SpiceLines

The Atlas Pepper Mill set us to dreaming of a summer evening in Nauplion, a hilly town of whitewashed houses across the bay from Argos, and plates of peppery octopus swallowed with shots of ice-cold ouzo. By day, we catalogued dusty shards from an archaeological dig, by night, we sampled retsina and eavesdropped on village gossip at a string of cafes on the harbor. The scandal that summer was the 30-year-old spinster who fled to Athens to marry her unapproved true love.

The Atlas is Greece's gift to frustrated pepperlovers who've searched in vain for the perfect grinder. Made in Crete, it is based on a coffee mill created in the early 1900's for Greek soldiers to use in the field. It is available in various sizes and finishes, but our favorite is the 9-inch 404 model, which retails for about $65. It resembles a handsome copper tower topped with a sturdy brass handle for grinding; bands of embossed grape clusters encircle the body of the mill.

The Atlas 404 passes five important tests. First, it is beautiful in an exotic sort of way, able to move from kitchen to table without ruining the view. Second, it holds a good half cup of Tellicherry peppercorns, enough for a week in our kitchen. Third, it is not too hard to fill: Unscrew the handle, remove the cap and pour in the peppercorns, preferably through wide funnel. Fourth, the grind is easily adjustable by loosening or tightening a screw on the bottom. Inside, a heavy steel mechanism with hand-cut burrs efficiently pulverizes the pepper. Fifth, it produces a shower of fiery coarsely ground Tellicherry nuggets, great on everthing from smoked salmon to Claire's Smashed Chicken.

But the Atlas is not for you if you like a lightweight mill. At one pound five ounces, it has real heft and feels solid in the hand. Nor is it for you if you skittishly prefer your pepper finely ground.

In that case, we must ask: Do you even like pepper?

Go to www.peppermillimports.com, or find it at Dean & Deluca, www.deananddeluca.com (click Kitchenware, then Tools for Spices).

Indian garam masala is made of whole spices--cinnamon, cloves, peppercorns,
cumin, coriander and cardamom seeds--which must be ground to fine powder.

Let me begin by admitting defeat. Last spring I didn’t buy the Sumeet Multigrind when it was briefly featured in the Williams Sonoma catalogue. Made in India, this rocket-shaped, wet and dry electric spice grinder inspires rhapsodic testimonials from practically everyone who’s used it, even though it looks like something invented in a 1950’s Lab of the Future. Its secret appears to be a muscular 400 watt motor that instantly pulverizes whole spices to a silky powder and whips ornery ingredients like grated coconut, lemon grass and dried chiles into perfectly smooth pastes. Avid cooks of Indian, Thai and Mexican food swear by the Sumeet.

But by the time I got around to ordering, Williams Sonoma was out of the Sumeet. After phone calls and emails too numerous and frustrating to mention, I finally connected with Sumeet’s North American rep in Toronto and placed an order. That was on March 17th. I’m still waiting, but optimistic: A new shipment is expected in October.

The Sumeet is currently priced at $80. In the meantime, I’ve been testing a trio of under $30 blade coffee grinders from Krups, Cuisinart and Kitchenaid. I was curious to see if a mixture of assorted whole spices could be ground to a fine powder in machines made for coffee beans---and if so, how easily. Though I love my volcanic stone mortar and pestle from Singapore, I don’t have the muscle power to pulverize tough spices like star anise and cinnamon, nor the stamina to grind anything to a powder that takes more than a few minutes.

For the spice blend I chose Julie Sahni’s Garam Masala, the recipe for which appears in Classic Indian Cooking. It is a wonderfully fragrant mixture of cardamom seed, cinnamon sticks, cloves, peppercorns, cumin and coriander seed, popular, she writes, in Punjab and Uttar Pradesh. The whole spices are roasted in a cast iron skillet and, after cooling, ground very fine. If you are using hard cinnamon sticks (these are actually cassia, a tree related to true cinnamon which is grown only in Sri Lanka), you must smash them into little pieces in a mortar and pestle or with a mallet—otherwise they are too tough to be ground to a powder. (For the recipe for Julie Sahnie’s Garam Masala, see the end of this post.)

I tested three grinders under $30: the Krups Fast Touch Coffee and Spice Grinder, the Kitchen Aid Blade Coffee Grinder and the Cuisinart Grind Central Coffee Grinder. All had stainless steel blades and all the removable parts were dishwasher safe. Note that the oils of spices like cloves and allspice will cloud the plastic tops of these containers, even if you wash them frequently.

Here are the results:

Krups Fast Touch: $19.95 at www.broadwaypanhandler.com

How does it look? Compact and lightweight; a slim white oval base with a clear top so you can see what’s going on inside. (For unknown reasons, mine came with a pale aqua top.) The blades are stainless steel, as are is the non-removable “grinding chamber.”

How much power? 200 watt motor (half the horsepower of the Sumeet)

How much will it hold? Up to 3 ounces or 5 tablespoons of whole spices. Not a problem for most recipes, but if you want to make a larger quantity, you’ll have to do in batches.

How well does it work? The Krups is easy to fill and to operate. Spoon or pour whole spices into the oval bowl, cover with the lid and depress the plastic “on” button. Of the 3 grinders, this is the quietest.

I tested 1/4 cup or 2 ounces of whole spices for garam masala After the recommended 25 seconds, the mixture was finely ground, though with more texture than I wanted. Another 15 seconds reduced the mixture to an almost silky powder.

Cleaning: The plastic top can be washed on the top rack of the dishwasher. However, the stainless grinding “chamber” is not removable and must be cleaned with a damp sponge or soft cloth.

The bottom line: Recommended by many restaurant chefs, the Krups is a good, inexpensive tool for grinding small quantities of spices quickly and easily. I was impressed by the way it pulverized hard stick cinnamon and cloves. Although the “on” button feels flimsy, it has not broken in three months of fairly regular use.

Kitchenaid Blade Coffee Grinder (BCG100WH): $29.95 at www.cooking.com

How does it look? A curvaceous appliance with a heavy plastic base, it has a sturdy “professional” look and feel. A clear rounded “polycarbonate” top fits over a removable stainless steel cup and blade. It comes in 4 collors: white, black, red and blue.

How much power? 200 watt motor.

How much does it hold? Up to 1-1/4 cups of whole spices.

How well does it work? Easy to fill and to operate. Pour or spoon whole spices into the bowl, fit the plastic top into its grooves and press down.

I tested1/3 cup of spices. After the recommended 25 seconds, the garam masala was coarsely textured. After a total of 90 seconds, it was much smoother, although I did discover a few hard “grains” of cinnamon.

Cleaning: The stainless bowl and attached blade twist off for cleaning. Both the bowl and plastic top can be washed on the top rack of the dishwasher.

The bottom line: This is a reasonable choice for grinding larger quantities of spices. However, grinding for a full 90 seconds tends to heat up the spices, which can cause them to lose volatile oils and flavor. One solution is to grind in shorter bursts and to let the grinder cool slightly in between. Kitchenaid recommends grinding for no more than 25 seconds at a time.

Cuisinart Grind Central Coffee Grinder (DGB-12BC): $29.95 at www.amazon.com

How does it look? A rectangular, brushed stainless steel “box” with an unfortunate resemblance to a mini-trash can. A square plastic top covers a round stainless bowl with measurement lines: The lines refer to the quantity of beans needed to produce 4, 10 and 12 cups of coffee. With some difficulty, the cord can be forced inside a hole in the base for storage.

How much power? 175 watts.

How much does it hold? Up to 1-1/4 cups of whole spices.

How well does it work? Easy to fill and to operate. Pour spices into the bowl, fit the plastic top in place and depress the rectangular “on” button.

I ground 1/2 cup of whole spices. After 25 seconds, the spices were virtually untouched. It took another 3 minutes, grinding in 10-15 second bursts, to achieve a powdery texture—and even then, the grinder missed some fragments of cinnamon.

Cleaning: The stainless bowl and attached blade twist off for cleaning. Both the plastic top and bowl assembly can be washed in the top rack of the dishwasher.

The bottom line: Not recommended for spice grinding. Although the large capacity cup is appealing and the grinder is easy to operate, the less powerful motor is a real problem. The long grinding time caused both the grinder and spices to overheat. The blades are set higher than in the other models we tested, which may reduce the grinder’s ability to reach small seeds in the bottom.

For Julie Sahni’s Garam Masala recipe, see below:

My favorite tagine comes from Marrakesh, where it was made of fine clay
from Ourika in the Atlas Mountains by a family of traditional potters.

Lately Moroccan style tagines—cooking pots with conical lids—are everywhere. Emile Henry has cherry red and saffron yellow glazed clay tagines that can be put directly on a low gas flame (like Moroccans, Burgundians know a thing or two about clay). Le Creuset has cobalt blue and kiwi green tagines with ceramic tops and heavy cast iron bases, and All Clad has one with a white ceramic top and a stainless steel base. All of these are sleek and chic, but lack a certain je ne sais quoi—that is, the warmth of a real handmade cooking pot.

My own tagine has imperfections—a rough spot here, a tiny round dent there--but it is the pot that consistently gives me the most pleasure. It has a deep richly burnished terracotta hue and a creamy band around the middle embellished with black Arabesque swirls. I smile whenever I see it: The conical lid has a fat, bulbous knob and a jaunty tilt near the edge, and it fits snugly into a round low-slung bottom. In a Disney movie, this pot would swoop through the air like a magic carpet, or maybe just dance a few steps on the kitchen counter.

The tagine is also a practical workhorse, a perfect example of efficient one-pot cooking. All your ingredients—meat, chicken or fish, vegetables or fruit, and a wealth of spices--are layered in the bottom, then covered with the lid and cooked very slowly over a low flame. The shape of the lid draws the aromatic steam upwards and traps it so that it continuously bastes the food as it cooks. In the bottom, all the ingredients simmer gently, absorbing each other’s flavors, becoming richer and more delicious with each passing moment. When you lift the lid after a couple of hours, the fragrance is intoxicating.

But alas. All is not well in the world of tagines. In November 2005, Health Canada, a government agency that oversees health concerns, warned of lead oxides in the glaze of some Moroccan tagines it tested. (Ultimately it rounded up and disposed of 1,500 in the Montreal area.) Improperly fired lead glazes can cause lead to leach into food and drink, especially if acidic ingredients such as lemons and tomatoes are used.

Although the USFDA requires lead-glazed ceramics to be labled “not for food use,” lead-leaching cookware and tableware does turn up in this country. If you are concerned about any item in your home, you can perform a simple test with LeadCheck Swabs (the tips turn bright pink if lead is present) available at www.leadcheck.com.

One source for “cookable” tagines with lead- and cadmium-free glazes is Le Souk Ceramique in Edmonton, Washington. Made in Tunisia of heat resistant clay, they can be used over low heat on both gas and electric stoves and in the oven up to 350 degrees. These earthenware tagines, which come in natural terracotta with a clear glaze and also in cobalt blue, can be found at www.amazon.com along with those made by Emile Henry, Le Creuset and All-Clad.

If you buy a clay tagine, be sure to follow recommendations for curing before using it the first time: Submerge it in water for at least one hour, then rub the inside of the base and the lid with olive oil. Place them in a cold oven, turn the temperature to 350 degrees and leave for one and a half hours. Always wash by hand, never in the dishwasher.

A heavy volcanic stone mortar and pestle makes short work of grinding shallots,
ginger, macadamia nuts and other ingredients for a spice paste for jackfruit curry.

I adore the volcanic stone mortar and pestle I got in Singapore, even though crushing spices by hand is so last century.

But that’s precisely why I love it. There’s a lot of primal satisfaction that comes from dashing the heavy stone pestle against unsuspecting peppercorns and chiles reposing in the mortar. The pestle is hefty enough (1.5 pounds) to smash garlic to a paste and very nearly pulverize whole spices like cumin and coriander, while the rough surface of the 7-pound bowl keeps them from leaping out onto the counter. The intoxicating aromas that are released are a side benefit—a kind of spice-perfumed inhalation therapy for the senses.

In today’s Wall Street Journal (“Catalog Critic: Crushing the Competition,” February 16, 2007, p. W8), Shivani Vora writes that Suvir Saran, executive chef at New York’s Devi restaurant, uses a mortar and pestle daily. The reason? Crushing spices creates flavors that are more vivid than in a food processor, and also allows for more control over the texture of a blend.

One caveat: Saran recommends buying a non-porous set: “You don’t want the olive tapenade you’re making today to pick up the taste of the garlic cloves you crushed last week,” he advises. That leaves out the seductive olive wood mortar and pestle I’ve been admiring at Williams Sonoma. Come to think of it, it also leaves out my own volcanic stone set.

The Journal tested five non-porous models, first by smashing coriander seeds, and, second, by making a tasty blend of cilantro, almonds, green chiles, olive oil and salt. Although not impressed by four of the sets—“most lacked the force to pulverize the almonds quickly”—the writer found one exception: the $20.95 Thai Stone Granite mortar and pestle from importfood.com. Rating it “Best Overall and Best Value,” Vora says it took just two minutes to make a smooth paste.

Old-fashioned muscle power combined with a heavy mortar and pestle is indeed the secret to successful grinding. I won’t give up my porous set, however. After each use, I scrub it with a stiff kitchen brush and hot water (never soap) and let it air dry. I haven’t noticed lingering flavors, though admittedly I don’t use it everyday.

Here is a list of the other mortars and pestles that were tested:

Amco Stainless Steel Mortar and Pestle
chefsresource.com ($17.95)

Typhoon 2 in 1 Mortar and Pestle (cast iron)
cooking.com ($25.95)

Mason Cash Mortar and Pestle (ceramic)
bowerykitchens.com ($46.50)

Marble Mortar and Pestle
surlatable.com ($19.95)

Three ways to grate ginger: From left to right, an inexpensive Asian porcelain
grater, the Microplane Rasp and Zester, and the Triangle Ginger and Lemon Grater.

Freshly grated ginger is the secret to irresistible gingersnaps, especially the crisp fragile ones that Deborah, my New York sister in law, makes. The whole house fills up with a spicy aroma and the fresh ginger gives these delicate cookies a deliciously fiery bite.

But grating ginger isn’t all that easy. The knobby, tan-colored rhizome of Zingiber officianale is dense and thickly fibrous. For baking, the trick is to reduce the flavorful root to a sort of puree, minus the tough fibers--hopefully without skinning your fingertips.

So when I read Florence Fabricant’s blurb on the Triangle, a German ginger and lemon grater, I paid attention. “It works like a charm, both for grating and cleanup, “ she wrote in The New York Times (See “Ginger Meets Its Match in a Grater” in “Food Stuff,” February 28, 2007, page D2).

Naturally Broadway Panhandler sold out of the Triangle immediately.

Eventually I tracked one down, but by the time it arrived I was thinking, “Do I really need a special tool just for grating ginger? (OK it does lemons too, but still…)” Besides I’ve got the miraculous Microplane rasp from Lee Valley.

Today I decided to put both graters to the test. Rummaging around in a kitchen drawer, I also dug out an old porcelain grater which I hadn’t used for years. It was a tool I’ve always disliked, but couldn’t bear to throw away because I love its plain good looks.

Anyway, while grating a big beautiful hand of Hawaiian ginger, I began to think about the characteristics of the ideal grater: it would be easy to use and clean, it would be fast, it would turn out a fiber-free ginger puree, and it would be versatile—you could use it for other stuff as well.

I decided to get scientific about it. Sort of. I used one-inch pieces of plump fresh ginger and I peeled it before grating, since the skin can be tough and I didn’t want even tiny pieces in the puree. I timed the number of seconds it took to grate the ginger to the last shreds. I also tried grating a lemon and, since I’ve been experimenting with dipping sauces for Japanese soba, I added a crisp daikon radish to the test.

And now, for the results:

1. White Porcelain Ginger Grater: www.amazon.com, $5.95.

This is the simple, inexpensive ginger grater sold in many Asian cookware shops. Unlike other graters, it has no holes. Instead, there are 20 or more rows of small rounded porcelain “nubs” pointed enough to cut through the rhizome’s flesh when pressure is applied, but not sharp enough to abrade your fingertips.

Ease of use: It’s pretty simple. Either hold the grater in one hand or rest it on the counter, and vigorously rub the end of the root against the surface. The grating goes quickly, but I found that my grater was so small that the grated ginger was spilling off the edges by the time I got to the last bits. The best way to get the ginger off the grater is with your finger—even so, some of it will stick to the surface. To clean, you simply rinse it in running water or stick it in the dishwasher.

Speed: It took about 50 seconds to reduce a one-inch piece of ginger to a puree.

Fibers: Of the three graters, this one left the most fibers in the ginger puree, which would make it hard to mix it evenly into a batter.

Versatility: Don’t even bother grating citrus zest—the nubs aren’t sharp enough. However, it easily purees a daikon radish.

2. Triangle Ginger and Lemon Grater: www.broadwaypanhandler.com, $23.95.

This German grater has a triangular perforated hinged top that lowers onto a base with rows of tiny raised spikes, which grip the ginger when it is rubbed across them. Both pieces are attached to a handle.

Ease of Use: The Triangle is not exactly hard to use, but like so many kitchen gadgets these days, it seems overly designed. Before grating, you snap the top and bottom together, and rub the ginger over the molded spikes that protrude through the holes in the top. The front end of the grater has two rubber clad feet, presumably to keep it from skidding on the countertop. To remove the grated ginger, click the lever at the neck of the grater and the top pops up from the bottom. Scrape the ginger off the perforated top. Rinse it clean. Dishwasher safe.

So what’s wrong? First, the top and bottom don’t line up exactly, so you may have to fiddle a little to get them to snap together. Second, the lever works about 3 times out of 10, so you usually have to open it manually. Neither action is difficult, but why bother in the first place?

Speed: Faster than the porcelain grater--35 seconds for a one-inch piece of ginger.

Fibers: The ginger puree had some fibers, though not as many as with the porcelain grater.

Versatility: The Triangle grates citrus zest into minuscule bits; it reduces daikon to a puree almost instantly. The Times recommends it for grating horseradish.

3. Stainless Steel Rasp and Zester Holder: www.leevalley.com, $15.95

Manufactured by Lee Valley Tools in Canada, this is the original Microplane. It began as a wood rasp and became a kitchen tool when owner Leonard Lee’s wife discovered that it also zested oranges beautifully. Essentially it is a two-piece stainless steel box, 13-inches by 1-inch, that is open on one end. The top piece has 400 sharply ridged perforations; it fits over a box-like base that catches whatever you are grating.

Ease of use: Blessedly simple. Fit the top over the bottom, hold it in place, and rub ginger over the perforations. The grated ginger is captured below, although some will stick to the back of the perforated top. I usually whack it on a cutting board to release the ginger. Clean it under running water or put it in the dishwasher. A few dried up fibers may remain on the top, but they seem to disappear very quickly.

Speed: The fastest. 25 seconds to grate a one inch piece of ginger.

Fibers: The rasp’s sharply ridged perforations produced the creamiest ginger puree. There are fibers, but they are broken down into small bits, so the texture of the puree is smooth.

Versatility: This is where the Microplane really shines. It pulverizes daikon and garlic almost to a liquid, and finely shreds citrus zest with very little pressure. You can also use it to grate hard spices like cinnamon sticks and nutmeg, to a powder.

Was it a fair fight? Not really. I knew the Microplane would win.

Tonfisk's "Warm" teapot and cups present an study in contrasts:
sleek, smooth ceramic and natural, almost rustic materials, such
as the bentwood "bracelets" which keep the contents war. Photo:
www.tonfisk.fi

OK, I confess. I’m guilty—of design obsession in the third degree.

So Helsinki was pure pleasure. There’s the gently curved marble expanse of Alvar Aalto’s Finlandia Hall. Its sinuous, wavy-sided tower looks amazing and creates splendid acoustics in the concert hall. (The form doesn’t exactly follow function, but you get the idea.)

Then there are the 600 stainless steel tubes of the Sibelious Monument, designed in the 1960’s by Eila Hiltunen. The clustered silvery pipes are suspended in mid-air: You can stick your head right up into the larger ones and hear a symphony of eerie musical vibrations. The pipes could almost be alive, quivering in the Baltic breezes.

But let’s get to the point: Some of Helsinki’s best design shops are to be found along the Esplanadi, the lush green park that begins just above Kauppatori Market at the harbor. There’s sleek glassware at Ittala, for instance, and at Artek, you can decide if you really like Alvar Aalto’s classic bentwood furniture. But I’m food obsessed and the coup de foudre came when I eyed Nicholas Uga’s gorgeous Mortelli O+ mortar and pestle. In black granite or white marble, the deep rounded bowl fits snugly into a scooped out block of wood—and the pestle fit my hand as if the two had been molded for each other. But mortars must be heavy to be properly grounded, and I could scarcely lift this one. Trying to haul it back to the boat would have been grounds for divorce—sadly, B was not raised in the school of “travel means lugging objects of desire in your hand luggage for thousands of miles, even when they weigh as much as a cast iron anvil.”

Oh, well. More portable were form-fitting t-shirts from Aarikka, a cheerful shop that displays jewelry, clothing and objects inspired by nature. I never ever buy t-shirts when I’m traveling but the Monument shirt was simply irresistible. Emblazoned across the bust are black silhouettes of five famous statues that exhibit “national values so precious to Finns.” These include the hammer-wielding Smiths (“work and cooperation”) and the Olympic gold medal runner Paavo Nurmi (“perseverance and sports”).

I could have skipped the fluorescently lit environs of Marimekko—all those bright poppies seemed a little weary—but up the block and around the corner at Design Forum Finland, I found nirvana in the shape of the Warm Teapot and cups designed by Tonfisk. This is one of the best modern tea sets ever. It even surpasses my Three Rules for a Perfect Teapot:

First it is pleasing to the eye and to the touch: The tall cream-colored ceramic teapot sits firmly in a laminated bentwood sleeve or “bracelet.” The lid is a weathered cork stopper that looks old and worn, yet fits snugly into the pot. It is a brilliant pairing of opposites: Smooth, sleek ceramic and natural, almost rustic materials. Both beg to be touched.

Second, although the teapot has no handle, it lifts and pours with ease. To pick it up, grasp the bentwood sleeve, which also shields your hand from the heat. The pot is light and nicely balanced. No dribbles, either.

And of course, it makes excellent tea. There’s a stainless steel mesh filter, big enough to hold two to three tablespoons of loose tea, without which you might as well just forget it and drink hot water. The wood sleeve helps to insulate the pot—hence the name. And, as long as you remove the sleeve—this does take some doing the first time or two—it’s dishwasher safe.

Tonfisk, which means “tuna fish,” is a design collective formed in 1999 by Tony Alstrom, a Finn, and Brian Keany, an Irishman, who met when studying at the University of Art and Design in Helsinki. Their cheeky motto is “Form follows function doesn’t mean all objects have to look the same.” The product line includes a sculptural Oma lemon squeezer and a chunky ceramic Kinos sushi set whose shape vaguely echoes that of the sushi.

Happiness. For the next 10 days I traipsed around the Baltic, through Finland and Sweden, in and out of customs, with a Warm teapot and two ceramic mugs in my trusty Longchamps bag. Now. here in the kitchen, it's the right pot for a cool autumn morning, perfect for brewing strong Winey Keemun from Grace Tea. And whenever I see it, I remember bright red strawberries and sea breezes setting Silbelious’s pipes to singing.

Naturally you don’t have to go to Finland to find the Warm teapot. Here’s a list of other sources. The memories, though, are mine.

First, I admit that I’m biased. I really love using the volcanic stone mortar and pestle I found in Singapore 15 years ago.

There’s something about the raspy thunk of the pestle as it smashes whole spices against the side of the rough, grey-speckled mortar that’s satisfying on some deeply primitive level. And the release of fragrance molecules into the air can be intoxicating. The scent of freshly crushed black Tellicherry peppercorns, pounded by hand, is a pleasure you can’t experience with an electric grinder.

Naturally I can’t tell you where to find this particular mortar and pestle—in Singapore everything keeps changing.