SpiceLines

Briny shrimp, coated in crushed red peppercorns, sauteed with ginger and garlic
then tossed with walnuts and clementines, offer a medley of sweet spicy flavors.

First, you have to use the real thing.

Not the “pink” imposters, but true Indian red peppercorns, left on the vine to soak up the warmth of the sun until they turn golden with a russet tinge. You can’t imagine the flavor of these fat, round peppercorns until you actually taste them: sweet and fruity, with a gentle, lingering fire.

At the moment you can get Poabs Organic Red Peppercorns, grown on a biodynamic estate in the Nelliampathy Hills in Kerala, from Chelsea Market Baskets. Protected by double-sealed tins, these freeze-dried peppercorns have a “use by” date of 2009.

That’s a good thing, since these rare peppercorns are about to get rarer. According to Hindu Business Wire, the Kerala forest department took over the estate last year, on the grounds that Poabs owners had signed onto an existing 99-year lease which expired in 2007. With 351 acres under cultivation, Poabs is (or was) one of the world’s largest biodynamic farms and its premium Demeter-certified coffee beans and organic spices are avidly sought by foreign buyers in Germany, the U.S. and Japan. No word, yet, on the fate of the 2008 crops.

Last year The Guinness Book of World Records awarded the title of world’s hottest chili pepper to the bhut jolokia, a “thumb-sized” chili grown in India that tops the Scoville scale at 1,041,427 units.

That’s about 200 times hotter than a jalapeno.

In today’s Wall Street Journal (“The World’s Hottest Chili,” February 2-3, 2008, pp. W1, W5), Stan Sesser reports that the bhut jolokia is the latest rage among chili lovers. According to Ananta Saikia, whose firm, Frontal Agritech, is India’s only exporter of the pepper, annual sales to the U.S., Germany and England are expected to quintuple this year. Hot sauce producers like Dave Hirschkop, who makes Dave’s Insanity Sauce, are jumping on the fire truck: This spring he plans to add the flaming pepper to his $30 Private Reserve Hot Sauce. Tom Beasley, who sells powdered bhut jolokia on his website, www.burnmegood.com, quotes a farmer in India: “It’s so hot, you can’t even imagine. When you eat it, it’s like dying.”

Cleaning out the pantry yields lost treasures like this still vibrant garam masala,
an Indian spice blend made up of cardamom, cumin, coriander, cloves, mace,
nutmeg, black peppercorns, cinnamon, bay leaves and ground ginger.

I’ve spent the last two weekends cleaning out the pantry.

Along with stray cashews, shredded onion skins and the missing top of the box of dog biscuits, I discovered some forgotten treasures: a stash of creamy white peppercorns that Camille sent from Cambodia, and a tin of homemade garam masala dated 8/24/06. Both are still lively, especially the spice blend, which practically vibrates with the aromas of green cardamom, cinnamon and cloves.

(Note to self: Rethink rule about tossing ground spices after six months.)

It may be the smallest room in the house, but the pantry gives me boundless pleasure. Basically it is not much more than a walk in closet with floor to ceiling shelves on three sides. Last year I had it painted white—Sherwin Williams Satin Duration Extra White, to be exact—which I love. Bright white makes colors pop, as painters like to say, and it is easy to clean up drips of kecap manis or the remains of a rotted winter squash.

Riffling through the latest Saveur 100 List, my eye was riveted by No. 94—a short but rhapsodic piece by Madhur Jaffrey on the wonders of turmeric.

In “Super Spice,” the actress and Indian cookbook author raves about the culinary and medicinal properties of turmeric, praising the “pungently woody, earthy aroma” it adds to salads, relishes and curry pastes as well as its near miraculous ability to heal inflammation. “I use turmeric sparingly in cooking,” she writes, “often dusting it on fish along with salt and red chili powder.”

I was thinking about this warm spice blend a few days later while reading “Spain’s Hot Potatoes,” (The Wall Street Journal, January 19, 2008, p. W4). William R. Snyder tracks the frenetic competition among Barcelona tapas bars for the most delectable patatas bravas, or fried potatoes. Normally the potatoes are served with two sauces, one white with garlic, the other red and spicy. But I had another idea. Why not dredge potatoes in turmeric, red pepper and salt, and then deep fry them?

A teaspoon--or even a baby spoon--makes short work of peeling ginger's gnarly skin.

When I peel it, I use a sharp paring knife.

But a recent peek at Apartment Therapy's Kitchn revealed a new way to remove ginger’s gnarly skin—with a spoon.

Could it be? I went right down to my own kitchen, pulled a knob of fresh ginger out of the fridge and began scraping with a teaspoon. In moments the fragrant root was naked, ready for grating or chopping.

This is an easy alternative to peeling with a knife, especially if your blade is a bit dull. For best results, use a teaspoon with a thin or tapered edge—Alexandra’s silver baby spoon, which I now use for serving condiments, was ideal.

And if you’re wondering how best to grate ginger once you’ve peeled it (or not), see SpiceLines' Tools of the Trade on our grater competition.

“You are going to India?” be asked. “Then you must bring back some Kashmiri saffron because no more is coming in.” He thought for a moment. “And you must try black spot fish. Very delicious.” He thought a little more. “You are going to Kerala? This is the most beautiful part of India.”

So! I’m leaving for the west coast of India tonight. My head is spinning with visions of rosy peppercorns ripening on the vine and winged fishing nets on the vast Arabian Sea. Dreaming of idlis and appams, coconut curry and green chilies, a hundred varieties of bananas. Portuguese churches and pork vindaloo. Elephants, temples and rose-flavored kulfi. Bollywood bangles, scents at the attarwalla.

I’ll be back in March. See you then…