SpiceLines

Two global trends in chocolate: Some days it seems that all the buzz is about artisanal, single origin, estate grown chocolate. It’s a trend that requires the consumer to appreciate subtle nuances of flavor: the difference, say, between cacao grown in Venezuela and Ghana, between varieties of beans--trinitario, forestario or criollo—and even, at its most focused, between cacao grown on different plantations. You could call it reductio ad—our Latin fails us here—but let’s call it a move towards the simplest, most exquisite expression of the individual cacao bean—none of which would be possible, of course, without the invisible, but all-important hand of the chocolatier.

The other trend takes off in the opposite direction: spicing up chocolate with a giddy merry-go-round of flavors. This is hardly new, of course—hazelnuts, Grand Marnier and mint are staples of the trade. What is new is the range of edgy flavors and the quality of the chocolate. In Los Angeles, for example, L’Artisan du Chocolat combines good dark chocolate with tomato, basil and fennel, while in San Francisco, Michel Reicchiuti offers a stellar line of dipped chocolate ganache infused with pink peppercorn and star anise. Lavender is a favorite flavoring, as are curry, wasabi and chili peppers. Somewhere in the world there’s a place for Junior Mints, but not here.

Flavored chocolate was familiar stuff to the ancient Aztecs. In The True History of Chocolate, Sophie D. Coe and Michael D. Coe write that in pre-Conquest Mexico, there was not one form of chocolate, but many. It was drunk cold, sugarless and with a froth achieved by pouring from one cup to another. But it was rarely quaffed plain. They cite Fray Bernardino de Sahagun, who, in his 12-volume General History of New Spain (written after the Conquest of 1521), described the varied chocolate drinks served to the Aztec ruler:

“Then by himself, in his house, his chocolate was served: green cacao-pods, honeyed chocolate, flowered chocolate, flavored with green vanilla, bright red chocolate, huitztecolli-flower chocolate, black chocolate, white chocolate.”

The most treasured chocolate flavoring among the Aztecs was the “thick, ear-shaped petal of the flower of Cymbopetalum penduliflorum,” also known as hueinacaztli, which was said to taste like black peppercorns with “a hint of resinous bitterness”. There were other flowery flavorings, but also high on the list were the many types of chilies grown in Mexico, dried and ground to a fine powder and then mixed with cacao. As the Coes observe, “given the extraordinary array of chillis grown in Mexico, [the drink] could be anywhere from mildly pungent to extremely hot.”

Not long ago on a bitterly cold, windy day, we ducked into Vosges Chocolat in New York’s SoHo where we recovered our bodily heat with a spicy draught of Aztec Elixir, a very rich, smooth, dark chocolate flavored with ancho and chipotle chilies, Mexican vanilla and a trace of cinnamon. Served in a tall, narrow glass, it was undoubtedly more elegant than the Moctezuma’s rustic drink, but we probably shared the same warm afterglow. Vosges also has a bittersweet Oaxaca Bar, which marries Tanzanian cacao (75 percent) with guajillo and pasilla chilies—neatly bridging both trends in the current world of chocolate. Go to www.vosges.com.

For more on chocolate in the New World, see The True History of Chocolate, Sophie D. Coe and Michael D. Coe, Thames & Hudson, 1996.

This recipe is a version of the delicious huevos tirados served at Antojitos Lolita in Veracruz. The secret of Senora Mencilla’s smooth, richly flavored black beans is manteca, or lard in which an onion has been fried until it is blackened. Even though we don’t have the pleasure of using that lovely soft, caramel colored pork fat, cooking the onion and the beans in peanut oil does add a touch of extra flavor.

To serve 2

Ingredients for the black beans:

1 pound black beans
3 cups water
3 to 4 tablespoons peanut oil
1/2 medium onion, sliced thin
Chicken stock, if desired

Method:

1. Wash the black beans, removing any stones. Place in a medium bowl with 4 cups of water and soak for 3 hours.
2. Place the beans and their soaking liquid in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil, cover with a tightly fitting lid, and reduce heat to low. Cook until the beans are very soft, but still hold their shape, 40 minutes or longer. Older beans usually take longer to cook; check to see if it is necessary to add more water. When the beans are done, they should be should be slightly soupy.
3. Scoop 1 cup of cooked beans from the pot, with some of the cooking liquid .and place them in a bowl. (Reserve the rest for another use.) Using a potato masher, mash them until they are very smooth and creamy. Add a little water or chicken stock if they seem dry.
4. Heat a frying pan over medium heat. When it is hot, add the peanut oil. When the oil is hot, but not smoking, add the onions and cook, stirring occasionally, until they are blackened. Remove the onions from the oil in the pan. Add the mashed beans and slowly fry them until they have absorbed all the oil. Remove from the heat and let them cool. The beans can be kept overnight in the refrigerator.

Ingredients for the tomato salsa:

1 pound plum tomatoes, cored and chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 tablespoon cilantro, chopped
1 large jalpeno pepper
Salt to taste

Method:

1. While the beans are cooking, combine the tomatoes, onion and garlic in a medium saucepan over medium low heat. Cover and simmer for 20 minutes, or until the mixture is cooked through. Add the cilantro and stir.
2. While the salsa is cooking, char the jalapeno in a gas flame until it is blackened and blistered all over. (Or toast it on a griddle or in a dry cast iron frying pan that has been heated over a high flame.) Let it cool slightly, then remove the stem, cut in half and remove the seeds.
3. When the tomato mixture is cooked through, put it in a blender along with the jalapeno and whir briefly. The salsa should not be smooth, but a little chunky.
4. Remove from the blende, add salt to taste, and allow to cool. The salsa may be refrigerated overnight.

Ingredients for the eggs:

5 large eggs
Salt and pepper, to taste
1 tablepoon canola oil
Sliced avocado (optional)
Sliced papaya (optional)

Cooked tomato salsa (see above)
Refried black beans (see above)
Chicken stock, if needed

Method:

1. In a small saucepan, heat the tomato salsa over a low flame. In another saucepan, heat the refried black beans very gently over low heat. If the beans seem dry, thin them with a little chicken stock. They should be very soft, but not runny--about same consistency as eggs that have been just barely scrambled.
2. When the salsa and beans have been heated through, whisk the eggs in a large bowl with salt and pepper to taste. Heat a cast iron or nonstick pan over medium high heat. When it is hot, add the oil. When the oil is hot but not smoking, whisk the eggs again and pour into the pan. Reduce the heat to medium and with a spatula, begin to scramble the eggs. When they are partly cooked but still soft and loose, add the refried beans and scramble them together until the eggs and beans are completely mixed. Do not overcook—lower the heat if necessary.
3. Serve at once with cooked tomato salsa on the side and, if desired, slices of avocado and ripe papaya.

(Adapted from Silvia Lagunes Troncaso)

According to The Wall Street Journal, the chipotle has had its 15 minutes of fame. (See“The Next Big Flavor,” Katy McLaughlin, Saturday-Sunday, April 29-30, 2006, pp. 1, 6). The smoky tasting chile Is now so mainstream—it’s everywhere, from Applebee’s Tortilla Chicken Melt quesadilla with chipotle-roasted chicken to the Chipotle Mexican Grill (500 stores in 20 states)--that its allure has faded. Adventurous chefs have turned their sights on more exotic flavors such as tamarind, guava and even leather.

But what is a chipotle exactly? The chipotle chile begins life as a ripe red jalapeno pepper, which is smoked and dried until it shrivels and turns dark brown. Although it is sometimes pickled, in Mexican cooking the chipotle is usually added to salsas, soups and stews both for its heat and for the subtle smoky flavor it imparts. On the Scoville scale, it measures 15,000 units which puts it in the medium range: hot enough to sear your tongue, but not to blister it.

Even if trendy chefs are moving on, the chipotle is a staple of Mexican cookery, especially in Veracruz where a simple salsa is found on most restaurant tables. Usually chipotles and cloves of garlic are sautéed in hot oil, then whirred in a blender with a little water until the sauce is smooth. The salsa can be fiery, especially if the seeds have not been removed. However, it can be tamed by adding a little tomato sauce, or even mayonnaise: It makes a luscious dip for fried seafood.

One day Silvia, our guide to all things delicious in Veracruz, showed us how to make one of the region’s classic dishes: camarones enchipotladas or shrimp with chipotle sauce. In her version, enormous Gulf shrimp are simmered with salsa de chipotle and a few aguacatillo leaves from the wild avocado, which add a touch of anise-like flavor. (We’ve substituted a pinch of ground anise seed.) The smoky heat of the sauce is a perfect counterpoint to the sweetness of the fresh shrimp.

Sylvia recommends cooking the shrimp in a cazuela de barro, or earthenware casserole, to give it a “special flavor.”’ Like the aguacatillo leaves, the shallow, thick-walled cazuelas are hard to find in the U.S., though they can be had for about 60 pesos in Veracruz’s central market. Do not despair: The shrimp are nearly as good cooked in a skillet.

To serve 4

Ingredients for the chipotle sauce:

5 dried chipotle chiles (see note)
2 large garlic cloves
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 cup water
Salt to taste

Ingredients for the shrimp:

16 jumbo shrimp, or 1-1/2 pounds of large shrimp, peeled and deveined
1 tablespoon garlic, finely chopped
1/4 cup olive oil

1 tablespoon chipotle sauce, or to taste
1/4 cup canned tomato sauce, or to taste
Pinch of ground anise seed
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

1. For the sauce: In a saucepan, gently sauté the garlic in olive oil over a medium flame until it is golden brown. Remove and set aside. Saute the chipotles, one at a time, until they are crispy, and immediately remove from the pan. Do not let them burn-- lower the heat if necessary. If they turn black, the sauce will be bitter.
2. Remove the pan from the heat. Pour in a cup of water. Return the chiles and garlic to the pan, place it back on the heat and simmer until the chipotles and garlic are soft.
3. Pour the mixture into a blender and whirr until the sauce is very smooth. Pour into a bowl, add salt to taste and set aside.
4. For the shrimp: Heat the olive oil in a large non-reactive skillet. Add the garlic and cook for 15 seconds, stirring, then add the shrimp and sauté until they are pink all over, but not cooked through. Do this in two batches if necessary.
5. Mix one tablespoon chipotle sauce with 1/4 cup canned tomato sauce. Add the mixture to the shrimp and stir until well coated. Taste and correct seasonings, adding more chipotle or tomato, as well as salt and pepper, if desired. Add a pinch of ground anise and simmer gently until the shrimp are cooked through.
6. Serve the shrimp with rice and, on the side, slices of ripe, buttery avocado.

Note: Dried chipotles are widely available in Hispanic grocery stores and sometimes in the produce or international section of large supermarkets. They can also be ordered from www.penzeys.com.

This chili gets its rich red color from a puree of ancho and pasilla chiles.

It’s snowing outside, fat flakes falling thickly, rimming the edge of a weathered urn, making a slatted white cushion for a green café chair carelessly left outside.

Inside, a log is burning brightly in the fireplace and on TV, Marcello Mastroianni is raising a cynical eyebrow in Fellini’s 8-1/2. It’s the most luxurious kind of day, an unexpected midweek holiday. For me, it’s a day to make chili.

In Texas I sometimes made this recipe with venison. But if venison isn’t in the larder, you can certainly use chopped beef. And please do chop it—chili with ground beef just isn’t the real thing. This recipe is made with blade chuck roast, cut into bite size pieces. It’s flavorful but tough and has to simmer for 3 to 4 hours until it becomes tender. Perfect for a slow snow day.

This chili will likely not taste like any you have ever had. Contrary to most chili which is spiced with commercial chili powder, this one is made with whole dried chile pods, soaked and pureed, then simmered with the beef. The first chili powder, incidentally, was invented in Texas in 1896 by one Willie Gebhardt—Gebhardt’s is still a big name in the chili world—and if you check recipes from the annual Terlingua Interntional Chili Cookoff, you will find that every trophy winner for the last 18 years has used arcane blends of chili powders—light, dark, habanero, jalapeno, Gebhardt’s, Pendery’s, and Mexene, But before chile powder, the dish was made with whole dried chiles.

If you love chiles, a good ratio is four pods per pound of meat, fewer if you’re less enthusiastic. Normally I use ancho chiles with a chipotle thrown in for extra heat. But today I’m running short of anchos, so I’m adding half dozen pasilla peppers. The ancho, actually a dried poblano, is a meaty, fat, triangular chile, with wrinkly almost black skin and a dark rich flavor. It ranks near the bottom of the Scoville scale at 1,000 to 2,000 units. The pasilla, also on the mild side of hot, is a long and narrow dried pepper that tapers to a point; the ones I’m using have a chocolatey, slightly fruity taste. Together they make a luscious base for the chili, warm enough to create a glow, but not so hot that you’ll break a sweat. Of course, all bets are off if you include the small but fiery chipotle (5,000 to 10,000 Scoville units).

There’s a lot of debate about the other ingredients: Can you use tomatoes? How about onions? And does real chili have pinto beans? Many Texans are adamant about not using tomatoes or even onions—though here again, most Terlingua winners don’t blanch at a can of Hunts. But I think tomatoes and onions give the chili a rounder, more complex flavor, so in they go. Personally I would never add pinto beans or frijoles; they are just too bland and starchy for this spicy stew.

Decades ago, the San Antonio chili queens stirred their pots over smoky wood fires in front of the Alamo. To get some of that outdoor flavor into the chili, I sometimes sear the meat over mesquite coals before putting it in the pot. Not now, though, as the snow has turned to sleet and the day is “dreek” as a Scottish friend likes to say. Instead I’m adding a little smoked black salt from Mexico—but you could use any of the smoked salts that are so popular now. Of course salt smoked over oak Chardonnay barrels might be a bit over the top for a dish that once was a poor man’s feast—but the taste is what counts.

Like all slow-simmered dishes, the chili tastes better the next day or even a few days later. As it sits, the flavors mingle and intensify. The problem is waiting that long...

Texas Style Beef Chili with Dried Chiles and Smoked Salt

Serves 6

Ingredients:

3 to 4 pounds blade chuck roast
1 tablespoon canola oil (more if necessary)
6 dried ancho peppers (see note)
6 dried pasilla peppers (see note)
1 dried chipotle pepper (optional) (see note)
2 cups chopped onion
1/2 head garlic, cloves peeled and chopped
3 to 4 Roma tomatoes, peeled, and chopped
4 teaspoons ground cumin, or to taste
2 teaspoons oregano, or to taste
Smoked salt, to taste
1/2 cup fresh cilantro, chopped

Method:

1. Ask your butcher to chop the chuck roast into 1-inch pieces. Chuck has quite a bit of fat; you can cut away a little of it, but don’t even think of removing all or even half of it. The fat gives the chili a richer, more luscious flavor.
2. Remove the stems and seeds from the dried peppers and place them in separate bowls. Pour boiling water over each to cover and let them soak until they become suave, or soft and pliable. Drain the peppers, but keep them separate and save the soaking water for the ancho and pasilla peppers.
3. In two separate batches, puree first the ancho and then the pasilla peppers until they are very smooth, adding 1/2 cup or more of the soaking water to each batch. There will likely be small bits of tough skin remaining. You can leave the skin in the puree, but I prefer to pass it through a food mill so that the chiles are very smooth. If you are using the chipotle, chop it very finely and set aside.
4. In a large pot over medium heat, add the canola oil and lightly brown the meat on all sides. Do this in two or three batches, as necessary. Remove to a bowl and set aside.
5. In the same pot, add a little more canola oil and sauté the onions and garlic until they are soft. Return the meat to the pot, add the ancho and pasilla chile purees, the tomato, cumin, oregano and 6 or 7 cups of water. Simmer very gently over low heat for three to four hours, uncovered, until the meat is very tender. Add more water if necessary. The chili should be fairly thick, but still liquid. About one hour before it is ready, taste and correct the seasonings, adding the chipotle pepper if you want extra heat, and more cumin and oregano if desired. This is the time to add the smoked salt, but take it easy. Some, like the black Mexican smoked salt, are very intense and can taste acrid if you use too much. Start with 1/2 teaspoon, stir to dissolve, and taste, slowly increasing the quantity if you want a smokier flavor.
6. The chili will keep in the refrigerator for 4 or 5 days. It tastes best if you can wait at least a day for the flavors to mingle. When you're ready to eat, reheat the chili and sprinkle with chopped cilantro. Serve with corn tortillas (or torn pieces of toasted baguette) and a crisp green salad.

Note: Packages of dried ancho, pasilla and chipotle pepper can be found at Latin American markets or in the international section of some supermarkets. They are also available from penzeys.com.

A profusion of chile peppers--some hot, some not-- from Peregrine and
McAdams Farms at the Carrboro, N.C. Farmers Market last Saturday.

I went crazy over a late August explosion of fresh chile peppers at the farmer’s market. Some were incendiary. Mouth searing. Lip-blistering. Others were sweet fruity, complex. All—OK, the ones I tasted--were delicious.

I scooped up a few dozen, stashing each variety in its own paper bag. Here's a list of the ones I brought home and their Scoville ratings. (The scale, which was invented by Wilbur Scoville in 1912, measures the “hotness” of peppers based on the amount of capsaicin they contain. It ranges from 0 for sweet Bell peppers to 16,000,000 for pure capsaicin.)

Clockwise, from the top:

Poblanos, green and red: 1,000 to 2,000 units. A mild pepper with just a little bite.

Aji Dulce, red: Looks like a fiery red habanero, but has almost no heat at all.

Habaneros, yellow and orange:: 100,000 to 350,000 units. Blistering.

Cherry Bomb, red: 2,500 to 5,000 units. Fruity with some heat, although these were mostly just sweet.

Serranos, green and red: 10,000 to 23,000 units. Favorite chile for pico de gallo.

Hungarian wax peppers, red and yellow: 5,000 to 10,000 units. Good for pickling.

Cayenne peppers, red and green: 30,000 to 50,000 units. From French Guinea, intense heat. Can be substituted for Asian peppers.

Red Savina habaneros: 350,000 to 577,000 units. A mutated habanero; searing heat; world’s second hottest pepper.

Peter peppers, green and yellow: Wrinkly, phallic in appearance, very mild. Sometimes described as ornamental.

Center:

Naga Jolokia: 835,000 to over 1,041,427 units. From India. Officially the world’s hottest pepper.

I’m trying to get up my nerve to taste this one.

Plump jalapeno peppers are rated at 2,500 to 8,000 on the Scoville scale--hot,
but not blistering. When they ripen, they turn red and are used to make chipotles.

No, this is not about chile peppers misbehaving on spring break in Cancun. Or exposing their nether regions from the backseat of a stretch limo on Hollywood Boulevard…

This is about jalapenos in the garden, so rambunctious that every time I even peek at our four thriving bushes, there is a new crop of pendulous green and red firebombs screaming “Pick me! Pick me!” Just a few days ago I had collected 62 of them in a bowl—and there were another 17 on the stem.

I adore jalapenos. They peg in at 2,500 to 8,000 on the Scoville scale, pretty low on the heat index—but while their flesh often tastes like a cross between red and green Bell pepper with a trace of burn, their seeds can be hot as smoldering coals. This means you can control the degree of heat by removing some or all of those innocent-looking white seeds—or none at all, if you crave a real incendiary rush.

Last year in Xalapa, the state capital of Veracruz and home of the jalapeno, I trudged up a very steep hill to the covered Mercado Jauregui. Here, alongside dark sweet mole de Xico and strange bundles of magical herbs, vendors were hawking gigantic fresh jalapeno peppers, some as big as a small banana. The air was filled with cries of, “Una docena para rellenar!” (“A dozen to stuff!”). Around the corner I found tubs of smaller jalapenos pickled in homemade escabeche, a vinegary herb-spiked sauce with carrots and onions. I took some chiles back to my hotel where I ate them with alternate bites of fresh quesito de cabra, a rich, salty goat cheese. The mingled flavors of the tangy hot peppers and the creamy, crumbly cheese was pure bliss.

My own jalapenos are more modestly sized. I usually pick them when they are about two inches long. This gives them enough time for the flavor and heat to mature, but keeps them a manageable size for cooking. The burn, by the way, comes from capsaicin, a fiery compound found in all chile peppers that irritates the mucus membranes of humans and other predators.

Last Sunday I had a jalapeno blow out in the kitchen. A big pile of peppers, around six or seven dozen, were subjected to serious culinary abuse—they were chopped, roasted, slit, mashed, seeded, pureed and pickled. Half way through the party, there was bellowing from upstairs. “What on earth are you doing,” asked Bill, usually very tolerant of my culinary experiments, but sounding a little testy. “My eyes are watering.” Later, the air was “perfumed’ with vinegar. Note to self: Next time, use the exhaust fan and close the kitchen door.

Here’s what went on:

1. First I decided to roast two dozen jalapenos. This brings out the sweetness of the peppers and gives them a deliciously smoky flavor. The best way to roast chiles is to use an earthenware comal, a flat high-fired pottery plate that can sit right over the lowest flame of your stove. Quite naturally, I discovered that the comal I had lovingly carried back from Oaxaca a few years ago was cracked right down the middle. So instead I roasted the jalapenos in a dry cast iron skillet until they were blackened and blistered all over. I left some whole and slit the others, removing most of the seeds. I put both in small containers and covered them with olive oil to use as a delicious condiment with fried eggs, grilled steak or rolled up in warm corn tortillas slathered with butter and slices of ripe red tomatoes.

At this point you might be wondering how to remove the seeds from the jalapenos without turning your fingertips into red hot pokers. The truth is I never ever use rubber gloves: Cookbooks that recommend this are written by clueless people who know nothing at all about handling chiles. (They are related to the same people who fret about children falling off the monkey bars in the playground and the ones who sue McDonalds for serving coffee that is too hot.) Life is full of risk and you might as well get into it.

But of course, you do know that you shouldn’t touch your face or your eyes while your fingers are covered with capsaicin—don’t you? The best way to neutralize all that hot stuff, when you’re done, is to cut a lemon in half and douse it with salt. Work your fingers down into the lemon, getting them really juicy and salty. Do this for a minute or two, then rinse them off. This will remove most of the burn—I still wouldn’t rub my eyes—and the rest will come off in the normal course of washing and rinsing at the sink.

Back to the jalapeno project:

2. Next I decided to make a roasted salsa, similar to a luscious one served at La Fogata in San Antonio. Everything in this salsa is roasted: onions, tomatoes, jalapenos, and garlic—and then chopped in the food processor until all the ingredients are blended but not smooth. Add a little salt and a squeeze of lime, and you have one of the most superb salsas ever made. It is especially good now when tomatoes are full of flavor and so abundant that you are probably trying to think up new ways to use them up. This charred. hot, mildly sweet salsa is delicious with everything—eggs, grilled meats, fish and chicken, and left over cooked vegetables like eggplant and zucchini. A dollop will bring any soup to life, even a chilled gazpacho.

3. Speaking of chilled, at this point I was ready to cool off. What could be more refreshing on a torrid day in a chile-flavored kitchen than a spicy Indian style lassi or cold yogurt drink spiked with a single fresh jalapeno? I frothed a cup of plain tangy yogurt with ice cubes in the blender, added a jalapeno—some seeds removed—and whirred until the mixture was icy and smooth Over the top I sprinkled a little salt and some ground cumin. It was a little spicy and completely delicious.

4. I saved the most ambitious stage for last: pickling the jalapenos. I made three different kinds: First, a traditional Mexican-style pickle in escabeche--sautéed chiles, onions and carrots simmered in vinegar and salt with fresh oregano, marjoram and thyme. Next, I tried a fresh Indian pickle with cauliflower, string beans and jalapenos tossed in vinegar and sugar with abundant spices like fenugreek, cumin, pepper, cinnamon and ginger. And last, I concocted a rather restrained French-inflected pickle in which the jalapenos were doused with hot white wine vinegar, and packed in small jars with sprigs of tarragon, peppercorns and allspice. The first time around I added sel de guerande to the vinegar. Big mistake: all the sediment that makes the salt grey turned the mixture cloudy. I had to dump out the liquid and remake it with plain white kosher salt. (How did they turn out? I'll know in two weeks.)

The smells in the kitchen were good and vinegary by the time I finished and even my own eyes were watering. The dog, normally underfoot, had fled to a friendlier environment. But I had a refrigerator full of jalapenos in various guises that would spice up weeks of late summer meals.

Now, what to do with the 26 jalapenos that absolutely have to be picked tomorrow?

I'll post recipes tomorrow.

Roasting the jalapenos and other ingredients in this chunky salsa brings out the
natural sweetness of the vegetables and adds a wonderfully smoky taste.

Once upon a time La Fogata was a cheery Mexican restaurant housed in an old gas station on the north side of San Antonio. It was famous for its delicious salsa. One day the owner gave me a quick recipe, which mainly consisted of roasting large quantities of tomatoes, onion, garlic and Serrano peppers on a cast iron griddle and then whirring them in the blender. Probably he left out a secret ingredient (or maybe two), but I’ve been making it for years and love it just as it is.

Today, La Fogata is more like a posh hacienda with trickling fountains and carved stone columns, and the famous salsa is bottled and sold over the internet. But last Sunday, when I was roasting jalapenos and a huge bowl of ripe tomatoes was glaring at me, it occurred to me that now was the perfect time to make some of my favorite salsa. Roasting over moderately high heat brings out the natural sugars in all the vegetables and gives the salsa a wonderfully sweet, smoky flavor. Lace with fiery jalapenos and you have one of the most irresistible salsas ever.

Jalapenos are actually not as hot as Serranos (8,000-22,000 Scoville units)—so this has the advantage, if you see it that way—of being a milder salsa than the original. I tend to roast the ingredients separately in a dry cast iron skillet: first the whole fresh chiles, then the garlic cloves and onion, and finally whole small tomatoes. It’s important that the vegetable are cooked, or at least heated, all the way through. (That’s why it’s best to use smallish tomatoes and onions.) When they’ve cooled a little, I pulse the ingredients together in the food processor until they are uniformly chopped very small, but never until the salsa is smooth.

If the tomatoes leak their juices into the cast iron skillet, it may become a little crusty. To clean, let the pan cool slightly, then sprinkle the encrusted areas with salt and a little oil, and rub with a paper towel. Most of the debris will come loose and can be rinsed away with warm water.

Makes about 1-1/2 to 2 cups of salsa

Ingredients:

5 whole fresh jalapenos
3 or 4 small onions, peeled but left whole (1-1/2 to 2 inches in diameter)
8 garlic cloves, whole and unpeeled
4 or 5 small ripe whole tomatoes (2-1/2 to 3 inches in diameter)
Squeeze of lime
Sea salt to taste

Method:

1. Heat a dry cast iron skillet or griddle over a medium flame. When it is very hot, add the jalapenos and roast them, turning occasionally, until they are blackened and blistered all over. Remove to a small plate.
2. Separately use the same technique to roast the onions, garlic and tomatoes. Each ingredient should be left whole and roasted until it is blackened and cooked, or at least heated, all the way through. Leave the garlic unpeeled to keep it from burning and turning bitter.
3. When all the ingredients are roasted and have cooled slightly, combine them in the bowl of a food processor. (If desired, slit the jalapenos and remove some of the seeds to lessen the heat.) Pulse until they are uniformly chopped fine, but not until the salsa liquefies. The texture should be composed of tiny chunks, but never smooth. Add lime juice and salt to taste and stir.
4. Pour the salsa into a jar. It may be refrigerated for two days, but is much better if used at once—on eggs, grilled meats, fish and chicken, tossed with grilled or sautéed vegetables or as a dip for homemade tortilla chips. A spoonful can be used to flavor soups.

Chilled Indian lassi gets a touch of heat from a fresh jalapeno.

There is almost nothing quite so refreshing on a torrid summer day than an Indian lassi—a frothy iced yogurt drink scented with spices and other flavorings. Most Indian cookbooks have at least one recipe: In Classic Indian Cooking, Julie Sahni offers two, one with rosewater and another with fresh mint, while in From Curries to Kebabs, Madhur Jaffrey has recipes for lassi with freshly grated ginger and with cardamom seeds.

As Sahni writes, the quality of the yogurt is paramount. It must be tangy, above all, but also thick and creamy, or else the drink will become watery when it is blended with ice cubes. She advises adding a tablespoon of cream to plain yogurt, but you could also use wondrously thick Greek yogurt or blend the cream that come on top of full fat plain yogurt into the drink.

Since jalapenos are exploding all over my garden, this week I’ve been making lassi with a single fresh chile blended into the mix. I like it a little spicy, so I slit the pepper and take out half the seeds before tossing it into the blender. I’ve also found that it helps to crack the ice cubes beforehand—this makes them easier to blend.

The fresh jalapeno turns the frothy drink a pale, icy green—a bit of deception if served to an unsuspecting guest. But you wouldn’t do that, would you?

Indian Lassi Spiced with Cumin and Jalapeno

To serve 2

Ingredients:

8 to 10 ice cubes, cracked
2 cups thick, tangy plain yogurt (see note)
1 or 2 small fresh jalapeno peppers
Large pinch ground cumin
Sea salt to taste

Method:

1. Combine the cracked ice and yogurt in the blender.
2. Cut the jalapenos in half and remove some or all of the seeds, depending upon how much heat you’d like in the drink. Add the peppers and any seeds that you are using to the blender.
3. Whir until the drink is very smooth and icy.
4. Add a pinch of cumin and blend. Add sea salt to taste.
5. Pour into two tall glasses and serve at once.

Note: I recommend using the Fage brand of Greek yogurt because it is thick, rich and deliciously tangy. You could also blend in the cream found on the top of plain whole milk yogurt, or add a tablepoon or two of cream to any plain yogurt.

The smoky aroma of chiles roasted over hot coals--sweet Bell peppers, dark green
poblanos, fiery jalpenos and mild Japanese shishitos--signals the arrival of autumn.

One sure sign of fall—along with the early pumpkins and bronzey green scuppernog grapes—is the aroma of fresh peppers roasting over an open fire. At Carrboro Farmer’s Market, the folks from Peregrine Farm will sell you a pound or two of capsicums—your choice, anything from sweet Bells to the spiciest habaneros—tumbled over hot coals in a revolving wire drum. The succulent, smoky aroma perfumes the morning air, drawing ravenous crowds who’ll wait for nearly an hour to take home a warm bag of delicious charred peppers.

But you can also roast fresh peppers at home. Yesterday I mixed fiery red and green jalapenos from the garden with an assortment of peppers from the market: dark green poblanos with just a touch of heat, mild shishitos, the long yellow-green pepper popular in Japan (for more, see The Serendiptious Chef, and red and yellow Bells. Together they ran the gamut from sweet to mild to hot, which is one of the great things about mixing them up.

There are two easy ways to roast capsicums. One is to heat a dry cast iron skillet over a medium flame, toss in whole peppers and turn them until they are charred all over. This can take a while, but if you’re feeling lazy, it’s a pleasant way to while away part of a Sunday afternoon. Or, if you’re planning to cook outside, you can put them on the grill while the flames are high and the coals are still too hot for the meat. Using tongs, turn them often until they’re blackened and blistered all over.

Add thick slices of onions to the grill and you can make a version of rajas. Rajas are strips of sauteed poblano peppers and onions, and in northern Mexico, they are often served with a very thin, delicious steak known as a tampiquena. Rajas go well with almost any cut of grilled beef and also with grilled pork chops and pork tenderloins.

Grilled pork tenderloin with fresh peppers roasted over hot coals gets an extra
kick with a spicy sauce of lightly toasted ancho peppers, peanuts and cumin.

Now if you are serving pork, as I did last night, you might want to do a riff on roasted peppers by also preparing a delicious sauce of lightly toasted ancho peppers blended with onions, fresh tomatoes, a little cumin and crushed roasted peanuts. Wrinkly, blackish-brown anchos are simply dried poblanos. Gently heating them in a hot pan the them brings out their deep, fruity flavor, while the peanuts add richness to the sauce.

Spoon the ancho-peanut sauce over the top of the sliced pork tenderloin or over a grilled pork chop, add a tangle of the roasted fresh peppers alongside and serve with a tangy coleslaw dressed with while balsamic vinegar and olive oil.

Fall is here—at last!

Fire-Roasted Fresh Peppers and Onions

Ingredients:

2 pounds assorted fresh peppers, as desired
2 medium onions, peeled and thickly sliced
Olive oil

Method:

Here are two ways to roast peppers:

1. Heat a large, dry cast iron skillet over a medium flame. When it is hot, add the whole peppers. Turn occasionally until they are blackened and blistered all over. The small peppers will char faster than the others; remove them as soon as they are done. When all the peppers are roasted, set aside. Add the onion to the hot pan and turn until it is lightly charred on both sides. Set aside.

Or if you are cooking outside, make a fire in your grill and place the grill on top. Rub the whole peppers and sliced onions with a little olive oil. When the coals are red hot and the flames are high, put the peppers and onions on the grill. Using tongs, turn until they are charred all over. Remove and set aside.

2. When the peppers are cool enough to touch, cut out the stems, slit them open and remove the seeds. Rub off some of the skin if you wish, but it is not necessary to do so. Cut them into strips and set aside.

3. When you are ready to serve, heat a skillet over a low flame, add a a tablespoon of olive oil, and gently sautee the peppers and onions for 2 to 3 minutes. Add salt to taste and serve while still warm.

Roasted Ancho-Peanut Sauce

Ingredients:

6 ancho peppers (see note)
1 large onion, quartered
2 large garlic cloves, unpeeled
2 small tomatoes, peeled and cored
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
Olive oil
1/2 cup roasted, unsalted peanuts, coarsely ground
Salt

Method:

1. Heat a large cast iron skillet over a medium flame. Lightly toast the ancho peppers just until they soften and puff up a little. Do not char them—they will taste bitter if allowed to burn. Remove and place them in a bowl. Cover with boiling water and set aside to soak until they soften.

2. Add the onion quarters to the pan and cook until they are lightly charred. Add the garlic cloves and cook, turning often, until they are soft. Do not let the cloves burn. Peel and set aside.

3. Drain the ancho peppers, but reserve 1 to 2 cups of the soaking liquid. Cut away the stems, slit them open and remove the seeds.

4. Put the peppers in the container of a blender or food processor. Add the onion, peeled garlic, tomatoes, cumin and one cup of the soaking liquid. Whirr until smooth, adding a little more liquid only if necessary. The sauce should be quite thick.

5. Add a tablespoon of olive oil to a medium saucepan and heat over a low flame. Add the ancho sauce and cook gently for a few minutes. Add the peanuts and continue to cook over a low flame for 10 to 15 minutes. Add salt to taste—you’ll need a teaspoon or more to balance the flavors.

6. Serve warm over grilled pork tenderloin or pork chops. The sauce can be made ahead and kept in the refrigerator for 2 days. Reheat before serving.

Note: Dried ancho chiles are available in Latino markets and in the international aisle of many supermarkets. They may also be sold loose in the produce section of some markets. Anchos should be soft, not brittle, and should be glossy black and very wrinkled, without any holes or other blemishes. You can also order them from Penzeys or from Los Chileros de Nuevo Mexico.

Grilled Pork Tenderloins with Cumin, Coriander and Garlic

To serve 4

Ingredients:

2 to 2-1/2 pounds pork tenderloins
1-1/2 tablespoons cumin seed
1-1/2 tablespoons coriander seed
5 cloves garlic, finely chopped
Freshly ground black pepper and salt to taste
Olive oil

Method:

1. About two hours before you are ready to cook, remove the tenderloins from the refrigerator. Rub them with a little olive oil and put them in a large roasting pan.

2. In a spice grinder, pulverize the cumin and coriander seed. Mix the spices with the garlic and rub all over the tenderloins. Sprinkle with salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste. Set aside.

3. When you are ready to cook, build a charcoal fire in your grill. When the coals are covered with white ash and the flames are low, rub the tenderloins with a little more olive oil. If the tenderloins are very small—1/2 to 3/4= pound--place them on the grill, at the edges of the coals. Cover and cook for 4 to 5 minutes. Turn, cover and cook for another 4 to 5 minutes. Remove and check for doneness. If they are still too pink, return them to the grill and cook for a few minutes longer. (If the tenterloin is a large one, then place it closer to the coals and cook for 4 to 5 minutes per side, turning, for a total of 20 to 25 minutes or until it is done to your taste.)

4. When the pork is done, remove and let it rest, covered with aluminum foil, for 10 minutes. Slice thinly. Serve with the fire-roasted peppers and a bowl of warm ancho-peanut sauce on the side. Accompany with a bowl of coleslaw tossed with white balsamic vinegar and olive oil.

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

That’s about 200 times hotter than a jalapeno.

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

Ruth Reichl is obsessed with chiles.

So the August, 2008 issue of Gourmet is exploding with hot stuff. In “Datil Be Fine,” roadfoodies Jane and Michael Stern write about the datil pepper, a smoldering habanero relative, a “slow-rolling capsicum wave that swells with sweet-tart citrus zestiness” in Minorcan clam chowder in St. Augustine, Florida. Pennsylvania farmer Tim Stark dishes about his customers’ craving for the fieriest chiles in “Burning Love,” an excerpt from his upcoming book, Heirloom. (Best anecdote: the photographer who bought 8 bushels of red chiles so Penelope Cruz could lie upon them in a promo shot for Woman on Top.) And in “This Rough Magic,” Ronnie Lundy drives through northern New Mexico, sampling red and green chiles along the way.