Kaffir Lime

A few weeks ago, I mentioned how taken aback I was to find kaffir limes while food shopping at a non-ethnic grocer. All citrus originated in South and Southeast Asia and was introduced to Europe during the Middle Ages. It’s interesting to think how some forms of it, like kaffir limes, are just getting recognized in the West. I asked a few friends who said they had no idea what a kaffir lime looked, tasted, smelled like, so I thought I would talk a little more about them.

Many know about kaffir lime leaves, which are used throughout Thai, Laotian, Cambodian, Malay, Indonesian and other Southeast Asian cooking. They are so unusual, with their double-leaf structure, and citrus aroma. But I think the limes themselves are equally interesting and get much less play because they aren’t as readily available or people just don’t know how to use them.

Kaffir limes are dwarf-like, a verdant green, with a rough, wrinkled, knobbly texture. Not so pretty. There isn’t a ton of flesh or juice to them really, and neither is really used in cooking. It’s their rind that is prized because it’s packed with aromatic oils. A little goes a long way.

The zest of kaffir lime is a key ingredient in many Southeast Asian curry pastes. I love using it because it’s slightly lemon-floral-grassy notes work well in place of regular lime zest, and it’s one of those sweet or savoury ingredients. It can elevate a fruit salad for breakfast to something spectacular, blended with fleur de sel (kaffir lime salt!) it’s a fantastic finish to a nicely seared piece of fish, and I don’t even want to get into the mojito possibilities…

Egyptian Dukkah

If you’ve been following this blog at all you know (and for those who haven’t, here’s the rub…), I love when traditions, spices/spice blends or ingredients from other cultures make that easy transition across into our own. Something translatable, that takes foods we know and love to another level.

I am passionate about culturally unique specialties, and Egyptian dukkah is just that – a warm spice blend of sorts that includes the bonus of roasted nuts. It’s actually quite close to a West African tradition called tsire, another blend of nuts and spices (which I’ll have to write about soon) and is eaten in Egyptian culture much like za’atar is in other ones, with bread and a little olive oil.

Dukkah starts with a base of roasted nuts – usually hazelnuts but sometimes pistachios, almonds or cashews. To that, sesame seeds, coriander seeds, and cumin are added and occasionally even dried roasted chickpeas. Other spices might include black or red pepper, fennel, nigella seeds or caraway and, for herbs, mint, marjoram or thyme. A touch of salt, perhaps some sugar, a bit of pounding with a mortar and pestle (or, gasp, a spice grinder) and you have an incredibly textural, nutty blend that can top everything from bread to salads to pastas (how ridiculous would it be on top of pumpkin ravioli?!?).

Egyptians also eat dukkah with eggs, which is genius, because it’s the perfect topper for a simple Sunday scramble. I do love it on your basic mixed greens with a little balsamic and olive oil and can’t get enough of blending it with panko for breading chicken, fish or even lamb. I’m thinking my next experiment will be a little sweet potato hash with bacon and a sprinkling of this stuff…

Black Garlic

I was wandering through Dean and Deluca with a girlfriend the other day looking for a bit of cooking inspiration when I came across black garlic. I’d been meaning to experiment with it for some time, so I nabbed a few bulbs. I love to see different ingredients getting more shine in places like this…they also had a bucketful of kaffir limes! Go Dean and Deluca.

There is definitely some mystic misperception out there about this stuff. Black garlic is high quality garlic that has been put through a temperature- and humidity-controlled fermentation process in its whole form. The result is an aging of sorts (not rotting!) and sweet, mellowed, tangy, molasses-like cloves that lack the acrid, sulphurous quality of typical raw garlic.

Many claim that this garlic has been used for centuries in Korean and Japanese cooking for its super high antioxidant levels (which it does have), but there’s no hard evidence to these historic claims. The black garlic we see in stores is thought to have been created in the last 10 years. Makes a nice story though.

To me, the sweet, almost tamarind-like sweetness is surprising! The jelly-like cloves don’t really need further cooking unless you are going to heat a little olive oil and infuse with the clove. Since black garlic isn’t the cheapest of ingredients, I plan to bottle the infused oil and keep around to serve with bread. Spread the flavor (and cost!) out. I pretty much use this where I would use roasted garlic – in sauces, pastas, mashes, dips…it’s delicious spread right on a bit of toast. Since I’m still experimenting, I’d love to hear if any of you have used it and how!

Vadouvan, A French-Indian Curry Powder

Curry, to me, has always been something rather magical. My mom would throw down in the kitchen growing up, and, whenever she was making a curry, she would take out her spice daaba, a circular box that housed little cylinders within, holding tons of different spices. It was so mysterious to me at the time, the process of making a curry intimate, subjective, artful. She decided how much of one spice versus another – cumin, coriander, fenugreek – went into the specific curry. Tailored flavors.

For this reason, I pretty much never use pre-fab curry powders as I’ve mentioned in the past. EXCEPT, and this is a big one, when it comes to Vadouvan, a French-Indian style curry powder. Some believe the spice blend is from the Pondicherry region in South India where there’s a ton of French colonial influences. That’s unconfirmed, though, and vadouvan has popped up as a gourmet spice du jour here as well as in Europe.

Now, it’s not like you couldn’t also make this one on your own, but there are so many spices and quite a process involved. Garlic, shallots and onions give it a rounder flavor, ingredients like turmeric, fenugreek, cumin and coriander the signature curry flavor, curry leaves a delicious earthiness, and fennel seeds that licorice-like sweetness. To name a few….The spices are toasted before grinding and, in some, the onions/shallots fried before granulating. The result is a complex spice blend that is warm, a bit sweet, and a touch smoky.

The toasting of the spices takes away a lot of that raw flavor, so it’s good to go straight into yoghurt or an aioli to add incredible flavor. I love it as a dry rub on fish that I sear and finish with a bit of butter. Cooked up with onions and garlic, it’s delicious as a soup base for butternut squash or most other root veggies. I’m on a pot pie kick lately and have been debating throwing it into the mix for my next one. This blend is so versatile.

And, just for kicks, a picture of one of my dogs trying to get a little spice in her life…

Piment D’Espelette

I seriously have a spice addiction, and, when I recently spotted a jar of this stuff I couldn’t help but pick it up. It’s not the cheapest of spices, so I’m rationing its use.

And, truthfully, I can understand why it isn’t. This rare pepper only comes from the town of Espelette in French Basque country. The cultivation and processing of the pepper is still done traditionally, that is by hand, and a little over 100,000 pounds of it is produced annually. The French government has gone so far as to safeguard this pepper under the Appellation D’Origine Contrôlée (A.O.C.), a classification system that basically designates the quality producers in an approved growing area (with A.O.C. being the highest).

The pepper is red in color and has a truly complex flavor – sweet, mild, a bit fruity and smoky. The peppers are harvested, sun-dried, and then smoked in wood-fired ovens before being ground into the flakes we use. It has a really low Scoville rating which is to say it packs more flavor than heat, and the closest comparables would be hot paprika or even New Mexico red chili powder.

Piment d’Espelette is a key ingredient in Basque pipérade (see: Julia Child’s recipe), a stir-fry of peppers, tomatoes, onions, herbs and ham. But I like to use it like a finishing salt. The pepper is fantastic to top a soup, pep up a simple risotto, or speckle a potato or squash puree. I love it on a simple pizza or garlic bread and add it to my caramelized onions to round out the flavor.

Teflam

This is a bit of a one-off post. I usually try to give you posts that have a spice or an ingredient that you can find (perhaps with some digging) to incorporate into the food you cook at home. This is a bit different because this spice is one I discovered while in Goa. It’s nothing I had ever seen before, and I have been unable to find it anywhere here. But I feel like holding on to this is like keeping a secret – so I thought I would share it with you.

One of my favorite things to do when travelling is to go to a local market. And it’s always amazing to me to see that what is commonplace somewhere, literally growing like a weed and in everyone’s homes, can be so exotic elsewhere.

This allspice-looking berry is called teflam. I’ve also seen it referred to as tirphal or teffal fruit. It’s grown along the Konkan coast in India and is a distinctive ingredient in Goan cooking.

I bit into the fresh berries, which have a stronger taste than the dried, and, to me, they have a taste that is strongly reminiscent of kaffir lime, though with a bitter, peppery edge. The Portuguese called them “acrid lime”, and many believe that these berries are related to the Sichuan peppercorn. Quite frankly, there’s not a ton of consistent information out there about them.

I’d love to learn more about this spice myself, so if you have more information or have your own experience with teflam, please share!

Turmeric

Turmeric, for me, is such an every day spice I haven’t really given it much consideration for a post. You can find it in grocery stores these days, and it’s actually an herb in my daily vitamin! But chatting with some friends, it seems that not a lot of people know about the spice – from its flavor to its medicinal characteristics.

First things first, turmeric, whose active ingredient is curcumin, is a rhizome or a root that looks a heck of a lot like ginger. I think that’s a bit surprising to some. The root is boiled, dried, cleaned, and crushed to powder form to get the signature deep orange-yellow spice we’re all used to seeing. In some cultures, Malay and Indonesian specifically, even the leaves of the plant are used, in stir fry recipes or to wrap around something before cooking.

Second, its flavor is a bit bitter, hitting you at the back of your tongue, earthy, and (to me) distinctly mustard-esque. It’s used a lot in East Asian, South Asian, Middle Eastern, and African cooking (and dyeing!) for its color. Do NOT let it get on your clothes. I’ve learned the hard way: it’s not coming out. But its flavor is an aggregator – it helps meld together the aromatics like onion and garlic and the various spices in a dish.

When I was in India, every cook I worked with talked about the medicinal uses of turmeric. As an antiseptic, many cooks put turmeric directly on raw fish or chicken to kill bacteria before cooking. They also believed that the spice is excellent for digestion and that that is one of the main reasons for its inclusions in curries. Other cooks told me about its anti-inflammatory properties. A cold cloth with turmeric is just the trick for a kitchen burn or a cut from the slip of a knife (…they also mentioned that would hurt like all get out). My vitamin includes the spice for its antibacterial and anti-inflammatory properties but also because the active ingredient, curcumin, is believed to be a strong antioxidant.

I personally like turmeric in soups, braises, with a chili crab stir fry, in rice with some cinnamon and cardamom. It’s a great spice to play around with. I use super small amounts – ¼ teaspoon to a ½ teaspoon max. That’s all you need, or you risk the bitterness becoming more dominant in a dish.

Mace

I love this picture! I actually took this while visiting a completely amazing spice farm in Goa. We were walking through the lush forest of trees, examining spice by spice, and here we picked nutmeg and mace. The brownish-black pit is the nutmeg, and the red web or aril is mace.

I was inspired to post about mace by a culturally fantastic article about nutmeg from this month’s Saveur magazine. In it, you can see how nutmeg is used across many cuisines in so many different foods, from savoury West Indian dishes, to American desserts, to Italian greens. And, inextricably intertwined, so it is with mace.

Mace’s flavor is quite similar to nutmeg though I would say a bit more delicate in some ways and stronger in others. The warm, pumpkin pie-ness of nutmeg is a bit tempered here, whereas a peppery quality emerges and kind of hits you in the middle of your tongue. It’s completely versatile like nutmeg, cinnamon or cardamom in that it’s additive to both sweet and savoury dishes. I love to throw it in to soups like a bay leaf and let the flavor permeate the liquid. It’s also delicious in baked goods – biscotti, shortbread. I like it in meat dishes as well – the peppery part picks up so well with beef, pork, or even game.

The crimson red of the mace lace turns to a more burnt orange through drying, but it’s one of those spices, like nutmeg, that retain its flavor well when stored ground. So if you can only find it ground, it will still have great flavor.

Lucknow Fennel

Roaming around various markets and farms in Goa, I was overwhelmed by the abundance of fresh spices. I brought back the most beautiful cinnamon from a farm I visited, incredible white poppy seeds from a popular indoor market, and all sorts of nonsense from the famed, outdoor Mapusa Friday market the day before I left. I smuggled in the lot (smuggled as in declared them, carried them in my hand, and chatted away with the customs officer about cooking after…) and am now happily sitting on some prized spices. They are incredibly fresh, distinct, aromatic – it’s sad how much of their potency is lost by the time they get to the supermarket shelves.

One of the spices I brought back is Lucknow Fennel, which is believed to be one of the highest quality fennel seeds out there. These seeds are primarily grown in Lucknow, the capital of Uttar Pradesh in India. They are smaller, greener, and definitively sweeter and more aromatic than traditional fennel seeds. In South Asia, they are often used as a digestive or breath freshener.

I’ve seen this spice used in desserts and am debating baking them into a shortbread cookie myself. They also would be fantastic in a riz au lait or kheer or even with yogurt, honey, and fruit. I usually prefer traditional fennel seeds for more savoury applications (LOVE it in sausage and pork dishes), but love the sweeter crunch these provide for breads.

This type of fennel seed is easily found at ethnic grocers and online spice providers.

Nigella Seeds

Nigella seeds are one of those nebulous spices. If you bite into these little tear-shaped, matte, coal-black seeds raw, you get a little bitterness but otherwise very little flavor. When cooked, though, there develops a smokiness of sorts, a peppery, almost oregano-like flavor that is absolutely delicious. I love these in baked goods like in a biscuit or in my quickbread from a few months back.

Nigella seeds are found throughout Middle Eastern, South Asian, and even some African cooking. In Ethiopia, the seed may be crushed up in stews or may even be added to their spiced clarified butter. The quatre épices or Chinese five spice equivalent in South Asia is called paanch phoron, and it includes nigella along with fenugreek, cumin, fennel, and black mustard seeds. The seeds are also baked into Middle Eastern and South Asian flatbreads and added to pickles and chutneys.

Kokum

I thought it would be apropos to write about a spice I’m sure I’ll be cooking with a lot over the next few weeks! I’m headed to Goa for serious culinary immersion and cannot wait to absorb the cuisines of the area. The food of that region is deliciously complex and inflected by the climate, people, religions, coastal location, Portuguese colonialism, and local produce.

The kokum tree is a tropical tree that grows in this region and that produces a small, dark purple, plum-like fruit. The rind of the fruit is preserved in the sun and is what is called kokum for cooking purposes. In Goan and Malvani cuisine, kokum is used as a souring agent, a lot like tamarind is in other areas.

Most often, kokum is added whole to a braise or a curry to infuse it with its sweet, salty and sour flavor. The dried fruit also can be soaked in warm water and strained to provide a sour liquid. It compliments coconut extremely well and the combination is popular during the summer months in the form of a sherbet. Kokum is also a common ingredient in chutneys and pickles, and I personally have been debating a jam of sorts.

When buying, kokum should be soft and pliable, not hard and brittle. The color should be a deep purple. I like to store mine in an airtight container – it keeps for months that way.

Barberries

It’s a serious pastime of mine, perusing the isles of ethnic grocery stores. Some people like antiquing or clothes shopping, I love food markets. It’s like a timewarp – I can spend hours going aisle by aisle, examining spices, bottles, ingredients. I love to find spices I’ve never used, come up with ideas for new dishes, or explore how ingredients work across different cultures.

Barberries were a somewhat recent find that have pried their way into my heart. They are small dried, currant-like berries that come mainly from Iran. They have a serious tartness that reminds me of tamarind, but their flavor is more like that of a raisin. In a pinch, cranberries would make a good substitution for them in a recipe. They have incredibly high levels of vitamin C and so have been well-received into the raw food world. They are super small but pack a lot of flavor into their tiny size.

In Persian and Afghani cuisine, these little guys are added to rice and couscous dishes to add a tarty, fruity burst. They also cook down beautifully to form a jam or jelly. I love them because of their small size – they are perfectly built for inclusion in cookies or suspension in breakfast muffins.

They are also called zereshk, so just be on the lookout if you are shopping for them. Online they can be found on Amazon.

Anardana

I keep snacking on these little guys while I’m trying to write – they’re like candy. Slightly sweet, a bit sour, toothsome with a crunch from the actual seed. Anardana are pomegranate seeds that have been air-dried – a process that renders them caramelized and concentrated with delicious pomegranate flavor (and leaves no red juice stains on your kitchen counter…).

I love working with this spice, yes, because the flavor is unique and pomegranate is always lovely. But moreso because it’s an incredibly versatile spice. Anardana lends its flavor to everything from fish to chicken to lamb to desserts! It can be ground up and used as a dry rub for a steak. Or the seeds can be soaked and strained like tamarind, and the resulting liquid used for a sauce (sweet or savoury). Pomegranate molasses, which I use in a bbq sauce, is actually made from cooking the seeds down to their most concentrated, viscous form, but I love anardana precisely because I have the option to add the flavor without a syrup or added liquid. It’s a fantastic souring agent in a braise or sprinkled on everything from soups to salads to rice dishes.

Traditionally, anardana has been used in South Asian, Persian, and other Middle Eastern cuisines. It’s a component in many Indian stews, and the flavor improves the longer you cook it. It also makes a fantastic chutney, and I’m envisioning a lamb dish with a sauce or chutney made from these tasty morsels.

You definitely want to keep these in an airtight container as humidity will make the seeds even stickier. And you want a chewier, moister seed – if the seeds are dry and hard, it’s a bad batch, and they just won’t be as flavorful. The seeds can be found at Indian and Middle Eastern grocers, and online through spice purveyors and even Amazon.

Mauby

In seeking out West Indian food, I’ve come to realize there is a huge culture of soft drinks that use distinctive ingredients and taste little like anything we as Americans have had. Sorrel is an amazing, sweet and tart drink made from steeping hibiscus flowers; I’ve made a tasty jelly from it and will be posting about that soon. Seamoss is a sweet and creamy drink made from a type of seaweed.

Mauby, in turn, is both a drink as well as the bark used to make it. I made the mistake of taking a bite of the bark – which was not cool. It’s pretty bitter, and I ate like 5 different things to try to get rid of the taste. The bark is actually from the buckthorn tree, and it’s steeped with sugar and spices to make the drink. The flavor is not unlike root beer but with more licorice undertones. There’s also that bitter aftertaste I mentioned (though obviously not as bad as if you stupidly eat the bark), and it’s what I would call an “acquired” taste. Talking to people, I’ve noticed younger generations can’t stand it, but the older generations who grew up drinking it just love it…my little observation.

Mauby is had everywhere from Puerto Rico to Dominican Republic to Jamaica, and everyone has their own spice mix. Typically, some combination of aniseed, clove, vanilla, and/or cinnamon is used to flavor the drink along with a ton of sugar. I’ve also seen cola flavoring and even angostura bitters added to mellow out the bitter aftertaste.

I think it’s an incredibly unique flavor, but I would have to say I’m still acquiring…

Ajwain Seeds

Ajwain is one of those crossover ingredients in my book. Sure, it’s grown in parts of South Asia and is found throughout that cuisine. But its flavor is actually a lot like thyme. I like to sneak it into classic French dishes or soups, and no one is ever the wiser.

You may have seen ajwain seeds labeled as ajowan, bishop’s weed, or even carum seeds, and it’s actually a member of the parsley family. The leaves are not really used in cooking, and the seeds bear a close resemblance to celery seeds. The seeds contain high levels of thymol, thus their thyme-like flavor. But they have a slight bitterness, even a sharp peppery bite to them.

They go incredibly well with vegetables, lentils and starches. I’m partial to dry-roasting them or even frying them first. It brings out the herbaceous quality in them and mellows most of the bitterness. To me, these seeds were meant to be paired with mushrooms. I make a mean mushroom soup speckled with ajwain – warm, creamy, and complex. I actually am going to do a Southern French pizza-like tart, called a pissaladière, with caramelized onions, mushrooms, and ajwain seeds in the next few weeks and will post that recipe. They are also delicious with roast potatoes or in a green lentil side dish with tomatoes.

This definitely has to be one of the more versatile spices out there. My only caution would be to use sparingly and then add as you see fit. A little goes a long way…

Fenugreek

Fenugreek is like a gift and a curse to me. I love both the seeds and the leaves, but it’s one of those spices that stick. Crushing the leaves between you fingers will leave behind the sweet, celery-like smell, and I always have to douse my hands with lemon juice to get rid of it. And even then…That said, both add such incredible depth of character to dishes, they are staples in my spice pantry.

Fenugreek seeds are small, hard, and rectangular and have a bitter, vegetal flavor. They also have maple syrup-like notes, particularly when toasted. I know – sounds odd, but it’s true. The seeds are generally known to be used in Indian cooking and are a key spice in any given curry; I used them in my South Indian gazpacho. However, they are also used throughout Middle Eastern, North African, and even East African cooking – like in my version of Ethiopian clarified butter. It’s a fantastic spice if used in moderation (ground to a powder), and I actually love it paired with vegetables. It can add amazing flavor to a soup (I’m partial to asparagus), is delicious mixed in with an aioli for a condiment, and great in a dry rub.

The leaves can be either fresh or dried and are a subtler version of the seeds. I’ve actually never used fresh, so I can’t speak to it, but the dried form is incredible. I tend to use the leaves more frequently because they can fold in with other ingredients without overpowering a dish. They have a warm, sweet, grassiness to them, and the uses are never-ending. I love the leaves mixed in with yogurt as a dip for crudités, with any potato or vegetable purée (see my cauliflower one), in salads or dressings, in a dry rub for fish or chicken, to flavor a butter sauce…

I actually pick up my seeds at Dean & Deluca in Manhattan, but very few regular grocers carry it. And the leaves are a bit harder to find. Make sure to store the leaves out of the light – light will lighten the color and leach the flavor from them.

Black Cardamom

It drives me mildly insane that people think black cardamom is, in some way, a lesser version of green cardamom. That’s the (erroneous) word on the street. But the truth is that they have different flavors and applications, so no spice rivalry is allowed here.

Cardamom, in general, is known for having astringency, a warm, camphorous, palate-clearing flavor. Where green is more pungent and menthol, black cardamom is earthier, less eucalyptus and more lovely, woodsy smokiness; there’s a picture of green cardamom in this post on peaches with cardamom streusel. Green cardamom is used a lot in South Asian desserts, coffee and other sweet stuff; black cardamom works better in savoury applications – added to Indian tandoori marinades and stews and found in Asian soups and vegetable stir fry dishes.

I absolutely love using black cardamom, which is also referred to as brown cardamom (not to be confused with the third type – Thai cardamom…which could be a whole other post). It is fantastic in plain white or brown rice, thrown in whole or split to add a little kick. When the seeds are ground, they make a delicious addition to a barbeque dry rub for chicken, beef or pork, and I also (secretly) throw some in to the braising liquid of my beef short ribs…shhh.

I have yet to see these in a regular grocer (one can only hope), but they can definitely be found in East Asian specialty stores as well as Indian and Middle Eastern grocers.

North African Harissa

A friend of mine was telling me about her favorite roast chicken dish, which requires slathering a whole chicken with harissa and olive oil before roasting. Sounds absolutely lovely – spicy, a bit tart and salty, with crispy skin. She mentioned that, to make it, she picked up pre-fab harissa from the grocery store, so I investigated. It’s upwards of $8 per bottle – exorbitant, I think. It’s too easy to do at home and can be done for a fraction of the cost, so I’m giving you a delicious, homemade version.

Harissa is a hot chili paste that is a staple in North African cuisines, especially in Tunisian and Algerian foods. Just like recipes in other cultures, harissa ingredients vary from household to household and region to region – some include cumin, others tomatoes, and even rose petals. Yes, “rose” harissa – how amazing does that sound. In Tunisia, harissa is served with every meal – as a condiment, rubbed on meats, incorporated into stews, mixed in with couscous…

Tunisians use Nabeul and Gabes peppers, which are hotter but similar in flavor to readily available Anaheim and Guajillo chilies here in the States. Dried chilies have more complex flavor than fresh, so dried are typically used. This recipe is for a milder harissa because I like to use it as a salad dressing base and mixed in with mayo on sandwiches; I tend to add fresh or pickled chilies to those, so I want to control my heat. But you can make this harissa as spicy as you want – I add urfa chilies for heat and a bit of smokiness, but chipotles would also be wonderful here, as would dried, hot Indian chilies if you want it even hotter. Enjoy!

Ingredients

Yields ½ cup

3 New Mexican / Anaheim medium-sized dried red chilies

4 Guajillo medium-sized chilies

2 tsps crushed red pepper or Urfa Biber chilies

1 tsp caraway seeds

½ tsp fennel seeds

Pinch of saffron (optional)

1 ½ tsps ground coriander

½ tsp turmeric

1 tsp salt

2 sundried tomatoes (packed in oil or rehydrated)

2 garlic cloves

Olive oil

Lemon juice

Procedure

Remove seeds and ribs from the dried chilies and place in a heat-safe bowl. I like to use kitchen scissors for this – it’s easy to just split them open and brush out the seeds / pull out the ribs. Pour boiling water over chilies and let them soak 15 – 20 minutes until softened.

You can do this in either a food processor or a blender. If you are doing this in the food processor, use a spice grinder to grind the crushed red peppers or urfa chilies, caraway seeds, fennel seeds and saffron first before adding those to the food processor. If working with a blender, add those ingredients first and blend until ground before moving on to the next step – it’s like one big spice grinder.

Add ground coriander, turmeric, salt, sundried tomatoes, and garlic cloves. Remove chilies from water and wring out any excess moisture. Add to the blender or food processor. Pulse adding olive oil, a tablespoon at a time, until a thick paste is achieved and all of the chilies have been ground up. Add lemon juice to taste and adjust seasoning as necessary.

Transfer to a jar and cover harissa with a layer of olive oil to preserve it. Keep refrigerated. It will keep for up to a month in the fridge.

Homemade Salt Pork

All of the bbq’ing this summer has me thinking about an ingredient that people don’t really make at home that much: salt pork. What is it. It’s effectively unsmoked bacon, a cut of pork from the belly, back, and/or sides that is cured with salt. It differs a little from pancetta in that pancetta uses slightly different spices, has a longer cure time, and is hung out to dry, but they are pretty close. This version is a mere 5-day affair, and, at the end of it, you can say you made your own unsmoked bacon. Impressive. I love it.

Salt pork is a flavoring agent. I have no other words to use than that it gives a “salty” and “porky” flavor to whatever it is added. And since it’s mainly fat, it subtly adds a certain mouth feel, a warmer, creamier texture to any dish. I consulted my favorite butchery book, The River Cottage Meat Book, the first time I made this. I have since modified salt and sugar amounts and added in a few extra spices for good measure.

What I really love about making this, besides the fact that it keeps in your fridge for about a month, is that it is one of those foods that has applications in so many different cultures. Baked beans, collard greens, chowders, stews – it can be found throughout American cooking. However, it’s also a large part of French and other European cuisines like in the dish petit salé, and West Indians use it in everything from peas and rice to callaloo. I personally add it to (almost) everything: Sunday morning spicy, scrambled eggs, pasta with black pepper, a scrumptious cornbread with honey chili butter, Brazilian feijoada (which I have to make again soon), any sauce to liven up a fish dish…it’s really endless. Hope you enjoy this as much as I do!

Ingredients

2 lbs pork belly, without the skin

3 cups coarse sea salt

2/3 cup light brown sugar

3 tsp black peppercorns

2 tsp whole coriander

2 garlic cloves

Procedure

I start off with the pork belly without the skin – it’s just a personal preference. You can leave the skin on if you’d like.

First, wash and dry off the pork belly. Combine all of the other ingredients in a bowl. Place pork belly in a non-reactive container. Rub with a portion of the salt mixture until thoroughly coated. Cover with plastic wrap and weight down with something – tomato cans, a serving dish, whatever works.

After 24 hours, the pork belly will have released some liquid. Pour off this liquid. Rub all sides again with the salt mixture, recover, and weight. Repeat this process for five days.

At the end of five days, rinse and remove excess salt from the bacon, dry and wrap in cheesecloth. It can be stored in the refrigerator and is good for up to a month.

Curry Leaf (also Kadhi Patta or Sweet Neem Leaf)

I know when “curry” is added to anything it’s as if the word, like the spice blend, takes over – the connotation of that powerful flavor is embedded in our brains. That said, I cannot express in more uncertain terms than “curry leaves do NOT taste like curry!”

The fragrant curry leaf is found mostly in South Asian cooking (surprise!), particularly South Indian. They get their name because of their use in curries, but the leaves can also be pan-roasted with a little oil to add flavor to a host of dry dishes. Curry leaves are woodsy, lemony, and actually a little smoky, with no curry flavor whatsoever. The flavor is subtle and deep all at the same time, a bit elusive for descriptive purposes, but a flavor that becomes easily embedded in taste memory.

I have to say that curry leaves are on my deserted-on-an-island-and-can-only-bring-10-spices list. I absolutely love to heat a little oil up, add curry leaves and brown mustard seeds (a dynamically delicious combo) and make just about anything. Beautiful in buttered rice. A great base for a quick sautéed shrimp dish with some garlic, onions, chilies, and cilantro. It’s amazing in coconut-based stews and lovely with kernel corn. It adds incredible depth of flavor without overpowering any of the other flavors of a dish.

The fresh leaf has the strongest flavor although it has a short shelf life. The leaf can be frozen for storage purposes, but it does lose some of its flavor that way. Curry leaves can be found at South Asian specialty stores, but I actually pick mine up at Chelsea Market at the Manhattan Fruit Exchange. They have some that are locally grown from a certified organic farm. If you still feel unsure about how to use them, I will certainly be posting recipes in the coming months that will show how versatile they can be.

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Curry Leaf (also Kadhi Patta or Sweet Neem Leaf)