tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1 2010-03-14T18:01:11Z Movable Type 3.36 tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.388 2010-03-14T16:22:27Z 2010-03-14T18:01:11Z

London bound today...longing to peek at old maps of the spice routes, or a tattered broadside for a coffeehouse auction of nutmegs and peppercorns...stopping at Miller Harris to sample The Petales perfumed with Turkish rose absolute and a dip...

SpiceLines London bound today...longing to peek at old maps of the spice routes, or a tattered broadside for a coffeehouse auction of nutmegs and peppercorns...stopping at Miller Harris to sample The Petales perfumed with Turkish rose absolute and a dip into the perfume library...then supper at Ottolenghi. We've been cooking our way through this vibrant Middle Eastern-inflected cookbook and can't wait to see how Yotam and Sami work their magic with pomegranate and lemon... In Lisbon someone we know is running the EDP half marathon, a 13 mile sprint along the Tagus River--we'll be there, looking for her among the 30,000 others that will be flashing by. There'll be soulful fado, of course, and azulejos, those exquisite blue and white tiles that cast enchantment on our honeymoon...a whirl through the new Museu do Oriente with treasures from the glory days of Portugal's far flung colonial empire...a taste of pastel de nata, eggy cinnamon- dusted pastries at the Antiga Confeitaria de Belem....and port, lots of port especially in Oporto.... See you in April! ]]> tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.387 2010-03-13T00:25:12Z 2010-03-13T03:19:00Z

Thin, fragile white corn tortillas from Tonali Restaurant make all the difference in these succulent lamb tacos. Instead of starch, you taste the rich flavorful meat and its zingy accompaniments--avocado, red onion, cilantro--all drenched with lime juice. Sometimes great...

SpiceLines Thin, fragile white corn tortillas from Tonali Restaurant make all the difference in these succulent lamb tacos. Instead of starch, you taste the rich flavorful meat and its zingy accompaniments--avocado, red onion, cilantro--all drenched with lime juice. Sometimes great palates coincide—and then diverge. Right about the time I was in San Antonio devouring Las Salsas’ divine barbacoa de borrego, John T. Edge seems to have been meandering through Austin’s many breakfast taco joints. He encountered a lot of chorizo, eggs, beans and ham, mostly wrapped in flour tortillas and consumed with, uh, soy milk lattes. Then he threw down the gauntlet : “When it comes to breakfast tacos, Austin trumps all other American cities.” Really? In “A Mix of Cultures, All Folded Together,” (The New York Times, March 10, 2010, p. D20), Edge nibbles at the origins of the breakfast taco. Are they Mexican? American? Or both? “Some ingredients , like refried beans and chorizo, taste Mexican….But breakfast tacos may owe as much to the American fast food industry as they do to the taquerias, say, of Guadalajara,” he writes. Edge goes on to define the Austin breakfast taco: “…inspired by Mexico, but not Mexican, a composite food reflecting two cultures.” Maybe that passes for the real thing in a town where flour tortillas appear to be stuffed with Jimmy Dean sausage--but I doubt it. ]]> the 34 varieties include the succulent braised lamb tacos, drenched with lime juice and topped with cilantro, onion and avocado, that brought me to my knees last week. Yes, the menu does offer chorizo tacos with eggs, beans or potatoes—yikes! and even one with “country sausage”—but there are also tacos stuffed with chilaquiles (fried tortillas strips with spicy salsa and scrambled eggs), guacamole tangy with garlic and lime, pastor (“marinated pork slowly roasted to perfection”), lengua entomatada (tongue simmered with tomatoes and onions), and tripas, or tripe. Maybe getting a little too authentic there—but just the thing if you have a hangover and can’t quite manage the menudo. I’ve been dreaming about those "barbecued" lamb tacos ever since I returned , and just yesterday, I sat down to make a shopping list. Lamb shoulder? Check. Oregano? Check. But I paused when I got to the tortillas. Normally breakfast tacos are wrapped in thick flour or yellow corn tortillas, the better to contain the filling, but at Las Salsas the lamb was enveloped in small, delicately flavored tortillas made of white corn: This had the very desirable effect of focusing your taste receptors on the luscious meat and its zingy accompaniments rather than on a mouthful of starch. Those fragile tortillas were almost as delicious as the ones Andre Macias makes by hand at Tonali Restaurant. Even with a bit of web buzz, Tonali remains Durham’s best kept restaurant secret—I’ve been meaning to tell you about it for ages, but the inside story will have to wait until I’m back from London and points south (more about this in the next post). For the moment let’s just say that Tonali serves exquisite food from the interior of Mexico filtered through the soul of a chef who is also an artist. Over the last 6 or 7 months, B and I have grazed our way through the menu, reveling in everything from Risotto de Mejillones al Tequila Rojo (creamy risotto with mussels in tequila-tomato broth) to Pollo con Mole y Petalos de Rosa (chicken in "bride's red mole" with rose petals). Not a bean burrito in sight. But back to the tacos. Around 2 PM yesterday, Andre had a stack of 2 dozen little tortillas, warm and fresh, ready for me. Then I asked him how he’d do the lamb. He drew his eyebrows together. “Well, first, I’d soak it in water and cal to take away the gamy flavor.” (Note to self: check pantry for cal, white, powdery calcium chloride or lime traditionally used to make the masa for tortillas.) “Then I’d marinate the meat overnight in seasonings like achiote , rosemary, garlic, and maybe orange. The next day I’d brown it, then simmer it all day in the oven in beef or chicken stock. You could add a little wine. Of course, that would be more French than Mexican…” Although Andre often cooks delectable lamb shanks at Tonali, I decided to remain true to the original dish by using lamb shoulder with the bone in, a relatively cheap cut of meat that becomes meltingly tender after hours of long, slow simmering. But the original dish was also quite fatty—so much so that I found myself picking some of it out of the tacos. Back at home I trimmed off 6 or so ounces of the visible fat—there are still little pockets within the shoulder, though, so in the end the lamb emerges with a rich, almost buttery flavor, but much less grease. I diverged a little from Andre’s spice list, using more conventional ones such as cumin and oregano, but I did squeeze the juice of an orange over the shoulder before sticking it into the refrigerator to marinate. The next morning, I browned it, sautéed some onions and garlic, added some broth, then simmered everything in the oven at 250 degrees for about 4 hours, until the meat literally slid off the bone and fell apart into the most luscious shreds. The tough part? Keeping my paws off the lamb before bringing it to the table. There are a couple of ways to serve it. At Las Salsas, the waiter brought a platter with a big mound of barbacoa and the tortillas, cilantro, onion, avocado and lime arranged on one side. It’s not the prettiest presentation, but would be great for serving four to six people. Everyone can just dive in and make their own tacos. Or you can get fancy and assemble 4 or 5 little tacos for each plate. This works best if there are just two of you. Otherwise you’ll go slightly mad trying to crank out two dozen tacos before the meat and tortillas get cold. No soy lattes please. Maybe a little freshly squeezed blood orange juice, or a cold beer to drink, even with breakfast. By the way, B ate 6 of these when he got back from New York today and another 5 for supper.... Braised Lamb Breakfast (or Anytime) Tacos with Cumin, Garlic and Lime Serves 4 to 6 Ingredients for the tacos: 4-1/2 pound lamb shoulder roast, bone in 1-1/2 teaspoons ground cumin 1 teaspoon sea salt ½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper 1 teaspoon dried oregano ¼ teaspoon chipotle powder, or to taste 6 cloves garlic, finely chopped Juice of one orange 1 or 2 tablespoons olive oil 1 large onion, sliced thin 6 cloves of garlic, sliced thin 4 cups water or chicken or beef broth 2 dozen very fresh corn tortillas, 4 inches in diameter 1/3 bunch cilantro, long stems removed 2 avocados, peeled, seeded and thinly sliced 1 small red onion, thinly sliced 3 limes, quartered Method: 1. Rinse the lamb shoulder very well to remove any congealed blood and pat dry. Using a sharp paring knife, cut away most of the fat on the outside of the shoulder. (I removed 6 ounces from a 4-1/2 pound roast. ) 2. Combine the cumin, sea salt, black pepper, oregano and chipotle powder in a small dish. Rub the mixture and the chopped garlic all over the meat. Put the roast in a shallow dish and pour the orange juice over it. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight. 3. The next morning, set the oven to 250 degrees. 4. Remove the lamb shoulder from the refrigerator. Scrape off the garlic and reserve in a small bowl. Place a heavy enameled pot, big enough to hold the meat ( such as a Staub or Le Creuset), over a medium flame. When it is hot, add a tablespoon of olive oil and brown the roast on all sides. Remove from the pot and set aside. 5. If necessary add another tablespoon of olive oil to the pot. Saute the sliced onions and garlic until soft, but not brown. Return the meat, the reserved garlic and any marinade juices to the pot. Add 4 cups of water, beef or chicken stock--enough to come halfway up the side of the roast. Cover and place in the oven. Cook slowly for about 4 hours, or until the meat is very tender and literally slides off the bone. 6. Remove the meat and bones from the broth and set aside to cool. 7. Strain the broth into a bowl and discard the onions and garlic. Return the broth to the pot and bring it to a very gentle boil. Simmer until it has reduced to about 1 cup. It should be slightly syrupy and very richly flavored. Set aside, but keep warm. 8. While the broth is reducing, remove the meat from the bones. Shred the meat into manageable pieces, removing the tendons, skin and any little pieces of fat, if desired. Set aside and keep warm. 9. If the tortillas are cold and hard, warm them up. Wrap them in aluminum foil, 6 to a package, and put them in the oven (still at 250 degrees) for about 10 minutes. You can also put individual tortillas in the top of a steamer and steam them very briefly over simmering water for no more than a minute. This will soften them and make them more pliable. Do not steam any longer, though, or they will disintegrate. 10. For a group, mound the warm lamb on a large platter. Surround it with the sliced red onion, cilantro, avocado and quartered limes. Just before serving drizzle it with the sauce and serve the rest in a small bowl. Accompany with a stack of warm tortillas wrapped in a dish towel, or a cloth tortilla “envelope” if you have one. 11. To make one taco, spoon some of the lamb into the center of a tortilla and drizzle with more sauce if desired. Squeeze some lime juice over the meat, and add a little onion, cilantro and avocado. Fold up and eat. Repeat with the rest of the tortillas. ]]> tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.386 2010-03-01T01:42:27Z 2010-03-08T15:09:28Z

/> In San Antonio there are a lot of contenders for "best breakfast tacos," but it's hard to surpass Las Salsas, a modest eatery which serves barbecued lamb on the weekends. What to do if you’re in San Antonio...

SpiceLines /> In San Antonio there are a lot of contenders for "best breakfast tacos," but it's hard to surpass Las Salsas, a modest eatery which serves barbecued lamb on the weekends. What to do if you’re in San Antonio on a Saturday morning: First show up at Las Salsas around 11:30 AM. That’s when the weekend special, barbacoa de borrego, is ready. The lamb, braised until the meat falls off the bones, comes with fresh cilantro, sliced avocado and onion, atop a trio of small, very thin corn tortillas. A squeeze of lime cuts the richness of the meat. Next sit down at one of the formica topped tables and order the 3-taco plate. A few minutes later a platter piled with a truck driver’s ration of unctuous barbecued lamb, so tender that it practically melts in your mouth, arrives at your table. The critter’s neck and shoulder have been braised for 5 hours in a big pan on the stove until it falls off the bone, oozing, it must be said, with delicious lamb fat that’s brown and crispy around the edges. Now load up a delicate corn tortilla with some of that lamb, lay on some avocado, onion and cilantro, and drench the whole thing with lime juice. Roll it up and take a big bite of breakfast taco heaven. ]]> The caldo, a spicy red broth simmered from lamb bones, gets an incendiary kick from a piece of red chipotle pepper floating beneath the surface. But don’t stop there. On the side, there’s a cup of caldo: savory broth, rich with the flavor of lamb, thick with rice, chickpeas and carrots, bright red and smoky hot—is that a silken piece of chipotle pepper floating beneath the surface? Drink this irresistible chaser--or starter-- while you’re gazing at sepia photos of old time movie queen Maria Felix and the comedian Cantinflas hanging on the faux peeling plaster wall. Can’t wait till the weekend? OK, you’ll have to settle for the "ordinary" breakfast tacos this modest eatery serves starting at 6 AM daily: thick handmade corn tortillas (flour if you must) rolled around fillings like papa ranchera (fried potato chunks with spicy ranchero sauce), lengua entomatada (tongue simmered with tomatoes and onions), or alambre (a delicious mashup of steak, chicken, bacon, onion and green peppers). Now isn’t the sun shining a little brighter? Las Salsas, 2018 San Pedro Avenue, San Antonio, Texas 78216. Orders to go: 210-732-5366.]]> tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.385 2010-02-26T02:16:19Z 2010-02-26T03:05:05Z

The snowflakes are flying, but melt as they touch the ground. Under its snow cap, the witch hazel is sputtering, like a star fizzling sparks on a wet, grey day. The flowering apricot, "Bridal Veil," is in delicate bloom--a blushing...

SpiceLines Under its snow cap, the witch hazel is sputtering, like a star fizzling sparks on a wet, grey day. The flowering apricot, "Bridal Veil," is in delicate bloom--a blushing bride in the throes of first love, however fleeting. And the earliest crocuses have thrust sturdy buds through the dead leaves, then unfurled wanton purple petals to the sun. Can spring be far behind?]]> tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.384 2010-02-22T03:59:49Z 2010-02-22T04:30:53Z

A pristine red snapper, stuffed with scallions and ginger, wrapped in parchment paper, and baked in rock salt, is succulent and sweet, with a faintly nutty flavor. Serve it with a ginger infused soy sauce. I went to the...

SpiceLines A pristine red snapper, stuffed with scallions and ginger, wrapped in parchment paper, and baked in rock salt, is succulent and sweet, with a faintly nutty flavor. Serve it with a ginger infused soy sauce. I went to the market yesterday, intending to pick up a chicken. But I came home with a fish. A pristine red snapper, pearly scales shimmering atop filigreed rose and silver skin, looked at me though the glass window of the seafood counter. Its eye—the one I could see—was bright and clear. “Choose me!” it whispered. I changed my plans on the spot. ]]> “Hakka,” which means “guests,” is the name given to a Northern Chinese people who, over the course of 2,000 years, fled further and further south to escape marauding tribes and imperial armies. Eventually they settled in Jiangxi, Fujian and Guangdong provinces. In a way they were perpetual guests, always on the move, always the new folks in town. In time the resourceful Hakka developed a style of cooking well-suited to their nomadic lifestyle. Salt is a key ingredient. Dried and preserved foods, such as pickled vegetables and fermented bean curd, lasted indefinitely and replaced salt lost by sweating. Dung Gong Yam Guk Gai, or salt-baked chicken, may have evolved as a way of cooking the bird in a protective crust. Salt is a good conductor of heat (handy if you don’t have an oven) and even a tough old hen will be more tender and juicy when cooked under a salt dome. Incidentally, salt-baked chicken doesn’t taste salty. It has a delicate, slightly nutty flavor and is faintly redolent of the star anise and other seasonings stuffed in the cavity. It is delicious with spicy condiments such as garlic in vinegar and hot sauce sweetened with a little sugar. I was still dreaming about Hakka chicken when I got home and unwrapped the red snapper. Maybe I would cook the fish the same way… And so I did, sprinkling the fish, inside and out with a little vermouth and then stuffing the body cavity with scallions and sliced ginger. You could use rice wine or sherry instead of vermouth, of course, but I like the way the vermouth’s sultry, bittersweet flavor—it was Dolin, B’s favorite, by the way—brought out the sweetness of the snapper. There was just one hitch: the salt. Somehow I came home with rock salt, rather than kosher. It wasn't food grade and when I saw bits of gravel among the chunky crystals, I decided that the fish needed protective armor, so I wrapped it in parchment and for good measure, in a layer of aluminum foil. After 30 minutes in the hot rock salt, the snapper emerged from its wrappings in puff of fragrant steam. Its white flesh was firm and succulent and, like the chicken, it had a sweet, almost nutty flavor. I could just barely taste the ginger and scallions. Dipped in soy sauce with more ginger, chopped scallions and few drops of sesame oil, it was a feast. So good, in fact, that I’ll do it again—and again. Forget the chicken. Salt Baked Red Snapper with Ginger, Scallions and Soy Serves 2 Ingredients for the fish: 4 to 6 pounds rock or kosher salt A whole red snapper, 1-1/2 pounds, scaled and cleaned 1 tablespoon vermouth or rice wine 1 or 2 scallions, trimmed 1-inch piece ginger, peeled and sliced Ingredients for the sauce: 2 tablespoons soy sauce 1 tablespoon chicken broth 1 teaspoon grated ginger ½ teaspoon sesame oil 1 scallion, green parts only, chopped Method: 1. Set a large wok (mine is 18 inches in diameter) on a burner on top of the stove. Pour in the salt and spread it around the sides of the wok. (Be sure there is enough salt in the wok to cover the fish—I used 6 pounds.) Turn the flame to medium and let the salt heat for 30 minutes, until it is very hot. 2. Rinse the fish gently in cold water and pat it dry, inside and out. Rub the cavity with some of the vermouth or rice wine, and sprinkle the rest over the outside of the fish. If the scallions are fat, split them in half lengthwise and cut them into 1-inch pieces. Stuff the fish with the scallions and slices of ginger. 3. Lay the fish down on a long piece of parchment paper. Wrap the paper around the fish so that it is completely covered and seal the top by folding it over several times. Lay a long piece of aluminum foil on the counter. Place the fish on the foil and wrap the foil securely, but not tightly, around the fish. 4. When the salt is hot, dig a “well” for the fish with a large spoon. Place the fish in the depression and spoon the hot salt over it. Cover the wok with a top or with aluminum foil, and let the fish bake undisturbed for 30 minutes. 5. While the snapper is cooking, make the sauce by combining the soy and other ingredients in a small bowl. Whisk and set aside. 6. When the fish is done, remove it from the salt and place it on a platter. Undo the foil and the parchment wrappings, and serve immediately with individual bowls of the sauce, white rice and a simple cucumber salad. ]]> tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.383 2010-02-19T17:31:06Z 2010-02-20T02:07:22Z

Flaky Halen Mon sea salt from Wales meets sweetly floral, ground Tahitian vanilla beans and bittersweet chocolate. The result: A match made in culinary heaven. I’m addicted to salt. Always have been, always will be. Now I don’t eat...

SpiceLines Flaky Halen Mon sea salt from Wales meets sweetly floral, ground Tahitian vanilla beans and bittersweet chocolate. The result: A match made in culinary heaven. I’m addicted to salt. Always have been, always will be. Now I don’t eat spoonfuls of salt right out of the box, a mortal sin to which New York Times food editor Craig Claiborne famously confessed. (Later he atoned by writing Craig Claiborne's Gourmet Diet which minimized fat and salt.) But I have been known to slip into the pantry for a few grains of Hawaiian Alaea sea salt—and shiver with pleasure as the briny red crystals melt slowly over my tongue. I might follow up with a pinch of ancient Japanese sea salt infused with the brothy, umami-like flavors of Hon’dawara seaweed. For the finale, maybe some delicately creamy Spanish flor de sal. Why worry about food when you can get your artisan salt fix straight from the pantry? ]]> Mayor Bloomberg’s assault on salt: a “voluntary” initiative urging restaurants and packaged food manufacturers to cut the sodium chloride in their food by 25 percent over the next 5 years—or else. This delicious plan comes to New York from an admitted junk food lover who, reported The Times, “dumps salt on almost everything, even Saltine crackers.” Speaking for the city’s outraged chefs, Momofuku’s David Chang retorted: “You need salt to draw the flavor out of food…. For this to be regulated is just stupid and foolish.” This, of course, comes from the man who gave us Bo Ssam—an entire luscious pork butt, rubbed with a cup of coarse salt and some brown sugar, slow roasted for six hours to delectably fatty shreds, blasted with high heat to create a glistening caramelized crust, and eaten with all sorts of spicy-salty condiments—in short, a truly splendid dish with 2,360 mg of sodium per serving. Perhaps this is the moment to cite a Mayo Clinic guideline: Healthy adults should consume no more than 2,400 mg of salt—less than a teaspoon—per day. What’s a salt lover to do? Since Mayo estimates that we get only 11 percent of our daily salt intake from cooking and sprinkling, maybe we want to get on the next plane for Portland, Oregon. In Food & Wine’s March 2010 issue, “The Salt Hunter and His Exploratorium” profiles Mark Bitterman and his wife Jennifer, proprietors of The Meadow, a purveyor of artisanal salts from 23 countries. Bitterman has constructed an “apothecary-like salt wall” which will eventually hold up to 100 mostly finishing salts, including the intriguing Pangasian Star from the Philippines—“slightly moist, with a sweet minerally taste”—and Iburi Jio Cherry from Japan, “a smoked salt that somehow has a caramelly flavor,” just right for vanilla ice cream. My kind of guy, entirely. I’ll never have room for 100 salts, but at the moment I’m in love with 5 of the 19 I’ve stashed in the pantry. I still use Diamond Crystal kosher salt for everyday cooking, but it’s those lovely finishing salts that make my heart beat a little faster. Here’s what I’m using right now: 1. White Maine sea salt harvested from the Gulf of Maine and evaporated in solar green houses. A crumbly, slightly moist salt that starts mellow but finishes with a sharp snap. Its my go-to salt when I want soft crystals that start to dissolve fast: It's nice for dipping raw veggies, like ripe cherry tomatoes, carrots or cauliflower; for sprinkling over roasted winter vegetables and pastas; for adding extra crunch to an endive and radiccio salad; for giving a little oomph to grilled steaks and pork chops. A great everyday finishing salt. 2. Rosy Alaea Sea Salt from Hawaii: Chunky medium crystals mixed with red Hawaiian clay; iron oxide gives the salt a dusty orangey-pink tint. Traditionally alaea salt is used in cleansing ceremonies and healing rituals, but its smooth, rounded flavor pairs well with fish and other seafood. I love to sprinkle it over roasted salmon and shrimp sautéed with vanilla and serrano peppers. 3. Smoked Mexican Sea Salt: There are lots of smoked salts around, but you can’t beat this one for adding a whiff of the campfire to Bison and Black Bean Chili. Stir the crunchy, nearly black crystals into the chili or any meaty stew near the end of the cooking process—5 to 10 minutes before you’re done—so the salt has time to dissolve and permeate the dish with its intensely smoky flavor. But be sparing: This is a powerful salt—too much will create an unpleasant harsh taste. 4. Tahitian Vanilla Sea Salt: White, flakey Halen Mon sea salt, harvested from the waters around the Isle of Anglesey in Wales, is mixed with sweetly floral Tahitian vanilla beans. This salt seductively whispers, “Chocolate love.” It’s voluptuous sprinkled over A16’s devastating Chocolate Budino Tartlets or your favorite brownies. I like to break a bar of Valrhona Guanaja 70% Cacao into chunks and sprinkle them with a little vanilla sea salt. The flakes are very large, so I usually crush them gently in a mortar and pestle before using. 5. Gilles Hervey Fleur de Sel: I’ve tried other fleurs de sel, but I keeping coming back to this exquisite hand-harvested sea salt from France’s Atlantic coast. On warm windy afternoons, artisan paludiers, or salt-rakers, carefully skim the “cream,” "a single day’s evaporation of the salt crust from the top of the salt ponds" near Guerande in Brittany. Some say these small, moist crystals, with the sweetly delicate taste of pure mineral-rich sea water, have the scent of violets. This is an elegant salt: Use it to bring out the naturally delicious flavor of, say, a sun-warmed ripe heirloom tomato or freshly caught whole fish, grilled over fresh herbs. ]]> tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.382 2010-02-14T02:14:48Z 2010-02-14T04:34:09Z

When you're playing for keeps, French toast slathered with raspberry vanilla jam and vanilla creme, and sprinkled with powdered sugar, will unlock your true love's heart. “It is very romantic to be in love. But there is nothing romantic...

SpiceLines When you're playing for keeps, French toast slathered with raspberry vanilla jam and vanilla creme, and sprinkled with powdered sugar, will unlock your true love's heart. “It is very romantic to be in love. But there is nothing romantic about a definite proposal. Why, one may be accepted. One usually is, I believe. Then the excitement is over. The very essence of romantic love is uncertainty….” Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest If you can believe The Wall Street Journal, America’s florists are in a snit. In media circles, the word is out: Why buy a dozen all too perishable (and expensive) roses on Valentine’s Day when “…computer goodies…last longer”? (See The Flower, the Leaf and the Lobby: A Valentine's Tale, The Wall Street Journal, February 12, 2010, p. W13.) Oh, yes? You'd like some anti-virus software? Or maybe a Crackberry? How romantic. But you know, fragility is the nature of romantic love. It can be as ephemeral as a rose petal or as evanescent as a Laduree macaron. And as Wilde observed, a firm proposal can be the start of The Big Letdown. But what if you’re playing for keeps? How to capture the object of your affections and keep the glow for the next, um, 27 years? Well, tomorrow morning you might want to awaken your true love with a plate of triple vanilla raspberry hearts. But be sure your love's more than a passing fancy: These delicious French toast trifles are so addictive that you’ll have to pry the loser’s clenched fingers from your doorjamb when things fall apart. ]]> So here’s the plan: The night before, set aside 20 minutes to make the raspberry vanilla jam and the vanilla crème. The next morning, you’ve got a few minutes of cutting out hearts—It’s fun! Just like going back to first grade!—and a few more minutes of pushing the toast around in bubbling butter. Then comes the really hard work: slathering some of the French toast hearts with the jam and vanilla crème, and sprinkling all of them with powdered sugar. Oh, the sacrifices we make for love. I’m crazy about this recipe for French toast because it’s light and airy. The proportions for the delicate batter are taken from a recipe in Marion Cunningham’s The Breakfast Book: 1 egg to ¼ cup milk, either whole or 2 percent. No cream, please, or the batter will be too heavy. You can scale the ratio up as much as you like: the basic recipe makes enough for 8 hearts, so I doubled it for two people. By the way, French toast is always easier to make with slightly stale bread, so if you're using a fresh loaf, open up the the package and leave it on the counter overnight. About the vanilla: Do I have to mention that you must use the very best vanilla beans and real vanilla extract that you can find? I adore the Gaya Vai-Mex vanilla which I discovered in Veracruz a few years ago. The beans are plump and supple, and the extract is so sultry and spicy that I've been known to open the bottle for a secret sniff. In the U.S., you can sometimes find Gaya Vai-Mex at Melissa Guerra’s Tienda de Cocina. Neilsen Massey is another purveyor of high quality vanilla; it’s available at Williams Sonoma and other gourmet stores. And the jam: It takes exactly ten minutes to make half a cup of jam from a 6-ounce box of fresh raspberries. Just do it. You cannot beat the flavor of homemade raspberry jam, and the vanilla bean imparts a perfume that is nearly intoxicating. (If any is leftover—quite unlikely—you can keep it in the refrigerator for a week.) What to drink with French toast raspberry vanilla crème hearts? If you’re abstemious in the morning, a cup of plain tea—that is, no milk or sugar—is perfectly fine. Maybe a light Darjeeling or, for a straight shot of caffeine, a hearty Keemun. Love elixir: Icy pink pomegranate vodka. To make, steep 1/2 cup fresh pomegranate seeds in 1 cup vodka for 10 days. Strain and store in the freezer. But B and I love a thimbleful of icy pomegranate vodka with French toast, especially the raspberry vanilla crème heart “sandwiches.” Served in the most fragile wineglasses, this pale pink elixir is smooth, a little fruity and altogether seductive. What’s that? You didn’t make any pomegranate vodka when you were snowbound a few weeks ago? A glass of very cold dry champagne will do nicely. You do have champagne on ice, don’t you? Such a heavenly way to start Valentine’s Day. You may never make it out of bed… Triple Vanilla Raspberry Hearts for Your Valentine For the vanilla raspberry jam: Makes 1/2 cup. Ingredients: 6 ounces fresh raspberries (about 1-1/4 cups) Scant ½ cup sugar ½ vanilla bean, split in half Method: 1. In a small sauce pan, combine the raspberries, sugar and vanilla bean. Heat over a low to medium low flame until the raspberries and sugar liquefy. Gently simmer for 5 minutes, or until the mixture thickens slightly. 2. Remove from the heat and cool to room temperature. Cover and leave at cool room temperature overnight. For the vanilla crème: Makes 1/2 cup. Ingredients: Scant 3/4 cup milk 1 tablespoon flour Scant ½ cup sugar 2 egg yolks 1 teaspoon vanilla extract Method: 1. In the bottom of a double boiler, heat an inch of water until it simmers. If you don’t have a double boiler, you can improvise by setting a metal mixing bowl over a saucepan of simmering water. In either case, be sure that the water does not touch the bottom of the bowl. 2. In a small saucepan, bring the milk almost to a boil. Remove immediately to a cool burner and set aside. 3. Off heat, in the top of the double boiler, or in the metal bowl if you are improvising, briskly whisk together the flour, sugar and egg yolks until the mixture is very smooth and light. Set the bowl over the simmering water and continue whisking until the mixture has thickened, about 3 minutes. If you dip a spoon into it, the mixture should not run freely off the tip; rather, it should slide off in thick globs. 4. Remove from the heat and whisk in the vanilla to taste. Let the crème cool to room temperature and refrigerate overnight. For the French toast: To serve 2 people Ingredients: 1 loaf firm, finely textured white bread, precut into thick slices (there should be about 16 pieces) ½ cup whole or 2% milk 2 large eggs 1 pinch salt 1 vanilla bean 2 to 3 teaspoons vanilla extract ¼ cup butter Method: 1. The night before, lay some paper towels on your kitchen counter and spread the slices of bread on top of them. Do not use the end pieces. 2. Also the night before, if you are using the vanilla bean (and I hope you will), whisk together the milk, eggs and salt in a medium bowl. Slit the vanilla bean in half and scrape the seeds into the bowl. Whisk briskly to incorporate the seeds into the batter. Some of them will clump together, but that’s OK. Add the bean itself to the mixture and pour into a plastic container. Cover and refrigerate overnight. 3. The next morning, remove the vanilla crème and the batter from the refrigerator. In a medium bowl, whisk the vanilla extract into the batter and set aside. Put the vanilla crème and the raspberry jam into 2 small bowls and set aside. 4. Using heart-shaped cookie cutters, cut out various sizes (see below) using as much of each slice of bread as you can. To get a clean edge, you will have to press the sharp edge of the cookie cutter down hard so that it cuts through the bread. To make 4 vanilla crème-raspberry “sandwiches,” cut out 8 large hearts from 8 slices of bread. Set 4 of the hearts aside. Using a smaller heart-shaped cookie cutter, next cut out 4 small hearts from the center of the remaining 4 large hearts. (The idea is that once you’ve made the French toast, you’ll sandwich some vanilla creme and some jam between a whole heart and one that has a center cut-out, in effect "framing" a jam heart. Confused? See the picture at the top of this post.) Reserve the small hearts that you cut out of the big hearts. With the remaining 8 slices of bread, cut out medium hearts. Discard the crusts, give them to the birds--or save them and make more French toast the next day! 5. To make the French toast, set the oven to 250 degrees. Lay a long piece of parchment paper on the kitchen counter. Pour the milk and egg mixture into a shallow bowl or a deep plate with a raised rim. Lightly dip both sides of each heart into the mixture. Do NOT soak the hearts: Just dip each side quickly and evenly into the mixture. (Be careful not to break the large hearts with the center cut-outs.) Lay them out on the parchment paper. In a large skillet, melt 2 tablespoons of the butter over a medium to medium-low flame. When the butter is foamy but has not begun to brown, reduce the heat slightly and begin cooking the hearts in batches. Lightly brown each side for 1 to 2 minutes. As they are ready, remove the hearts to a cookie sheet with a spatula and place them in the oven to keep warm. Continue browning the remaining hearts in batches, adding a little more butter as needed. If necessary, reduce the heat to keep the butter from burning. When all the hearts have been turned into French toast, make the sandwiches: Take the 4 large hearts and spread one side with a thin layer of vanilla crème. On top of that, carefully spread a layer of raspberry jam. Top each heart with a large heart with a center cut-out: The top heart should "frame" a red raspberry heart in the middle. Divide the sandwiches and the other hearts between two plates, arranging them as you like. Sprinkle with powdered sugar and serve at once. ]]> tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.381 2010-02-10T17:21:09Z 2010-02-11T16:00:08Z

Antidote for winter: A stone basin filled with fragrant plumeria, marigolds and rose petals welcomes visitors to a spa in Cochin. Before massage, a delicious detox tea of holy basil, lemon and honey. Cold, sleeting rain, cloudy skies, 50...

SpiceLines Antidote for winter: A stone basin filled with fragrant plumeria, marigolds and rose petals welcomes visitors to a spa in Cochin. Before massage, a delicious detox tea of holy basil, lemon and honey. Cold, sleeting rain, cloudy skies, 50 mph gusts of icy wind. Will winter never end? Well, never mind. I've got just the cure: A sunny tour of India. Blue skies, bright flowers, a temple, and markets to die for. Come along and take a look...]]> Ganesha, the elephant headed god, is one of the most beloved deities in the Hindu pantheon. He is known as the Remover of Obstacles: Offerings of food and flowers are made to him when starting new projects. Drifting on a houseboat in the backwaters of Kerala, the chef serves ginger tea and delicious fried bananas, golden with turmeric, dusted with cumin and sugar. Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, presides over the beautiful Mahalsa temple in Goa. The multi-storied brass lamp pillar has 21 tiers, each of which is lit with 150 flickering oil lamps on festival days. Artless beauty? A courtyard fountain in Goa is adorned with floating daisies and marigolds. At Mapusa Market, a flower merchant hemmed in by bright garlands seems lost in a daydream. The air is pungent with the scents of ground turmeric and chilies at Crawford Market in Mumbai. Following the trail of garlands to Little India in Singapore...next door, at Kamala Vilas, a breakfast of salted lassi with curry and coriander leaves, and onion rava with coconut chutney awaits. ]]> tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.380 2010-02-07T18:30:58Z 2010-02-11T15:53:01Z

How to make great chili: Lightly brown chunks of premium buffalo in olive oil , liberally season with ground chiles, warm spices and a cup of black coffee, simmer slowly for at least two hours. Top with avocado. Eat...

SpiceLines How to make great chili: Lightly brown chunks of premium buffalo in olive oil , liberally season with ground chiles, warm spices and a cup of black coffee, simmer slowly for at least two hours. Top with avocado. Eat with warm corn tortillas. There are just three things you need for truly great chili: 1. Excellent meat. 2. Superb seasonings. 3. Time. In other words, great chili is all about slow-cooking the very best ingredients. Of course this is heresy in some circles, chili having been “invented” as a way to tenderize cheap, tough cuts of meat by stewing them with spicy peppers. But trust me. It’s better this way. A few days ago, while the snow was swirling through the air, I became obsessed with the idea of chili. This happens every winter: When it’s cold and grey, I start hanging around the butcher, checking out cuts of meat to put in the pot. Chuck roast or bottom round? Beef or buffalo? Then I have to putter around my own pantry, sniffing jars of dried chiles and spices. Cumin is a must, but what else ?]]> My new 7 quart cocotte was the perfect pot for cooking chili for a crowd--heavy and capacious, it braised the bison until it was tender and succulent, and produced a rich "gravy" infused with all the wonderful flavors that had gone into the pot. This year the chili session was also a chance to try out my new Staub cocotte, a ridiculously expensive pot that I justified by telling myself that I’ll be handing it down to my children and theirs. Oval, deep ruby red, and big enough to braise a whole leg of lamb, it’s better by far than a Maserati or a piece of a private jet. You can tell what counts in our house. This recipe is one I’ve been wanting to try ever since I ran into my old friend Sonny at the Pearl Brewery Farmers Market in San Antonio last summer. Sonny is the man behind Thunderheart Bison, a purveyor of ethically raised, free-range buffalo meat. Shape Ranch bison lead an idyllic life, roaming freely over 13,000 acres of South Texas grassland, grazing on native grasses and mesquite beans, living out their days in the family groups into which they were born. This healthy, relatively stress-free existence produces tender meat with a sweet, robust flavor. It is almost pure protein, low in fat, packed with iron and other nutrients. No steroids, no growth hormones. And bison makes fabulous chili. Here are the three cardinal rules: Rule #1: You can use bison, or you can use beef. But you can’t use ground meat. The most succulent chili is made with meat that’s cut into chunks and cooked slowly with seasonings for a few hours until it is falling apart tender and its juices have permeated the rich “gravy”. In this recipe I used buffalo chuck roast cut into 1 to 1-1/2 inch pieces, but if you prefer beef, go for the less fatty top or bottom round. Rule #2: Do not even think of using chili powder containing flour or other thickening agents. If you’re buying a commercial blend, read the label. Such additives do nothing for the flavor of the chili and believe me, you won’t need a thickener with this recipe. In the past I’ve experimented with making my own chili powder by toasting dried chiles—usually ancho and guajillo peppers—and then grinding them with herbs and spices. But a few days ago I ran across Frontier Fiesta Chili Powder in the bulk jars at Whole Foods. This fresh, fragrant blend of dried chiles laced with garlic, oregano, cumin, allspice, clove and cinnamon makes a easy starting point for a bowl of red, though you’ll probably want to round out the flavor with more garlic and spices, especially cumin. Other ingredients can add depth and balance. Tomato sauce is certainly not traditional—in fact, it makes purists flinch—but I like its bright, fruity flavor. A cup of black coffee, which I could well imagine a camp cook tossing into the pot, adds backbone. Want a whiff of the campfire? Sprinkle in a pinch of smoked salt or smoked paprika when the chili is almost done. Rule #3: Simmer slowly. This is where the Staub, a Le Creuset or any other enameled cast iron pot comes in handy. You want to let the mixture bubble very gently over a low to medium low flame for at least two hours, until the chunks of meat are tender and all the flavors in the pot have melded into a delicious “gravy.” No shortcuts: The process takes time. Originally this chili was meant to be cooked uncovered, all the better to taste and smell the wonderful aromas as the liquid slowly reduces. But I like keeping the pot covered at least until the meat has begun to relax. Braising the meat in a heavy covered pot, especially one with self-basting spikes like the Staub, produces the tenderest meat. (If you think it’s a little too soupy, you can always let the chili simmer uncovered for another 15 to 30 minutes.) Keep the toppings simple: Sliced avocado sprinkled with lemon juice and a little cilantro contrast nicely with the savory, spicy meat. Freshly made corn tortillas, if you can get them, are a perfect accompaniment. Otherwise a baguette warmed in the oven and torn into rough pieces will do. Now, let the sun shine in. Thunderheart Bison and Black Bean Chili with Cumin, Cinnamon and Clove (adapted from www.thunderheartbison.com) and Terry Conlon, chef at Lake Austin Spa Resort Serves 6 to 8 people Ingredients: 4 pounds bison chuck roast (or beef top or bottom round), cut into 1 to 1-1/2 inch pieces 2 tablespoons olive oil 2-1/2 cups onion, chopped 2 tablespoons garlic, chopped 2/3 cup chili powder 2 tablespoons ground cumin 1 teaspoon cinnamon ½ teaspoon allspice ¼ teaspoon clove 2 cups tomato puree, stirred with a pinch of sugar 1-1/2 cups strong black coffee 4 cups beef broth ¾ teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional) ½ teaspoon salt (smoked, if you like) ½ teaspoon smoked paprika (optional) 3 cups canned or homemade black beans, drained and rinsed Garnish: 2 ripe avocados, sliced and sprinkled with lemon juice ¼ cup cilantro, chopped Serve with: 8 to 16 warm corn tortillas, or a baguette torn into rough pieces Method: 1. Heat a heavy cast iron enameled pot, or a large skillet, over a medium flame. If there are juices with the raw meat, drain them into a bowl and reserve. Pat the meat dry. Add one tablespoon of olive oil to the pot or skillet and when it is hot, brown the meat in batches. Set each batch aside in a large bowl until all the meat has been done. 2. Add another tablespoon of olive oil to the pot if necessary and when it is hot, add the onions and the garlic. Saute gently until the vegetables have softened, 4 to 5 minutes. Stir in the chili powder, cumin, cinnamon, allspice and clove, and cook, stirring constantly, about 30 seconds. Add the tomato puree and cook for one minute. Return the meat to the pot, along with the coffee, the beef broth and any reserved juices. Stir well and bring to a gentle simmer. Cover and cook for approximately two hours, or until the meat is very tender. 3. If the chili seems a little soupy, remove the cover and continue simmering for another 15 to 30 minutes, or until it has thickened slightly. (Do not reduce too much, however—there should be a fair amount of liquid in the pot.) 4. Taste and correct seasonings, adding the salt, paprika and cayenne if desired. Stir in the black beans and continue cooking for 5 minutes more, until the beans are warmed though. 5. To serve, ladle the chili into individual bowls and top with avocado and cilantro. Serve with warm corn tortillas or a baguette torn into rough pieces. ]]> tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.379 2010-02-05T18:53:50Z 2010-02-06T05:07:32Z

All cumin is not created equal: The Moroccan spice (on the right) has a fresh, earthy, almost vegetative aroma. Indian cumin (on the left) is warm and mellow, with a touch of citrus. "No sooner had the warm liquid,...

SpiceLines All cumin is not created equal: The Moroccan spice (on the right) has a fresh, earthy, almost vegetative aroma. Indian cumin (on the left) is warm and mellow, with a touch of citrus. "No sooner had the warm liquid, and the crumbs with it, touched my palate than a shudder ran through my whole body, and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary changes that were taking place…at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory…" In Search of Lost Time, Marcel Proust Proust was talking about tea and madeleines, of course. But I’m thinking of cumin. Many of us have a scent-memory that so completely envelops us in a golden haze of well-being that the disasters of the day are instantly reduced to nothingness, like shreds of papery ash floating in the air after a raging fire. Do you have a fragrant memory that transports you to a feel-good place? The smell of a succulent turkey roasting in your grandmother’s Magic Chef gas range(the one with the enameled blue and white Delft tile pattern that you’d die to have in your own kitchen)? The sultry scent of a voluptuous French rose on a humid summer day? ]]> a clay pot of black beans is simmering, perfuming the air with garlic, smoky bacon and… something else… that Aurora has stirred into the pot. There’s a warm, earthy scent, a smell that telegraphs a comforting message: “Relax. You’re home. Safe.” I tip a spoonful of the beans and their liquid into my mouth. Suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds. The vise around my heart dissolves, my stomach unclenches. I’m flooded with warmth and, dare I say, joy… Cumin was the “something else” wafting through the kitchen that day, and now whenever I smell it—in San Antonio or Marrakech, Mumbai or Vera Cruz--I feel wonderful. It’s a sure cure for the blues, balm for a ragged spirit on brutal days. I call it “the sunshine spice.” But one thing’s for sure, you either love cumin or you hate it. It’s not a spice that leaves you on the fence. One of cumin’s virtues—or not, depending upon how much you like it—is its powerful aroma. The smell is so distinctive that smugglers seem to like it almost as much as chefs. A year after 9/11, The Wall Street Journal ran a front page article entitled “Suspicious Cargo: For U.S. Customs, Trade and Security Clash on the Docks.” (September 12, 2002, pp. A1 and A10.) A subhead read: “Opening 1,600 Bags of Cumin.” After becoming suspicious of a shipment of “80,000 pounds of ground cumin seed packed in 50 pound bags” that had traveled from Beirut to New Jersey via Ankara, a customs agent had his team unload the cargo and jab the bags with metal rods. Although they failed to discover drugs or contraband, the action did “expose enough cumin to make the Customs dock smell like a restaurant.” Smugglers aside, cumin tends to be underrated in the kitchens of Europe and North America. Oh the seeds are used to flavor Dutch cheeses and German sausages, and it’s often confused with caraway which has vaguely similar looks and aromatic properties. When we think of it at all, it’s a spice we associate with "ethnic foods": Tex Mex chili, Indian curry powder, maybe the smell of a middle eastern grocery. But in many other places cumin might be called "the queen of spices." In North Africa, the Middle East, Mexico and India, cumin shines in scores of dishes, flavoring everything from chicken enchiladas with tomatillo salsa to curries and tagines. Without it, iconic blends such as Moroccan ras el hanout, Indian garam masala and Egyptian dukkah would be very different. In these blends, cumin not only adds its own distinctive taste but also rounds out the flavor of the other spices. Historical 1880 print from the UCLA Louise M. Darling Biomedical Library. Here are a few facts about cumin: Plant Family: Apiciae or Umbelliferae, which includes other aromatic plants, such as dill, chervil, coriander, anise and parsley, as well as toxic plants such as hemlock and wild carrot. Botanical Name: Cuminum cynminum Description: Cumin is the fruit of a stalky annual plant with feathery blue green leaves that flourishes in hot climates. When it blooms, the plant produces small white or pink flowers that yield clusters of “fruit.” When dried, it produces small, very slender, slightly curved "seeds," pale green or light brown in color, marked with striations and sporting almost invisible hairs. Native to North Africa and the Mediterranean, today cumin is principally grown in Morocco, India, Turkey and Iran which, says Ian Hemphill, author of The Spice and Herb Bible, produces the best quality “green” cumin. Not surprisingly, it is a key spice in the cuisines of those countries, as well as much of the Middle East, Mexico and South America. Cumin’s flavor and aroma vary depending upon where it grown, but in general it is aromatic, earthy, pungent, with a slightly bitter, pine-like taste. In On Food and Cooking, Harold Magee explains that its flavor components include phellandrene and pinene, which give the spice fresh, aromatic overtones, but that the dominant component, cuminaldehyde, creates cumin’s unique, unforgettable scent. No other spice has it. Historical snapshot: The Romans reveled in cumin as they did in most spices. In De re coquinaria, a cookbook thought to have been compiled in the 4th or 5th century AD, the author—supposedly a gastronome named Apicius—included it in a “summary of seeds” that every household must have. It is a key ingredient in many sauce recipes, including one for oysters and clams composed of pepper, lovage, parsley, dry mint, Malabar leaves, honey, vinegar, broth and “quite some cumin.” It is a seasoning in exotic recipes for boiled ostrich, crane with turnips, and roast boar, as well as for stewed pears and a version of pumpkin "pie." Perhaps this is the place to mention that cumin is considered a carminative and a digestive aid, qualities which the Romans might have appreciated. Strangest application: The ancient Egyptians are said to have used cumin in the mummification process. In Spices: History of a Temptation, Jack Turner describes a curious twist on this practice: European kings and noblemen were often embalmed for display after death, using costly spices such cinnamon and cloves. But by the 15th century, “it was not unheard of for criminals’ heads, once they had been removed by the royal executioner…to be parboiled and seasoned [for preservation] though apparently with cheaper aromatics such as cumin.” One spice, two very different flavors: When toasted, Moroccan cumin becomes stronger and harsher, whereas Indian cumin develops a nutty, citrus-like taste. How to cook with cumin: 1. Always buy the whole spice. Properly stored in a cool, dark cupboard, whole cumin will keep for up to 3 years, whereas ground cumin tends to lose aroma and flavor within months. 2. If using whole cumin, bruise it lightly in a mortar and pestle before stirring it into the pot. In general, add cumin, whole or ground, early in the cooking process so that its warm, aromatic flavor has time to permeate the other ingredients. 3. Toasting cumin will change the flavor of the spice, not always for the better. Moroccan cumin, which has a soft, almost vegetative aroma, smells a bit like incense when being toasted—but heat also seems to destroy the subtler flavor components, giving the spice a harsher, stronger taste. Indian cumin, on the other hand, develops a deliciously nutty taste, and heat accentuates the light citrus flavor of the raw spice. My advice? Toast your cumin seed ahead of time to see if you like its taste. One of cumin’s virtues is its ability to balance other spices and flavors—qualities not to be tossed aside lightly. 4. How to toast cumin: Heat a dry cast iron skillet over a medium low flame. When it is hot to the touch, add the cumin seed and stir. When the spice releases its aroma and the seeds just begins to darken, remove the pan from the heat and pour the cumin onto a small plate. Let it cool before grinding. Never let cumin or any other spice get too dark: Burned spices taste bitter. ]]> tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.378 2010-02-01T00:09:34Z 2010-02-01T17:38:53Z

Sensible tea drinkers will drink their brew inside, but me? What better way to warm body and soul on a snowy day than with a glass of hot, sweet Moroccan mint tea? Do you love freshly fallen snow as...

SpiceLines Sensible tea drinkers will drink their brew inside, but me? What better way to warm body and soul on a snowy day than with a glass of hot, sweet Moroccan mint tea? Do you love freshly fallen snow as much as I do? Just imagine: Pristine drifts, pooled around gnarled oak trunks, a dusting of crystals on bright pink camellia blossoms, a white blanket billowing over rough ground, smoothing imperfections. When the wind blows, snow showers cloud the air. Of course it’s easy to feel good when you only get two or three days of real snow a year. Instead of a labor, it’s cause for quiet celebration. You can hunker down inside, warming yourself by the fire… Or you can have a Moroccan tea party in the snow. Naturally that means mint tea sweetened with sugar and served steaming hot in bright blue glasses embellished with golden arabesques. One tiny sip and I’m in a cave dwelling near Fez, reclining on brocade cushions while a Berber woman simmers the intensely aromatic tea in an old brass kettle on a gas burner. ]]> But Moroccan mint tea has a secret ingredient. There’s the sugar, of course, and the mint, preferably this crinkly leafed spearmint, which I saw by the cartload in the Marrakech souk. Its pungent, cooling scent made my head spin when I sniffed it from ten steps away. The real secret of the Moroccan brew is a hefty dose of gunpowder tea, a type of green tea in which the leaves are rolled into little “pearls” resembling pellets of gunpowder once stuffed into cannons. The tea adds a faintly bitter edge to the sweetness of the sugar and the mint—otherwise, it would be like drinking mint candy. According to Wikipedia, gunpowder tea has been around since the Tang Dynasty (618-907), but it didn’t get to Morocco until the 18th century when trade with Europe began. Bags of tea and sugar were presented, apparently, to Sultan Moulay Ismail as gifts and in exchange for European prisoners. In Morocco mint tea is jokingly called Berber whiskey. The Berbers don’t drink alcohol, of course—so the tea, stiff and bracing, stands in for liquor. It energises the drinker in the morning, revives flagging spirits at noon, and fortifies the body for the long evening walk home. If you’ve ever been offered tea by a rug merchant, you know it’s the all-purpose lubricant for business and social transactions. There are quite few jokes that poke fun at the Berbers, incidentally. At Abdul’s spice stall in Marrakesh, I saw a wrinkly, fibrous root labeled “Berber Viagra”—in fact, dried ginseng root known for its energising properties. The litle donkeys you see plodding along the roads? Berber Mercedes. At the Kasbah du Toubkal, chef Omar aerates the tea by pouring it from a height of 18 inches or more. Aerating is said to improve the flavor. There is a very specific ritual for making Moroccan mint tea. At the Kasbah du Toubkal, chef Omar first cleanses the gunpowder tea of any impurities by swishing it with boiling water, then adds the mint, sugar and more boiling water. After a minute or two he plunks his battered metal teapot on the gas flame to bring it back to boil. Then comes the drama: Holding the pot high in the air, he aerates the tea by pouring a thin stream into each glass, never losing a drop. If you’re making this at home, it helps to have a metal teapot, though you probably don’t want to put your great aunt’s antique silver one directly over the flame. You can also make mint tea in a pan on the stove and strain it into a glass or china teapot before serving. Just don’t let the mixture steep too long, since the gunpowder pearls can make the tea bitter if left to sit for more than a few minutes. Now, wrap your frozen hands around a steaming glass and take a stroll in the snow before it melts. Moroccan Mint Tea (adapted from chef Omar at the Kasbah du Toubkal and Peggy Markel’s Culinary Adventures) If you are using 4 ounce Moroccan tea glasses, this recipe will make about 6 glasses of mint tea. Ingredients: 1/3 cup gunpowder green tea About 32 ounces boiling water 1/3 cup sugar (or to taste) 1 bunch fresh spearmint Method: 1. In a metal teapot, or in a medium pan, pour about 4 ounces of boiling water over the gunpowder green tea. Pour off the water into a tea glass and reserve. 2. Pour another 4 ounces over the green tea, swish it and discard. 3. Pour the first glass of tea back into the pot. Add the sugar, the mint, and the rest of the boiling water. Let it steep for a few minutes, then return briefly to a boil. 4. Serve the sweet mint tea from the metal teapot, or from a glass or china teapot. (If your teapot does not have built in strainer holes, you should pour it through a strainer first.) Aerate the tea (and test your hand to eye coordination!) by pouring it into the glasses from a height of 18 inches or more. Drink while it is still hot and steaming. ]]> tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.377 2010-01-30T02:28:10Z 2010-01-30T02:45:22Z

Cleaning out the spice pantry, I discovered a forgotten cache of nutmegs. I cracked one open and inhaled its sweet, warm scent. Suddenly I found myself back in Kerala on a spice farm watching a man clamber up a...

SpiceLines Cleaning out the spice pantry, I discovered a forgotten cache of nutmegs. I cracked one open and inhaled its sweet, warm scent. Suddenly I found myself back in Kerala on a spice farm watching a man clamber up a nutmeg tree... Snow is on its way…promises of thick flurries overnight with icy rain thrown in for good measure. That makes it an excellent weekend to stay inside and purge the spice pantry, amongst other projects. Nigel Slater cleaned out his own spice cupboard last Sunday, unearthing “a jar of whole cloves, whose scent reminds me of garden pinks; a thick glass pot of bone-dry cumin seed….vanilla beans as black as your hat….” and much more. At guardian.co.uk, he wrote that “each cap unscrewed, every jar sniffed is a story all of its own.” My own spice pantry is also full of stories. It’s a museum of time travel, a “sniffing bar” offering instant sensory recall: Opening a jar of nutmeg, breathing in its warm, sweet scent, wafts me to Kerala, to a spice garden where a barefooted man is scrambling up a tree to cut down ripe nutmegs with a wickedly sharp blade. A shower of greenish gold fruit the size of small nectarines tumbles to the ground. He cuts through the flesh to reveal a shiny, purplish brown nut enmeshed in scarlet filigree. The nut is nutmeg, of course, and the filigree is fresh mace, which will eventually fade to a dark golden orange. Ironically the fragrance of both spices emerges only when they have been dried. Slater tackled his “great scented treasure chest of ingredients” by making chicken curry—with cardamom pods, black peppercorns, cumin, coriander and ground chilli among other spices—and a fig and walnut cake flavored with vanilla, cinnamon and nutmeg. (For the recipes, click the link above.) As for me, I’ll be making a dent in my own mountain of spices with James Oseland’s spekkuk, a buttery Indonesian pound cake scented with nutmeg, cinnamon and clove—a sweet reminder of the tropics on a cold and snowy day. ]]> tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.376 2010-01-25T17:32:01Z 2010-01-26T02:42:15Z

In the kitchen of my dreams, chef Bahija shows us how to simmer eggplant separately from other vegetables in the coucousiere. Eventually all the spice infused vegetables will be arranged over the golden couscous, along with chickpeas, almonds and...

SpiceLines In the kitchen of my dreams, chef Bahija shows us how to simmer eggplant separately from other vegetables in the coucousiere. Eventually all the spice infused vegetables will be arranged over the golden couscous, along with chickpeas, almonds and sweet onions. It’s the plague from hell. At least that’s what I’m calling the flu that ripped through our house last week. It felled everyone but the dog—and with her red rimmed eyes and occasional wheeze, I’m betting she has it too. Somewhere between coughing fits and the 17th rerun of House, I floated off to Morocco and sunny kitchen at Jnane Tamsna. High ceilings, pale green walls, heavy marble counters and tall windows opening onto a garden of palms, olive trees and cascading white bouganvillea. And a flood of sunlight, lending a luminous glow to the proceedings. On the stove, an earthenware tagine with ginger- and cumin-scented kefta, or meatballs, bubbling in a tomato sauce redolent of garlic and fresh coriander….golden semolina couscous steaming in a curvaceous pot, a savory vegetable stew simmering below…fruity olive oil, Tamsna’s own, decanted into old green wine bottles. It’s the kitchen of my dreams. A purely escapist fantasy, to be visited on dreary winter days… ]]> tagines and the spicy couscous with vegetables? Those are well within my reach—and yours. Here are three essential tools—and a couple of “nice to haves”—that will get your Moroccan kitchen up and running. These workhorse tagines, made of heavy, roughly glazed clay, sit over metal charcoal braziers at a roadside cafe on the way to Essaouira. 1. A terracotta tagine. This sturdy clay vessel with the conical lid is Morocco’s most renowned—and widely used—cooking pot. Just to confuse matters, the succulent stews and braises cooked within it—lamb, chicken or fish, layered with sliced vegetables or fruit, seasoned with spices, olives and preserved lemons—are also known as tagines. Basically the tagine works like a self-basting oven. When placed over a low flame, liquid in the bottom of the pot begins to simmer gently, producing aromatic steam that is drawn upwards into the conical lid. There the steam condenses and drips down over the ingredients, bathing them with ever more delicious juices. Many Moroccan cooks say that terracotta gives the most authentic flavor, producing stews in which the ingredients are not only meltingly tender but subtly perfumed with many flavors that have gone into the dish. At the Kasbah du Toubkal chef Omar simmers sweet and savory lamb tagines over clay braziers filled with glowing charcoal. The braziers sit directly on the granite counter. 2. Nice to have: a terracotta mejmar. Typically a tagine sits over low heat on the stove; some can also be used in a moderate oven. But at Kasbah du Toubkal in the High Atlas Mountains, chef Omar simmered a trio of lamb tagines with dried figs over charcoal braziers perched right on the granite kitchen counter. Note to self: Yet another reason to renovate the kitchen, even if views of snow-capped mountains remain elusive. The brazier is known as a mejmar, and while charcoal should never be used inside at home, it’s tempting to think of cooking a tagine on a brazier in the garden during warmer weather—just as we did when we made our own tagines under the palms, though you might also need a set of bellows to keep the coals going. By the way, here’s a battery of well-used cutlasses on the Kasbah’s kitchen wall. Even professional chefs seems to use mostly low quality knives, but they certainly get the job done. 3. A couscousiere. This tall, curvaceous steamer is made for cooking couscous, the rounded semolina grains that are a culinary staple in north Africa and parts of the Middle East. The couscous goes in the top part, while the bottom part holds a simmering, highly seasoned broth or stew. To make it the authentic way, couscous must be steamed three or four times until the grains soften and swell to several times their size. (You can even do this with instant couscous.) At Jnane Tamsna, chef Bahija walked us through every step of the process using a stainless steel couscousiere. They also come in aluminum and terracotta. 4. Nice to have: A clay couscous platter. After each steaming, the couscous is turned onto a shallow terracotta platter, sprinkled with water and rubbed lightly between your hands to separate the grains. It’s made of thick, heavy clay with a raised rim. Afterwards the couscous is molded into a large ring, filled with the vegetables cooked in the bottom of the couscousiere, and presented on the same platter. 5. A Moroccan tea pot. I love this sleek modern version with a curvy black synthetic handle which never gets hot. The clear glasses, lightly etched with floral patterns, are a minimalist take on the usual brilliantly colored ones, which are also fun. You certainly don’t “need” a Moroccan teapot—though you’ll see thousands of them in the souks—but it makes teatime all the more exotic back home. Moroccan mint tea has a bit of a kick—it’s known as "Berber whiskey," though there’s no alcohol—that comes from the infusion of gunpowder green tea in boiling water with a bunch of crinkly green spearmint and sugar. Guess what? The sun’s broken through the clouds. Now if only someone would bring me mint tea on a tray mid-morning, with bowls of almonds, dried figs and apricots… Sources: Tagines.com offers 11 cooking tagines from Morocco and North Africa. The roughly glazed Beldi looks much like the rustic tagines used at roadside stands, in professional kitchens and at market foodstalls. Unglazed versions include the hand-shaped Rifi and the Souss tagines, both of which have domed lids. Many cooks favor unglazed tagines since over time they absorb all the flavors of the spices and delicious foods cooked in them, creating a unique flavor that cannot be duplicated. These pots are so desirable, says Paula Wolfert in Mediterranean Clay Pot Cooking, that daughters have been known to fight over who will inherit their mother’s well-seasoned batterie de cuisine. Tagines.com also sells the majmar (charcoal brazier), a traditional clay couscousiere, and a clay serving platter. A different array of glazed and unglazed tagines is available from Zamouri Spices. (Always be sure that you are buying a lead free tagine for cooking.) Zamouri also has the majmar brazier and bellows to keep the coals glowing, as well as a nickel-plated brass teapot and many pretty tea glasses. At Sur La Table, you can choose between a glazed clay tagine made in Portugal and sleek, contemporary versions from All Clad, Emil Henry and Le Creuset. I’ve just ordered an 8-quart stainless steel couscousiere, similar to the one used in the kitchen at Jnane Tamsna. ]]> tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.375 2010-01-18T17:19:13Z 2010-01-25T18:41:54Z

Note: All the books in this post and the previous one have been taken. My goodness! The books just flew out the window. Most were gone in the first 11 hours. Indian cookbooks led the most wanted list. Most requested:...

SpiceLines Note: All the books in this post and the previous one have been taken. My goodness! The books just flew out the window. Most were gone in the first 11 hours. Indian cookbooks led the most wanted list. Most requested: Suvir Saran’s American Masala, followed by Hari Nayak’s Simple Indian Cooking. Nancy scooped up American Masala, Deborah just made it under the wire for the latter. Apologies to those of you who wrote in a few minutes later. A big surprise: Only two of you asked for Jamie at Home. Last year everyone was clamoring for the Naked Chef. Not so this time around. So do you think Jamie is overexposed? Underexposed? Or have we just moved on? I’ll be watching his campaign against fast food in West Virginia. I was delighted to hear that many of you, like me, live in small towns, far from the culinary capitals of the world. Yet like me, you have a consuming passion for curries and tagines, and travel to India, Morocco, Mexico and other spicy places. I’m thrilled that you share my interests! Here’s a very short list of the remaining books: The Sweet Spot, Pichet Ong. Ong, a 2005 Pastry Art and Design Magazine “10 Best” chef, rolls out 100 recipes for inventive Asian-inspired sweets. Among them: Kabocha Squash Cheesecake with Walnut Crust, the most requested dessert at Jean Georges Vongerichten’s Spice Market (where Ong was pastry chef) after it was featured in a Melissa Clark article for The New York Times. Other popular recipes include Ong's Jasmine Rice Pudding and Chocolate and Vietnamese Coffee Tart. Alimentum, Issues 2, 4 and 5. “The only literary review all about food.” Short takes—poems, stories, memories, thought pieces—mean you can read just as much or as little as you want in one sitting. I loved an interview with novelist Diana Abu- Jaber about the role food plays in her books Crescent and The Language of Baklava. Also Barbara Singleton’s "Skimming Off the Top," a tale of eating yogurt in Kashgar, Lhasa and Goa. Entertaining bedtime reading. And in case you were in an alternate universe last November—or maybe just riding camels on the beach in Morocco—I have a pristine copy of Gourmet’s last issue, still in its plastic mailer, virtually untouched by human hands. Gorgeous photos, interesting riffs on familiar Thanksgiving recipes, a last glimpse of the late great magazine. ]]> tag:www.spicelines.com,2010://1.374 2010-01-16T17:13:58Z 2010-01-16T17:55:30Z

It’s that time again. The bookshelves in the spice room—a.k.a. my office—are a shambles. I can’t stand it a minute longer. After ransacking the room for Paula Wolfert’s Couscous and Other Good Food from Morocco, I found it sandwiched...

SpiceLines It’s that time again. The bookshelves in the spice room—a.k.a. my office—are a shambles. I can’t stand it a minute longer. After ransacking the room for Paula Wolfert’s Couscous and Other Good Food from Morocco, I found it sandwiched between Okakura’s Book of Tea and Nathaniel’s Nutmeg—all three under a chair, which naturally I haven’t sat in for six months because of all the books piled on the seat. Elizabeth David’s Spices, Salts and Aromatics in the English Kitchen had fallen into the gigantic Thai granite mortar that sits on the floor. My books on saffron are perched precariously on a set of much loved but never used antique Japanese rice bowls, still encrusted with dirt from the farmland where they were excavated. And don’t ask me where I’ve been keeping the memory cards from India and Morocco—or why the spice room smells of cardamom. Could it be that a certain plastic bag burst and scattered fragrant seeds behind the bookshelves? Time to neaten up—and purge. That’s where you come in: For the second year in a row I’m forcing myself to part with some of the great foodie books I’ve acquired this year and before. There’s a passel of cookbooks, a novel, a few issues of Alimentum and a pristine copy of Gourmet’s swansong, just in case you missed it. All you have to do is send an email to spicelinesatyahoodotcom Tell me which book you’d like—and give me a second choice since they tend to fly the coop pretty fast. Be sure to include your name and mailing address. If you get your request in first, I’ll let you know right away and send you the book you want for free. That’s right! For free! (Only if you live in the lower 48, I’m afraid—shipping costs are off the charts.) Ready? Click below to see the titles: ]]> American Masala: 125 Classics from My Home Kitchen, Suvir Saran. The noted cookbook author and chef-owner of Devi, a glam New York Indian restaurant—I lust for the brilliant glass lanterns hanging from the ceiling—“marries Indian flavors with American favorites to create dishes that are exotic, yet familiar.” For instance: Double-Basil Mussels with Pasta Shells, or Slaw with Mint, Lime Juice, Chiles and Peanuts. Modern Indian Cooking, Hari Nayak and Vikas Khanna. Forward by Daniel Bouloud. The chefs take some of the complexity out of Indian cuisine with simple, flavorful recipes for Aromatic Butter Nut Squash and Coconut, and Roasted Red Snapper with Fresh Green Chili Cilantro Pesto. Mantra: The Rules of Indulgence, Jehangir Mehta. “Enter a world of adventure and indulgence in this exotic cookbook by the chef Bon Appetit has called ‘an anarchic artist of the last course.’” Fusion dessert recipes—Tres Leches Cake with Coconut Curry Emulsion, Pears, and Almonds—by the chef-owner of Graffiti in New York’s East Village (and Iron Chef contestant). The Spice Kitchen: Everyday Cooking with Organic Spices, Sara Engram and Katie Luber. The owners of tsp spices, a Baltimore-based spice company, want us to “spice up” our lives with recipes “for dishes with just the right touch of herbs and spices.” I.e. Gingerbread Cupcakes with Cardamom Cream Cheese Frosting. The Outer Banks Cookbook: Recipes and Traditions from North Carolina’s Barrier Islands, Elizabeth Wiegand. A bounty of recipes—mostly seafood, many by local cooks—from a veteran food writer, plus shipwreck lore and tips on throwing an oyster roast. Good advice on buying, storing and cleaning soft shell crabs. Cocina Indigena y Popular, volumes 1, 11, 13 and 44, with recipes from Veracruz. Selections from an ambitious series, written in Spanish and native Indian dialects, that aims to create a cultural record of Mexico’s indigenous peoples through the foods they eat. The recipes are authentic but assume a certain familiarity with ingredients and cooking techniques. In Volume 1, for instance, Tamales Para Ceremonia—made for a curative ritual “when someone is sick”—sound delicious (chicken and green chile, wrapped in banana leaves) but there are no instructions for the long, complex process of preparing the masa or cornmeal. Still, a fascinating look at indigenous Mexican cookery—as long as you read Spanish. (Four volumes count as one giveaway.) Alimentum, Issues Two, Four and Five. “The only literary review all about food.” Great bedtime reading: poetry, memoir, thought pieces. Aperitif by Anthony Di Renzo begins: “Roast peacock, Horace the Roman satirist assures, tastes exactly like chicken. So does crow; properly seasoned of course….” (Three issues count as one giveaway.) The Last Chinese Chef, Nicole Mones. “But best of all was the second soup. It brought gasps from around the table….The live fish had been transformed into pale, fluffy fish balls, light and airy and ultra-fresh. These floated in the perfectly intense fish broth with shrimp, clouds of soft tofu, and tangy shreds of mustard greens…” Award winning novel, riveting insights into Chinese food culture. Jamie at Home: Cook Your Way to the Good Life, Jamie Oliver. Jamie plants a garden and hey, presto: over a hundred tantalizing recipes for dishes like Spicy Pork and Chilli-Pepper Goulash and Winter Crunch Salad with a Mind-Blowing Sauce. He owns up to kissing his prize vegetables. The Sweet Spot, Pichet Ong. The chef-owner of the late P*ong and esteemed former dessert chef at Jean Georges Vongerichten’s Spice Market rolls out 100 unusual recipes for Asian-inspired desserts, including Chocolate Kumquat Spring Rolls and Pistachio Rose Thumbprint Cookies. Simply Delicious, Darina Allen. Recipes from the British TV series of the same name. The accent is on simple, fresh food inspired by the garden. Allen is a noted TV chef, cooking instructor and daughter-in law of Myrtle Allen, the late, much-lamented proprietress of Ballymaloe House at Shanagarry, County Cork. We became addicted to Myrtle's blackberry jam during a weeklong visit, and paid a small fortune to have a supply shipped to New York—worth every penny. Teany Book, Moby and Kelly Tisdale. From the founders of Teany, a popular Lower Eastside vegan/tea parlour that burned last year, but appears to have reopened. A “fun, bizarre, functional book” with vegan recipes like teany “chicken” salad and my mom’s burrito recipe, plus chatty info on tea types, beauty tips, hangover cures, and Moby’s advice on “a simple, romantic July date in New York.” Gourmet, November, 2009. I was traveling when Gourmet closed its doors and had to pick up the last issue even though I was a subscriber. So I now have two copies. This one, still in its plastic mailer and untouched (well, almost) by human hands, is pristine. Worth it alone for the extraordinary photographs of eccentric Southern décor in “Deep Roots.” As always, there’s a short story lurking in the deep blue shadows…. ]]>