1. Heat a large cast iron skillet over a medium flame. Lightly toast the ancho peppers just until they soften and puff up a little. Do not char them—they will taste bitter if allowed to burn. Remove and place them in a bowl. Cover with boiling water and set aside to soak until they soften.

2. Add the onion quarters to the pan and cook until they are lightly charred. Add the garlic cloves and cook, turning often, until they are soft. Do not let the cloves burn. Peel and set aside.

3. Drain the ancho peppers, but reserve 1 to 2 cups of the soaking liquid. Cut away the stems, slit them open and remove the seeds.

4. Put the peppers in the container of a blender or food processor. Add the onion, peeled garlic, tomatoes, cumin and one cup of the soaking liquid. Whirr until smooth, adding a little more liquid only if necessary. The sauce should be quite thick.

5. Add a tablespoon of olive oil to a medium saucepan and heat over a low flame. Add the ancho sauce and cook gently for a few minutes. Add the peanuts and continue to cook over a low flame for 10 to 15 minutes. Add salt to taste—you’ll need a teaspoon or more to balance the flavors.

6. Serve warm over grilled pork tenderloin or pork chops. The sauce can be made ahead and kept in the refrigerator for 2 days. Reheat before serving.

Note: Dried ancho chiles are available in Latino markets and in the international aisle of many supermarkets. They may also be sold loose in the produce section of some markets. Anchos should be soft, not brittle, and should be glossy black and very wrinkled, without any holes or other blemishes. You can also order them from Penzeys or from Los Chileros de Nuevo Mexico.

Grilled Pork Tenderloins with Cumin, Coriander and Garlic

To serve 4

Ingredients:

2 to 2-1/2 pounds pork tenderloins
1-1/2 tablespoons cumin seed
1-1/2 tablespoons coriander seed
5 cloves garlic, finely chopped
Freshly ground black pepper and salt to taste
Olive oil

Method:

1. About two hours before you are ready to cook, remove the tenderloins from the refrigerator. Rub them with a little olive oil and put them in a large roasting pan.

2. In a spice grinder, pulverize the cumin and coriander seed. Mix the spices with the garlic and rub all over the tenderloins. Sprinkle with salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste. Set aside.

3. When you are ready to cook, build a charcoal fire in your grill. When the coals are covered with white ash and the flames are low, rub the tenderloins with a little more olive oil. If the tenderloins are very small—1/2 to 3/4= pound--place them on the grill, at the edges of the coals. Cover and cook for 4 to 5 minutes. Turn, cover and cook for another 4 to 5 minutes. Remove and check for doneness. If they are still too pink, return them to the grill and cook for a few minutes longer. (If the tenterloin is a large one, then place it closer to the coals and cook for 4 to 5 minutes per side, turning, for a total of 20 to 25 minutes or until it is done to your taste.)

4. When the pork is done, remove and let it rest, covered with aluminum foil, for 10 minutes. Slice thinly. Serve with the fire-roasted peppers and a bowl of warm ancho-peanut sauce on the side. Accompany with a bowl of coleslaw tossed with white balsamic vinegar and olive oil.

In Veracruz's Mercado Central, shaggy cinnamon quills, bottles of "virgin" honey,
baskets of chiles, and earthenware pots create a memorable scene--the opposite
of what you'll find at Penzeys' retail spice stores.

I really like Penzeys’ spices. Just inhaling the rich, aromatic scent of the Whole Special Extra Bold Indian Black Peppercorns—only 10 pounds of every ton makes the grade—conjures up fantastic visions of marigold garlands, bright crimson saris and plump pepper berries ripening on leafy vines in the verdant hills and valleys of Kerala. These are the peppercorns I use everyday, whether I’m making a simple vinaigrette for tonight’s salad, or pulling out all the stops with fiery Singapore Black Pepper Crab.

So I’ve been wondering why Penzeys’ retail stores are so banal. The one in Grand Central Station, with its neat rows of hermetically sealed jars, has all the antiseptic allure of a suburban vitamin shop (especially if you recall the wildly exotic Adriana’s Caravan that once occupied the same space.) And why does Penzeys’ catalogue channel Woman’s Day circa-1975 recipes like Tuscan Chicken Bake (chicken, vegetables, tomato sauce and Tuscan Sunset Salt Free Italian Style Seasoning). And why…oh well, you get the picture.

In “Milling Profits from Spice” by Fawn Fitter (Fortune Small Business, October 2007, pp. 65-68), 44-year-old Bill Penzey tells how he built a successful empire—32 stores, 600,000 mail order customers, revenues in the “tens of millions of dollars“—by making spices accessible to the average home cook. Says Penzey: “I’ve heard folks passing by a spice store say, ‘That’s not for me; it’s for gourmets.’” From a survey he discovered that more than 50 percent of his “core mail order customers ate out fewer than six times a month…. We found that our customers are families who were cooking skinless chicken breasts 20 times a month…it was important to remind them of the basics: By using a variety of spices, you can create new meals with essentially the same main ingredients.”

I guess that’s the answer. Like Starbucks, Penzeys has taken an extraordinary product and dumbed it down for a mass audience. That would account for the rapid roll-out of bland retail stores, the resolutely “non-gourmet” approach to recipes, and the profusion of similar spice blends which can be dumped over boneless, skinless chicken breasts 20 times a month. It also accounts for the dismissive comments about celebrity chefs and the media in One, a subscription-only magazine that proudly trumpets recipes and food stories from “real people.”

The irony is that Penzeys’ single spices—incendiary peppercorns from India and Malaysia, fragrant vanilla beans from Mexico and Madagascar, soft, lemony cinnamon from Sri Lanka—find their way into the kitchens of America’s top chefs and the most discriminating home cooks. Such spices are exquisitely fresh, vibrantly aromatic and full of flavor that offers a true taste of the terroir in which they are grown. One whiff of those intoxicating black peppercorns and you understand how the lust for spices propelled men halfway around the world, to endure and inflict almost unimaginable horrors in their quest for shriveled berries, dried roots, hunks of bark and seeds.

There’s nothing wrong with targeting your core crowd. It makes good sense when you're building a business. But for “gourmets”--people who search for excellence and authenticity in the world of food—middlebrow is not good enough. And it shouldn’t be enough for Penzeys either. You can either talk down to your audience, or, like the song, you can take them higher by using a fine product to offer glimpses of the wider world.

A good place to start would be with those retail stores: I’d like to see a Penzeys with brilliant color, as bright and vivid as the open sacks of spices in a Moroccan market. It doesn’t take much: the orange walls at Christina’s in Cambridge would be a start. Next, instead of the unfinished display crates I saw at one Penzeys store, how about “a sniffing bar” like the one at Goumanyat et Son Royaume in Paris? It’s an altar of sorts, where you can inhale the fragrance of sultry golden mace, resinous green cardamon, and a dozen different peppercorns. (Goumanyat, incidentally, is an imagined prince who rules over a world of savory pleasure.) And please, don’t tell me that Aleppo pepper makes “an attractive sprinkle for potato, chicken and tuna salad and deviled eggs too.” Give me pictures and stories of real people who grow and harvest spices. Let them tell me about their world and how spices fit into their lives.

So what’s wrong with gourmets?

I'm off to U.C. Davis for two days of The Sensory Evaluation of Olive Oil. To wit:

"...the mechanics of how to formally taste olive oil, identifying sensory defects in olive oil, the role of maturity and variety in oil flavor and style, sensory evaluation as a science, and an over view of processing alternatives and their effects on oil style. [I'll learn] about the multitude of flavor attributes of olive oil, how to distinguish between ripe and green fruitiness, the aromatics of olive oil, undertone flavors and the subtleties of complexity, depth and harmony in olive oil."

Golly! To read more, go here.