SpiceLines

“Cinnamon might have reminded you of your grandmother’s apron," says the narrator of Perfect Sense, a new movie about the end of the world. "Without smell an ocean of images disappears.” From a review by Richard Corliss.

In “Till the Last Doughnut and Drumstick” (The New York Times, February 1, 2012, pp. D1 and D3), Pete Wells reveals the secret of Federal Donuts’ fabulous flavors: Spice blends by Lior Lev Sercarz of La Boite a Epice. Hot fried doughnuts “are sprinkled with sugar and a little sea salt mixed with one of Mr. Lev Sercarz’s blends, like lavender with powdered vanilla or cocoa with orange blossoms.” All the doughnuts are made from batter seasoned with another mixture that tastes like “a Turkish pumpkin pie spice,” says chef Michael Solomonov.

The only other item on the Philadelphia restaurant's menu is fried chicken. This too gets the Lev Sercarz treatment with a whisper of dry harissa, a spicy North African blend, or za’atar, a mix of a thyme-like herb, sumac and sesame seeds.

You can read more about the unique blends from La Boite a Epice in an interview with Lior Lev Sercarz right here on SpiceLines.

What would happen if everyone suddenly lost their sense of smell?

A roundup of new "food-happy" movies from Tasting Table includes Perfect Sense, the apocalyptic tale of a chef (Ewan McGregor) and a scientist (Eva Green) who fall in love as a pandemic sweeps the world, robbing victims of their ability to smell and then all the other senses. Smell is, of course, the key to taste. Without taste, there is no flavor, no memory, ultimately no life--which may be why some afflicted characters in the movie resort to eating lipstick and flowers.

Though Perfect Sense might sound like another mass market disaster epic, Time Magazine reviewer Richard Corliss praises the “intense intimacy” of this “art house” film which “takes its cue from Albert Camus’ The Plague, concentrating on the victims, their panic or resilience, stabs of violence or passive acceptance.” Winner of the Edinburgh Film Festival’s prize for Best New British Feature.

A handira, or traditional Moroccan wedding blanket, spangled with hundreds of silver sequins, is said to protect the wearer from the evil eye. Don't we all need a little good luck?

Happy Friday!

All this week I’ve been packing and shipping books for the lucky winners of the SpiceLines’ Cookbook Giveaway. I’ve commandeered more boxes, mangled more brown wrapping paper, and stuck my fingers with more mailing tape than you can imagine.

I just hope I’ve sent the right books to the right addresses. (Down with the flu, you see.)

Then yesterday, a big box arrived—for me! I knew what was inside, but still I opened it with trepidation.

I can’t tell you how my heart leapt when a magnificent Moroccan wedding blanket, festooned with fluffy fringe and sparkly silver sequins, emerged from layers of brown tissue paper.

A weekend well-spent with Mourad Lahlou's New Moroccan cookbook: from the left, dark red charmoula, preserved lemons, Aziza Curry Blend and the chef's own Ras El Hanout, a blend of 23 spices, including rosebuds and hard to find long pepper.

I’m in a Moroccan mood lately.

So Sunday, while the Giants were pounding the Patriots, I was in the kitchen with—well, not actually with Mourad Lahlou, the handsomely tattooed chef and owner of Aziza restaurant in San Francisco, and contestant in Eater’s 4th Annual Hottest Chef competition—but with his beguiling New Moroccan cookbook.

Not only did I finally tackle the 30-Day Preserved Lemons, but I also made two wildly fragrant spice blends—Ras El Hanout and Aziza Curry—and a batch of dark Red Charmoula, which was so good that I stood there in the kitchen eating it right out of the bowl, leaving precious little for the chicken I intended to roast.

It’s safe to say that for the last two weeks, I haven’t been able to take my hands off this cookbook. When I’m not toasting and grinding spices and stirring them into Carrot Soup with Aziza Curry and Citrus Salad, I’m tucked under my shimmering Berber wedding blanket, dreaming of making couscous from scratch.

The book’s conversational tone is so relaxed and encouraging that it makes me feel as if the chef is standing beside me in the kitchen....

When the temperature plummets, a cup of bittersweet hot chocolate infused with cinnamon, green cardamom, clove and star anise can brighten a chilly Saturday afternoon.

Unexpected pleasures.

Watching the horses, bundled in their plaid coats, frisk sideways across the frosty field, hot breath clouding the frigid air.

Tiny golden daffodils peeking out of their green sheaths.

And a conversation with a cinnamon grower in Sri Lanka whose recipe for a gorgeous fish curry marinated in spices and simmered in coconut milk could be dinner tonight…

But first it’s time for la pause. With temperatures dropping fast this afternoon, sumptuous hot chocolate seems like the perfect pause gourmande for a lazy Saturday. Even better: infusing the rich dark chocolate with sweet spices.

Spiced hot chocolate seems to be this winter’s favorite drink. It all started with Mexican chocolate, traditionally flavored with Ceylon cinnamon and ground almonds, but now fired up with smoky chipotle chiles. In New York Jacques Torres serves Wicked Hot Chocolate revved up with allspice, cinnamon and ancho peppers, as well as white hot chocolate infused with chai spices. And at City Bakery, February 25th is Chinese Cinnnamon (or cassia) day.

But this recipe for hot chocolate riffs on the sweet spices used in Sri Lanka to “fragrance” food after it’s been cooked....

Flaming heart milagros from Mexico symbolize the sacred heart--but personally I like to think of them as lovers' hearts on fire.

Yes, it’s Valentine’s Day.

Gold, silver, diamonds: Tiffany has got you covered. For chocolate, take your pick: Vosges (spicy), Hersey’s (all-American). For slyly erotic chocolate, may I suggest a Valentine’s viste to Patrick Roger in Paris.

But around here, Valentines rule our world—today, and every day.

I seem to collect hearts, like these tin milagros from a tiny shop on a crowded alley in Jalapa, capital city of Vera Cruz. I especially love the tiny heart-shaped mirror: I'm sure it means "You hold my heart in your hand." The flaming hearts symbolize the sacred heart—but I imagine them as lovers' hearts, spontaneously combusting.

That electric blue button you see to the right is, for a little while, the @spiceLines portal to Twitter. (Something more amusing is in the works. I promise!)

I’m way late to the game, but for the last few weeks I’ve been fooling around with Twitter, trying to figure what to say and how to say it. I’m amazed by voluble folk who tweet (and retweet) non-stop, and by how hard it is, at least for me, to compress a cogent observation into just 140 characters. Hint: It’s a little like poetry.

I’m also amazed by the new world that’s opened up, by the stream of thoughts and ideas, images and events hurtling by at warp speed. At the moment I’m following chefs, writers and culinary travelers—and also the Dalai Lama. Already I’ve discovered new books to read, dishes to try, causes to espouse. And yes, it’s really, really addictive.

If you’d like to peek at what I’m doing and thinking when I’m not writing this blog, @spicelines on Twitter is one way to get there. When I’m traveling, you can come too, discovering in real time what I’m seeing, thinking and tasting. Soon we might be headed to an island in the Caribbean, then the French countryside. and who knows, maybe even Bhutan where the chillis are hot and the textiles enthralling.

At home we can catch up in the kitchen, the library, and the garden. There’s always something intriguing afoot. There may be days without even a tiny tweet and others when I can’t stop twittering. I can’t promise consistency, but I will promise fun.

So come along: Won’t you follow me?

This coconut-rich fish curry, flavored with roasted Sri Lankan spices, chillies, and lime, is easy enough to make for a weeknight supper. Turmeric gives it a beautiful golden glow.

For a few weeks now I’ve been chatting via email with a reader in Sri Lanka. We’ve exchanged about spices, as well as the strikes and price hikes that plague the hardworking people of this island nation that lies off the tip of India. (See Mystica's blog here.)

As it happens Mystica’s family are growers of cinnamon and tea as well as mandarin oranges, chillies and other vegetables. Their cinnamon is the real thing, a sweet, mellow spice, indigenous to Sri Lanka, whose flavor combines a whisper of citrus with a mild astringency. Its aroma is so alluring that, centuries ago, a Dutch sea captain nearing Ceylon, or the Isle of Serendib as it was once known, wrote that he could smell its fragrance “eight leagues out to sea.”

But this post is not about cinnamon. It’s really about Mystica’s delicious fish curry, an easy dish simmered in coconut milk with turmeric, chillies and other spices, brightened with a squeeze of lime.

Make this curry and an ordinary weeknight supper takes on the aroma of the tropics, no mean feat when freezing rain is beating against the window.

Bellocq Tea Atelier, based in an “elegantly rustic former warehouse in Brooklyn,” gives a 21st century twist to the fusty English tea party, says Martha Stewart Living. Photo credit: Bellocq Tea Atelier.

Do you keep files on places you visit often (or destinations where you only dream of going)? I cerainly do. Here are a few spots I’m adding to the New York and Cambridge lists.

In “A New Leaf” (Martha Stewart Living, March 2012), Jenny Comita describes the the way Brooklyn’s Bellocq Tea Atelier has reinvented the traditional English tea party. “When in the mood to entertain, they light a candle in the window of their shop….Inside, guests might find an accordion player, a chocolatier hosting a tasting, or beekeeper debuting his honey—and they most certainly will be offered… [a] novel cocktail, blended with tea.”

One of those cocktails is The White Nixon, a blend of white tea and lavender with fresh Ruby Red grapefruit juice, vodka and ginger liqueur. Bellocq’s tea palette includes several unusual blends such as Majorelle Mint, a stunning (I’ve tasted it) take on Moroccan mint tea in which the herb is combined with marigold, citrus and green tea, and Le Hammeau, a fragrant herbal tisane mixing lemongrass, verbena, lavender, rose petals, mint and sage. (Wouldn’t this be prefect for la pause?)

In winter, boost the flavor of your Bloody Mary with freshly grated horseradish and green chiles. Southern style pickled veggies will also sass up a ho-hum cocktail.

“The truth is that a fine Bloody Mary demands a lot of the maker.” From “Remaking Bloody Marys,” The Global Province Letter, 22 February, 2012.

Craft cocktails have jumped the shark. Cherry jam, wood smoke and “eerie venom” have turned the simple act of going out for drinks into an experiment in surrealism. Recently I was bemused by a selection of “artisanal” bitters made from Sriracha sauce, black Mission figs, Meyer lemons and rhubarb. The last item was an ingredient in Aqua de Mai Tai, a rum cocktail that is strained into a perfume bottle before being served with “vintage cocktail glasses.”

It’s enough to drive a girl back to the classics, among them the Bloody Mary.

Truth is, I’ve had too many bad Bloodys, usually at the worst restaurant meal invented—Sunday brunch served at a rickety table on a crowded sidewalk.

The Dog Gourmand loved inhaling the fragrances of rosemary and mint. She was also known to enjoy roast Thanksgiving turkey basted with rosemary branches.

Last Saturday we planted the anniversary plum tree. At the moment it’s a tall, skinny whip, no more than a slender trunk with wispy branches.

But plums grow fast and by this time next year, those branches will be covered with frilly blossoms and dark purple leaves.

It will be a happy place to sit—I’ve already moved the battered garden table and chair over—and remember the pup. As Abel said, smiling as he gently mixed her ashes with the clay and sweet smelling compost, “Un recuerdo.”

Domino left us two weeks ago on a cool, sunny February afternoon. She was lying quietly on her cushion as a light breeze ruffled her silky hair. She was there. And then she was not.

As the family cook, my memories naturally stray to the kitchen where she became (drum roll) The Dog Gourmand. Making a salad? There she is, prancing at my feet, barking furiously for lettuce ribs, tomato cores and carrot tips. Eating a handful of walnuts? Don't forget to share with me....