SpiceLines

At a family compound in Kerala, banana leaves are cleaned in preparation for sadya,
a traditional multi-course vegetarian feast. Other banana leaves are offered, with
milk and turmeric, to the sacred nagas,or serpents, who are said to live in the garden.

“The snakes are not seen, but we believe they will appear, so we follow the tradition.”

Rekha gestures to the banana leaves arranged on the ground. Splashed with milk and turmeric, strewn with pink hibiscus petals, they are offered daily to the sacred nagas, or snakes who live nearby. In the rocks above, there are five dark holes--entrances, perhaps, to the serpents’ lair. Each jagged opening is heavily sprinkled with golden turmeric powder and encircled by garlands of orange and yellow marigolds. Smoke curls lazily from long sticks of burning incense.

The noon sun is blazing hot, but the hair stands up on my arms.

Southern Pearl, a fragile white peach with a rosy blush, has a delicate sweetness
that mingles beautifully with sparkling wines such as Prosecco or Cava.

“I’ll tell you what: I bit into one of those peaches this morning and my knees about turned to water.”

Last Tuesday the peach boys at the Mt. Pleasant S.C. Farmer’s Market had bushels of yellow peaches, sweet and ripe, bursting with luscious juice. But it was Southern Pearl, a creamy white peach with a rosy blush that won the day. Not everybody likes white peaches, said one of the boys, but to me, wilting in the scorching 101-degree sun, they seemed the cooler, more delectable choice.

McCrady's, an historic Charleston tavern where George
Washington once dined, now serves meltingly tender
Duroc pork loin and silken coconut sorbet.

Just back from Charleston--the heat is sweltering, but the breezes are cool and the food is fab. Here are 13 great reasons to go there now:

1. Caw Caw Creek Pork and Coconut Sorbet at McCrady’s: Chef Sean Brock riffs on Jack Sprat in his presentation of Caw Caw's heirloom Duroc pork : the lean loin, cooked sous vide, is tender and succulent; a rectangle of crisp seared belly oozes divinely delicious forbidden fat. Paired with earthy new potatoes and baby turnips, napped with sticky bacon-date jus—sweet and smoky—it’s a ticket to culinary bliss. Finish up with a dessert of nine sorbets in cute mini cones The flavors run the gamut from local strawberry to tropical pink guava, but next time I’ll have all nine filled with the silken coconut sorbet. McCrady’s, once a notorious tavern owned by an Irish Madeira merchant, is warm and cosseting in a moody 21st century way: think weathered brick walls, dark beams, skylights, votive candles. McCrady’s, 2 Unity Alley, 843-577-0025.

S.N.O.B. chef Frank Lee's shrimp and grits are soupy and spicy, a melding of two
Southern favorites: classic shrimp and grits and highly seasoned Frogmore Stew.

In Charleston, I flipped over the spicy shrimp and grits I had at S.N.O.B., a.k.a. Slightly North of Broad. This recipe is adapted from the one our genial waitress brought me after I peppered her with eight different questions about the seasonings.

Let me add that I have always hated grits. But if you forgo the instant variety that have no taste, no color and the texture of glue, a new world awaits.

Soon scientists--and chefs--may be able to manipulate the flavor of asparagus,
blocking its natural sulphur compounds, so that it tastes even sweeter. But will
we like it?

“It takes more than the passage of time for new theories to thrive. The old structures have to be toppling around us.” From “Impolitic Thoughts,” Letters from The Global Province, June 25, 2008.

Since everything else is crumbling—the old politics, the old economy, old science and medicine—it figures that everything we thought we knew about taste and flavor is just “wrong, wrong, wrong.” In “The Corrections” (Gourmet, July 2008, pp. 46-48), Bruce Feiler writes: “Staggering breakthroughs in scientific research, many accelerated by the decoding of the human genome in 2003, have completely rewritten our understanding of taste.”

An easy-going summer supper: tender young vegetables from the farmer's market
served with garlicky aioli mayonnaise scented with lemon thyme.

Did I tell you that I grew up eating pink mayonnaise?

No Hellman’s for us. My mother made her own mayonnaise in the blender—an egg yolk, salt, lemon juice and then a steady stream of safflower oil. This was in the days before canola, and when olive oil was yellow and, well, oily, and mostly came in gallon cans from Paletta’s, the Italian grocery.