SpiceLines

Drinks by the Dram: A sampling of two aged single malt Scotch whiskies and, mysteriously, a Kentucky single barrel bourbon from Master of Malt in the U.K.

Whenever we have drinks by the fire, in a corner of my mind I envision The Bar at the private Caledonian Club in Belgravia. It’s nothing special—just a sweep of tartan carpet, a respectable fireplace, and 160 single malts, a range so compelling that it would take months of pleasurable tippling to sample them all.

Drinking there is like taking an alcoholic tour of Scotland. Frequent sippers can log “their journey from the Lowlands to Speyside, then on to the Highlands and Islay,” glass by glass. The club even stocks a single malt Scotch, Hodden Grey, made exclusively for the London Scottish regiment—luckily the bartender is a former member.

Or so I’ve been told.

You see, only recently did club members vote to allow women into this lair of boozy delight. More than once I’ve cooled my heels in the Ladies Drawing Room, waiting for B to bring me a glass of peaty Oban.

Of course when men in kilts throng the bar, I’ve been known to stroll ver-r-r-ry slowly past the door….

Pork dumplings, delicately flavored with chives, scallions and cabbage, are a delicious way to celebrate the Year of the Rabbit and its promise of peace and prosperity. If only...

Three days into the Year of the Rabbit—that’s 4709 on the Chinese calendar—and all across Asia, fireworks are blossoming, incense is swirling, and bunny ears are the lunar new year headgear of choice.

To celebrate the dawn of what’s promised to be a peaceful, prosperous year in which the arts will flourish—rabbits are said to be cool, calm and cultivated (naturally this is why the Middle East is in the throes of revolution)—we’ve lit a few red lanterns and are, of course, pondering what to eat.

Enticing local options include Braised Louisiana Rabbit with High Rock Farm Chestnuts, Edward’s Ham and Ginger at The Lantern, our favorite Asian fusion haunt, while L.A. Burdick’s cute dark chocolate bunnies with tangerine ganache are even now wending their way to our table.

But tonight we’re having Zhu Li’s delicious Pork Dumplings, made by yours truly, following a 17–year-old recipe scribbled on tattered yellow legal paper.

Five spice blends created by Lior Lev Sercarz for La Boite a Epice: From top to bottom, Cancale, Mish Mish, Ararat, Vadouvan and Apollonia.

In the world of spices, there are four distinct trades.

First, of course, is the grower, not only a farmer but often a magician who coaxes pale green orchids into yielding the bean that becomes vanilla. There is the spice hunter, a throwback to intrepid 16th and 17th century explorers, who pokes into odd corners of the world seeking rare ingredients—wild rainforest pepper from Madagascar, perhaps—and delivers them to chefs avid for the next new thing. And there is the merchant: A weather-beaten vendor of sacred (and expensive) chilhuacles negros in Oaxaca’s Mercado de Abastos--or a multinational company that sends bottled peppercorns to your grocery shelves.

Then there is the mixologist—not of cocktails, but of spices—the maker of blends. The Marrakech merchant who creates his own take on traditional blends like m’rouzia and ras el hanout could be a kind of mixologist. But more often, contemporary types seem to churn out uninspired, all-purpose blends—“great on fish, chicken, beef, vegetables, rice…”—that can be tweaked with a few extra ingredients and labeled Turkish (just add sumac), Moroccan (more cinnamon) or Greek (lots of oregano).

But Lior Lev Sercarz is one of a rare breed, a modern mixologist of spices who has created 40 startlingly original blends that will lend almost anyone’s cooking—yes, even mine—a sense of mystery and the heady scent of faraway places.

For years he's been the secret weapon in many a chef's arsenal. Now the secret is out.

Three teas for cooking: From the top, bold pine-smoked Lapsang Souchong; nutty tasting genmaicha, mixed with roasted rice; and earthy pu-erh, aged for up to 90 years.

“The best thing that ever happened to a duck,” B enthused.

This was my cue to smile mysteriously.

And to thank my acquisitive instincts for that little tin of Lapsang Souchong buried in the back of the tea “department” in our pantry.

I’ve been away, not cooking much, at least not the way I like, but reading a lot. Loved The Spice Necklace, Amy Vanderhoof’s blithe tale of a couple of years spent sailing through the Caribbean, harvesting fresh nutmeg and sampling seamoss, the “island version of Viagra.” Cooking: The Quintessential Art is altogether different, but I’ve been ravenously consuming Pierre Gagnaire’s “theoretical” recipes: I.e. “a dish [that] sets you to thinking of abstractions such as transparency, happiness and so on.”

(Hint: It’s not jello.)

But the thing that really piqued my appetite was a little piece in The Wall Street Journal about the growing craze for cooking with tea.