SpiceLines

Stepping into Christina’s Spices, we nearly tripped over a dolly stacked with five-pound bags of black peppercorns destined for East Coast Grill right next door. Now we know where Chris Schlesinger buys the sizzle for the Wood Grilled 1 Pound Cracked Black Pepper Crusted Strip Steak and other scorchers.

Go straight to the gargantuan wooden table in the center of this pumpkin-hued shop and try not to overload your basket. The table is divided into small compartments filled with tempting jars and bags of exotic seasonings. We picked up fragrant deep golden mace, smoked black Mexican salt, and rare Tasmanian pepper. Small placards clue chefs into off-the-beaten path herbs and spices. Tasmanian pepper, for instance, “has almost the same gustative characteristics as Szechuan pepper…both bitter and acidic flavors…” In all there are nearly 250 spices and seasonings, including a superb selection of dried chiles.

Both Christina’s Spices and the popular Christina’s ice cream shop next door are owned by Raymond Ford, a genial Brit who studied at Cambridge in England, then came to Boston to teach social theory at a local college. He threw academia over in 1993, when he bought Christina’s Ice Cream from the original owner. The spice and specialty food shop was a lucky after thought. Most of his trade is to restaurants, so the turnover is fast and spices stay fresh.

Christina’s doesn’t have a website, so you’ll have to visit. Get your sugar fix at the ice cream shop, especially if deeply caramelized Burnt Sugar is on the menu.

Christina’s Homemade Ice Cream, Spice and Specialty Foods, 1255 Cambridge Street, Cambridge, Massachusetts 02139. Telephone: 617/ 492-7021. Fax: 617/576-0922.

From top left, clockwise: Tellicherry peppercorns, paprika and Lebanese
za'atar from Internatinal Grocery on 9th Avenue in New York.

The bright blue and white awning of the International Grocery pops out like a beacon on the decidedly dingy block of 9th avenue between 40th and 41st Streets. It’s the vivid marine blue you see all over Greece—and on paper coffee cups all over New York--and once inside you might be forgiven for thinking you’ve been transported to a tidy neighborhood food shop on a back street in Athens.

Here is Dino Karamouzis--sturdy, bespectacled, energetic--bustling around the shop, dishing out portions of homemade baklava and spanokopita, wrapping up wedges of feta cheese, wishing a grey-haired woman buying an almond cake “a happy birthday to your daughter.” The refrigerated cheese case is topped with burnished antique copper cooking pots (“not for sale”) and by the cash register, you can pick up a package of wild Greek oregano (“the best”) or purplish Kalamata olives ladled from a big glass jar.

Mr. Karamouzis is a man of few words. How long has he been here? “A long time.” And how many years might that be? “Thirty five.” And how about those prices—$1.50 for a quarter pound of “imported” black peppercorns? Now you’ve touched a subject close to his heart: “I like to keep it old-fashioned. Prices are not the same as 35 years ago, but they are low because I sell so much.” He makes a rolling motion with his right hand. “People can buy a little, just one ounce, and take it home. They don’t have to buy a lot. They like that.” Customers do like his spices, and they call him up even after they’ve moved away. “I just sent a big order, 20 spices, to a lady in New Mexico,” he says.

Deborah, one of New York’s great cooks who also happens to be my sister-in-law, used to trek to 9th Avenue from the Upper Westside to buy Greek oregano, lamb, olives and feta cheese. You can still find wild Greek oregano there and in the bins opposite the front door, a score of spices: bright red paprika, golden turmeric, orange cayenne pepper, Tellicherry peppercorns, crescent-shaped cumin seed and more. Even though the bins are open-air, the contents are surprisingly fresh—testament to the store’s rapid turnover.

More tempting items: An old- fashioned coffee roaster on sale; dried Egyptian fava beans; sticks of “soft” or true cinnamon; Lebanese za’atar (“the best”); round cake pans hanging from the rafters with bunches of dried herbs; tubs of Arborio and jasmine rice, Israeli couscous, red and yellow lentils; Jerez sherry vinegar; dried cod; thick slabs of halvah…well, you get the picture.

What I bought: dried Greek oregano, Lebanese za’atar, Tellicherry peppercorns, paprika.

What I thought: When I opened the oregano, a light vibrant aroma filled the room, so the flavor of the herb came as a shock: strong, peppery, very pungent, not for the faint of heart. Lamb shanks braised with lemon and olives, perfumed with a sprig of that oregano would be Olympian.

The za’atar, rich with sesame seeds, fragrant with dried herbs, was heavy on the sumac, giving this traditional Middle Eastern mixture a distinct acidity. Mixed with olive oil and used as a dunk for peasant bread, its earthy flavors came forward. For a recipe for chicken cooked with lemon and za’atar, see Oleana chef Ana Sortun’s new book, Spice: Flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean.

The Tellicherry peppercorns were nearly as fresh and aromatic as those I keep in a tightly sealed jar in the pantry—and a lot cheaper. The paprika, besides being the most glorious shade of red, was nicely bittersweet, great on pork chops seared with onions, lemon zest and red pepper.

The scoop: International Grocery, 593 9th Avenue (between 40th & 41st Streets), New York, NY 10018. Telephone: 212.279.1000. 212.279.5514.

Dear Santa Claus,

I've been a good girl this year, so I'm making my list. My wants are not exactly modest, but then, it's Christmas! If you can work your magic, I'd really love to get...

……my long lost Sumeet Multigrind. It’s been on order since March, but there’s not a glimmer from the frozen steppes—that is, Toronto--where the distributor appears to be hibernating. Oh, I love my Singaporean mortar and pestle, but I really do need that wondrous 400-watt motor to pulverize whole spices to a fine powder or whisk ornery ingredients like coconut and lemon grass into silken pastes. How about a fly-by Santa, to see if you can liberate the Sumeet?

No luck? Don’t worry, I’ve got other options…James Oseland, Saveur editor and author of the best cookbook of 2006--Cradle of Flavor: Home Cooking from the Spice Islands of Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore--swears by his Cuisinart Mini-Prep Plus Processor. Over breakfast at Happy Joy on Canal Street a few weeks ago, he owned up to not having the time to pound ingredients by hand. James makes his stellar flavoring pastes—try the Nonya Sambal with red and green chiles, shrimp paste and lime—in his Cuisinart Mini. I’d like a bright red one, please, Santa!

Of course, if you’re feeling flush, a Vita Mix blender will do the trick and then some. My Vita Mix lust crested at Susana Trilling’s Oaxaca cooking school when I saw how easily it whipped dried chiles soaked in water into a super-smooth puree. The Pro model has a variable speed motor that can go from 11 to 240 mph, which surely puts it in the Bugatti category. (The world’s fastest car tops out at 253 mph—even if it is owned by Volkswagen.) Maybe I can drive the Vita Mix while vaporizing chunks of coconut.

But you know, Santa, too many machines can make the cook skittish. So I’ll slow down and serenely contemplate this year’s cult object of desire: the oroshi. For centuries the Japanese have grated fresh wasabi root by hand, using real sharkskin mounted on a fan-shaped wooden paddle. Like so many things Japanese, the oroshi combines form and function exquisitely. Of course, I’ll need some fresh wasabi root to grate, so, pretty please, could I have a couple of plants from The Frog Farm in Seattle? Or maybe you could just deliver a tube of real wasabi paste—no horseradish added-- from Pacific Farms… and I’ll use the oroshi for grating ginger.

I’m on a Japanese roll, no pun intended, and I wouldn’t say no to Hiroko Shimbo’s latest cookbook, The Sushi Experience. In my own experience, sushi can be ultra-challenging—especially cutting the fish delicately thin--but Ms. Shimbo has done her best to demystify the process. And there are so many other tempting dishes besides. This winter I’m definitely trying her recipe for Salmon Roe, Persimmon and Daikon Salad with Grated Yuzu.

There’s a spot on the bookshelf just waiting for Andrea Nguyen’s Into the Vietnamese Kitchen: Treasured Foodways, Modern Flavors. I’m eager to try her version of pho (see SpiceLines recipe here), and her recipe for meaty pork spareribs in caramel sauce sounds perfect for a wintry supper. In the meantime I’ll visit Andrea’s knockout website, Viet World Kitchen, which has everything you’ll ever want to know about that cuisine.

As for ingredients, I’m besotted with Benimosu purple sweet potato vinegar. I first tasted it at the New York Fancy Food Show and nearly fainted with delight. Made in by the Iio Jozo Brewery in the fishing village of Miyazu in Kyoto Prefecture, this aged organic vinegar is bright crimson, the color of strawberries, and is so soft and mild that you could drink it as an apertif, splashed over ice. It comes in plain and honey-sweetened versions. A big bottle, please, Santa: 16.9 oz.

My sister-in-law just sent a pair of lacy-leaved Godwin Creek lavender plants, a reminder that we can enjoy the sunny fragrance of lavender even in the depths of winter. Deborah has a great instinct for gifts: the plants were preceded by Claudia Fleming’s The Last Course: The Desserts of Grammercy Tavern. This is absolutely a cookbook for spice lovers: this award-winning pastry chef has irresistible recipes for Black Pepper Ice Cream, Ginger-Poached Pears and Orange-Cardamom Shakes—plus Lavender Crème Brulee and Lavender-Lemon Pound Cake. Help me out, Santa, and kindly add a tin of culinary lavender from Sunshine Lavender Farm to your list…
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Will there be a plane ticket tucked into my stocking this year? I’ve been such a good, good girl, Santa baby. There’s a cooking class at my favorite Paris spice shop, Goumanyat et Son Royaume. M. Thiercelin, a sixth- generation saffron merchant, is cooking a Bollywood-style dinner on February 24. The menu includes lamb samosas with mango mint chutney and pickled ginger, tandoori shrimp curry and rice with saffron and cardamom. And of course, any of his to-die-for spices would be welcome, especially some of that intensely fragrant saffron from the apothecary jar on his counter.

Could I go further afield? I'm longing to gather nutmegs, preferably from a tree in Indonesia’s far flung Banda Islands. And in Bhutan, Amankora—the posh lodge created by Amanresorts—is offering a matsutake-hunting expedition next fall. Highlights include a trip to the village of Geneka where the mushroom’s musky aroma permeates the marketplace, and the chance to sample myriad dishes created with this delectable fungi.

One last wish, Santa: a spice room. Yes, I really do need to add one to my house. There would be a pantry, naturally, with room for a hundred or so jars of the most exotic spices and a refrigerator for turmeric root, galangal and other perishable delicacies. In the main room I’ll have a library of spice books, old and new, priceless maps from the age of exploration, and a sleek Chinese painting table with nary a sheet of paper to mar its surface—although my iBook is allowed to perch there. There must be a verandah, of couirse, with tropical spice plants—black pepper, vanilla and cardamom—growing lustily, and a distant view of the Indian Ocean…lychee martinis...

Here’s hoping, Santa!

Lots of love, hugs and fresh gingersnaps by the hearth, should you happen to stop by…

At Goumanyat et Son Royaume, a remarkable Paris spice shop, the wild, earthy
fragranceof Iranian saffron draws Michelin-starred chefs such as Pierre Gagnaire
and Helene Darroze to a distant corner of the Marais.

“A crocodile lurks on an antique Chinese cabinet, perfuming the air with the sultry scent of vanilla. He’s half hidden among glass vials of supple Bourbon vanilla beans, lightly frosted with crystals of pure vanillin. The croc wears a beatific smile—woven of fragrant vanilla pods, he’s an unlikely guardian of this temple of spices.

“In Madagascar crocodiles are considered good luck, so the artists always make them look happy,” explains Jean Marie Thiercelin. I’m chatting with this sixth-generation saffron merchant at his Paris spice boutique, Goumanyat et Son Royaume. Behind steel-rimmed spectacles his blue-green eyes crinkle with laughter. “At night it’s not the crocodile who comes up from the river. It’s thieves who steal the vanilla crop.”

When I was in Paris last March, I spent an enchanting afternoon at Goumanyat, breathing in the spicy scents of vanilla, rose water and the Tasmanian peppercorns. Saffron, though, is the shop’s signature spice: In the current issue of Saveur (December 2007, p. 17), you can capture a few of the highlights in “Nice Threads,” a piece that began with my visit to this remarkable musee des epices. But the totality is ever so much more addictive: