Flaxseeds

These bear an uncanny resemblance to the Himalayan red rice of a few weeks ago, no? But red rice these are not. Although we think of flaxseeds as super healthy (which they are) and great on oatmeal and in granola (also true), flaxseeds have actually been used for centuries in cultural cooking from ancient Rome to the Egyptians.

A few years back, when I was learning about Ethiopian cuisine, I was pleasantly surprised to see flaxseeds toasted and sprinkled on top of salads, ground and mixed with water and honey to make a cool drink (telba), or ground into a paste to have with bread or the famous Ethiopian flatbread, injera. In Italy, it’s baked into bread, and, in India, flaxseeds are ground with spices to add to dishes or chutneys.

These cultures all recognize the not-so-secret health benefits of the seed and have found smart ways to incorporate it. High in Omega-3 fatty acids, high fiber, and cholesterol lowering, this is just a great ingredient to add in to cooking. I’m a huge fan of the morning, breakfast shake, where I always throw in a handful of flaxseeds. I take a cue from the Ethiopians and toast them like sesame seeds to sprinkle on my salads, and have thoughts about making a gorgeous spread out of it with spices, roasted garlic and cannellini beans.

How do you cook with flaxseeds?

Orange Blossom Water

I was making a fruit salad this week and threw in a few dashes of orange blossom water when (gasp!) I realized I’ve never really highlighted it in depth here. It’s such a beautiful ingredient, and now is truly my favorite time of year to work with it. Orange blossom water goes incredibly well with fruits, summer fruits in particular, and gives summer pies or a simple fruit salad a hint of something truly special.

Orange blossom water comes from the blossoms of the Seville orange, a bitter and crazy fragrant orange native to Asia. The petals of the flower are heated in water and the resulting steam is condensed and separated, now scented with the orange blossom. The result is a clear liquid that is at once floral with orange citrus notes and a hint of bitterness.

Orange blossom water is found throughout the cooking of the Middle East, North Africa, French and Mediterranean where its delicate fragrance laces some of the most beloved desserts, savory dishes, and, in some instance, even drinking water. It’s often added to a sugar syrup to drizzle over desserts or fruit, but it tastes beautiful used sparingly in tagines or other stews that have fruits. I’ve used it a few times here, once as a gorgeous floral balance to melon in a gelato and another time in one of my favorite desserts, Om Ali, a puff pastry-based bread pudding. I definitely plan to experiment more with it in savoury dishes and have designs to add it to fall vegetable mashes like butternut squash or sweet potato.

Having a light hand helps when it comes to this ingredient – it gets overwhelmingly perfume-y in excess and be sure to taste your particular brand before following a recipe. Your bottle may be stronger or weaker than what’s called for, and it’s better to use your cooking instincts and preferences here. Orange blossom water is becoming more widely available by the day – in Whole Foods, gourmet stores, Italian specialty shops, and, of course, Middle Eastern grocers.

Jardaloo (Hunza Apricots)

So I thought I’d keep my exotic ingredient in theme this week and talk about these beautiful little, dried apricots I picked up the other day. The saffron fried chicken was definitely a nod to Persian influence, and it so happens that these apricots, or jardaloo, also have their roots in Persian cooking by way of the Parsis of India.

Jardaloo are also referred to as Hunza apricots, meaning wild apricots from the mountainsides of the Hunza Valley on the borders of Kashmir and Pakistan. In their ripe state, they are a beige-colored, sweet, small variety that have a bit more acidity than the cultivated fruit and a delicious almond-like pit. You can even crack the pit of these sundried ones to obtain it – it has a great nutty flavor and the kernel oil is loaded with vitamins.

Parsis are one of the Persian Zoroastrian communities that live in South Asia, migrating from Iran centuries ago to flee persecution, and with them they brought a truly rich culture and cuisine. Their nonvegetarian cooking retains a lot of the Persian influences introducing certain nuts and fruits, like this, to their stewed meats and curries. Their vegetarian cuisine is equally rich; I learned of a certain lentil dish called Dhansak when I was in Goa and returned a bit obsessed to learn from scratch this tradition that combines several different lentils with tons of seasonal vegetables and a spice blend, the Dhansak masala, that includes cinnamon, clove, star anise and fenugreek (to name a very few…).

Jardaloo are used in the Parsi signature dish Jardaloo Sali Murgh, where chicken is cooked down with aromatics, spices, and this lovely dried apricot to lend a sweet and sour effect. It’s gorgeous in slow-cooked dishes like a lamb stew, and the sweet applications would be too numerous (jardaloo clafouti anyone?), though pitting could prove to be too big a pain. I love to throw it into rice or even biryani for a nice fruity bite, warning all that eat to watch out for the pits!

Middle Eastern grocers or online purveyors are the way to go to find these little gems.

Himalayan Red Rice

Recently, on Facebook, I was asked about colors of salt and rice. What are the differences between pink, red and black salt and what about black or red rice? Great questions because it can all get pretty confusing. I will definitely talk about salts at another time (though I have a bit on black salt here), but I thought I would highlight Himalayan red rice, which is a tasty and healthy alternative to white rice that is truly worth exploring.

First, can I just say how beautiful this rice looks! It has a rosy hue that is stunning up against bright green veggies and even combined with white rice for a bespeckled dish. Himalayan red rice is, as its name suggests, grown in and around the Himalayas and is often referred to as Bhutanese red rice (although France and other parts of Asia do grow a variety in smaller quantities). It’s a short grain, heirloom rice that is grown at an altitude and thought to be fed by glacier water – making it particularly mineral-rich.

Himalayan red rice is semi-milled, and the residual red bran makes it compelling in terms of fiber content (way higher than white). It has trace minerals, vitamins, and antioxidants and is often compared to brown rice, but has, what I think, is a far better flavor. It’s nutty, a bit toothsome, sweet even, and has a gorgeous perfume to it…

With a higher level of bran, it takes a bit longer to cook than white rice, but the wait is worth it. It’s the perfect salad rice – great with a vinegar base for a summer picnic with fresh tomatoes and corn. The nuttiness holds up well to spices and blends seamlessly with mushrooms. It also cooks up like risotto (a personal obsession of mine), so I’ve been meaning to do a mushroom red rice risotto soon.

It’s definitely available at Whole Foods and health food stores carry it. Have you tried it? How do you cook with Himalayan red rice?

Aleppo Chilies

A few weeks back, I was working on a chutney recipe that married dried apricots with a luscious, sweet dessert wine. I threw in some of these chili flakes, and the flavor became complex – at once, sweet, fruity, those peach-lychee notes from the wine and a tart bite with a touch of heat from the Aleppo chilies. Although I’ve used it in cooking before, in that moment it dawned on me that I would no longer be reaching for typical crushed red pepper for my weekly (yes…once a week) pizza binge.

Aleppo chilies come from Syria and are named after the northern city of Aleppo. A pinch of Aleppo is called for in various Middle Eastern dishes and in foods throughout parts of the Mediterranean. This chili flake has often been compared to ancho and is fruity, moderately hot, with smoky undertones that come from being sundried. It has an acidic tartness to it (think sundried tomatoes with a kick!) and is actually a little salty; the heat hits fast and then subtly lingers.

What I realized during that last time I was cooking with it was that it’s just a really balanced chili flake, and it doesn’t require a ton of cooking or toasting to bring out flavor (thus using it to sprinkle on hot, cheesy pizza). It works as well with sweeter dishes, like a chutney, as with savoury, and is the perfect finale to a bolognese, in a kebab marinade, or, simply, to dress up a salad. The focus is a lot more on flavor here than heat.

Like the Urfa chili I mentioned a few months ago, this flake has a ton of oil, and I find that it keeps longer in the freezer. Middle Eastern grocers will have some of this in stock, but I’ve also seen it in some higher-end, gourmet shops and even William Sonoma.

Dill Seed

I did a little informal poll amongst friends that cook and some chefs I work with and dill seed is one of those spices that is truly under the radar. I wasn’t so surprised – heck, it’s not like I use it on a daily basis, but the reality is that this spice spans everything from our everyday dill pickle to Swedish breads to Ras El Hanout, a popular North African spice blend.

Interestingly enough, these flat, tear-shaped seeds aren’t seeds at all. They are actually the fruits of the dill plant (that gives us that beautiful, feathery herb). The flavor of the seed is definitely stronger than the weed or the herb; it has a sharper bite and none of the leafy sweetness. For me, caraway is the closest taste comparison, and there are also notes of chervil, parsley, and anise, which isn’t surprising since the plants are all in the same family.

I was shocked to find out how many different cultures actually use this spice! It’s hard to pinpoint the origin, but dill is thought to have started off in Eastern Europe, spreading later to the Mediterranean, North Africa, and Asia. Scandinavian cuisines, Russian, Ukrainian (it’s in borscht!) and German all use the spice. In the Middle East and North Africa, the spice is found in pickles, spice blends and salads. Even parts of Asia, Indonesia, and Malaysia, incorporate the spice in everything from meat curries to condiments. In South Asia, dill seeds are added to curries or even cooked like lentils; it’s also part of the spice blend that goes into biryani.

It’s truly a versatile spice and works beautifully in potato salads, vinaigrettes, rice dishes and all types of breads. I’m thinking about working it into a lobster salad along with the herb and a touch of coriander, but it’s also gorgeous in soups and stews (where it softens and becomes toothsome). The seed definitely gets a boost from dry-roasting, but it should be ground to order as the flavor dissipates quickly after being ground. The dill seed from India has a milder flavor than that from other areas, so taste-experiment-repeat where necessary!

Grape Molasses

Here, in the States, the term molasses conjures up images of gingerbread cookies and shoofly pie, that thick, dark syrup that’s the result of refining cane sugar. But, in Mediterranean and Middle Eastern regions, molasses is something else entirely – still a syrup, but from sources like pomegranates, dates, grapes, figs, carob, or even mulberries. The process and the flavor are completely different…and delicious.

In the old days, sugar was extraordinarily expensive in regions outside of India, and honey was, let’s say, tricky to procure. During the summer months when sweet fruits were plenty, the fresh juice of these fruits were boiled and reduced down to create intensely flavorful and perfectly sweet syrups, or molasses. These syrups were the ideal sweeteners, capitalizing on peak season fruit, and kept for months. I’m leaving out a great part of all this – they are way healthier than other sweeteners, given that they are fruit-based, and actually contain antioxidants, vitamins and minerals.

Grape molasses is one that I happen to love because it’s not overly sweet and has that amazing grape flavor. When I was in Turkey, this lovely syrup, which is also called pekmez, was served at breakfast in lieu of honey. I loved the traditional combo of grape molasses and tahini on flatbread – it was my PB&J for the trip!

There are so many ways to use this stuff. Many simply mix it with water or milk for a great drink, and I’ll be using it to sweeten my flavored lemonades this summer. I do love it on toast with peanut butter or tahini, and it’s incredible with cream cheese on currant scones or drizzled on cinnamon waffles. Beyond all of the sweet dishes, the syrup can be added to stews to add a sweet thickness to them. I used pomegranate molasses, which has a real sweet and sour feel to it, to make some lovely baby back ribs. Think of it like you would honey or molasses.

I pick mine up at an ethnic food store, but I’ve seen this beautiful syrup at Chelsea Market and even a Whole Foods. Have you ever tried any of these fruit-based molasses and how do you use it?

Pippali (Long) Pepper

I am on a pepper kick these days – first pink, now these. Pippali is the Sanskrit word for the long pepper and is actually the same root word from which the English term pepper is derived. Again, this is one of those overlooked spices that can seamlessly transition into regular use once you’ve tested it out.

In fact, the long pepper was used over black pepper for quite some time throughout history by the Romans, Greeks and other parts of Europe. There was a trade advantage because the spice was grown in the northwestern region of India and was, therefore, more accessible than black peppercorns further south. Once chiles arrived from the New World and trade to the Malabar Coast increased making black pepper cheaper and more widely used, the long pepper declined in popularity.

Pippali pepper is grown in India, but another version also comes from Java. The spice is used today in South Asian cooking as well as in North African, Indonesian and Malay cuisine. It’s popular in Ayurvedic medicine and has a host of uses – longevity, aphrodisiac qualities, analgesic, and digestion aid to name a few.

The flavor of long pepper is hard to capture. Each cattail-like comb contains dark red seeds, and its smell is reminiscent of good incense. That muskiness combines with a sweet quality, a bit like cardamom or cinnamon, and a touch of floral. It still has heat like the black pepper but is way more complex – a bit more pungent and it lingers on the tongue.

Honestly, I crush up these guys and throw them into my pepper grinder. Although they are popular in South Asian pickles and vegetarian stews, I love the flavor with beef and pork. It’s awesome as part of a dry rub for barbecue because it totally jives with smoky flavors. But it works well in place of black pepper too for everything from salads and vinaigrettes to your morning eggs.

Would love to hear if you have tried cooking with it and favorite uses!

Pink Peppercorns

Pink peppercorns are an incredible and, I think, a bit underused spice. True, they aren’t the easiest to find, but these little guys have a different complexity from black, white, or green peppercorns that is worth exploring. What’s lovely about this spice is how seamlessly it can blend into different cuisines – Mediterranean, latin, south asian to name a few. It adds its own distinct flavor without disrupting the overall character of a dish.

So the rub is that pink peppercorns aren’t really true peppercorns after all and are unrelated to the black sort we use in everyday cooking. They are actually berries that are found on a specific tree, not vine grown as most other peppercorns are. On the tree, they start out green, turn yellow, and ripen into the beautiful pinky-red you see here.

What do they taste like? I’d say they are closer to a super mild chili pepper. They have a very thin skin, little heat (nothing that lingers), and have a pine-like quality, sweet fruitiness, and a bit of floral all at the same time. Don’t be afraid to sample them on their own – they actually taste interesting on their own and would be great sprinkled on a salad.

In South America, they are used to flavor alcoholic beverages and are also a popular ingredient in French cuisine. They work extremely well with poultry and fish, but I think they make a great substitute for green peppercorns in a steak sauce. I recently used them to create a chutney with rhubarb and strawberries that was also scented with star anise.

Do not grind them in a peppermill. The skin is thin, as I mentioned, and they’ll get stuck in there. Pink peppercorns are delicate (and not cheap) and break apart easily. I like to rub them between my palms to activate their oils and crush them up.

Would love to hear how you might have used these in the past!

Mahlab

A few weeks ago, I made some yummy cherry clafoutis. The tradition is to leave the cherries whole in the dish, pits and all, because the pits impart this amazing, complex, nutty, almond flavor (though a complete annoyance to eat!). I used a bit of almond extract in my recipe to bring some of that flavor into play, but, if I had thought about it a bit more, I would have ground up mahlab and added it to the batter.

These adorable little guys are found within the pit of a certain wild black cherry that’s indigenous to parts of Europe and the Middle East. The kernels are dried and usually ground to a powder before being used in cooking. The flavor definitely has notes from the cherry as well as a bitter almond flavor. It’s not unlike marzipan with a touch of aftertaste and certainly has a floral quality to it.

Mahlab is more often used in baking than anything else – Greek, Armenian, Lebanese pastries all include ground mahlab (also called mahleb, mahlepi, mahalab). In Egypt, it’s used as part of a sweet dip for bread that includes honey, sesame seeds, and olive oil. Once cherry season hits, I will be baking up a storm with this stuff – I envision cherry and sweet cheese tarts with hints of this spice. I also think it would be incredible in ice cream or a luscious panna cotta.

Mahlab does not have a long shelf life and keeps better in its whole form. I like to buy the seeds and just grind a bit when I need some. Like mace, nutmeg or even cayenne, a little goes a long way, so use conservatively. It takes a bit of time for your palate and hand to become balanced with this one, so remember to taste constantly when adding.

Amarena Cherries

Last Sunday, I was perusing Brooklyn Larder (an amazing store in Park Slope focused on cheese, handmade prepared food, and specialty grocery) with friends when I came across these Amarena cherries. I happened to read about them just the week before, so I was giddy that fate intervened and there they were right before me. The thrill of food discovery on a random afternoon at my fingertips, I nabbed a bottle, cracked it open in the store (after paying of course…) and plastic spooned a few of them into my mouth. HEAVEN.

Amarena cherries are small, dark, sour cherries from the Emilia-Romagna region in Italy. They are preserved in a tart, sugar syrup, and this particular brand includes ingredients like clove, cinnamon, lemon peel and sweet almond oil, a truly spectacular combination. There is another brand that is a bit more popular, Fabbri, with a nearly hundred-year-old tradition, a cool porcelain bottle and (of course!) a secret syrup recipe…

In my opinion, these cherries are everything a cherry should be – sweet, a bit tart, soft but still toothsome, with a robust cherry flavor. My mind has been racing with ways to use these in cooking; I feel like I have to really highlight their taste, so look out for recipes in the coming weeks. Otherwise, these make an incredible topping for ice cream or panna cotta. I envision them in a simple champagne cocktail or spooned over a sponge cake with whipped cream for a cherry shortcake of sorts. It’s completely legal as a breakfast food, so I can only imagine how incredible these would be on top of hot, cinnamon waffles.

Unfortunately, these luscious cherries are not cheap because they are imported from Italy and a high quality product. BUT they are completely splurge-worthy! and I’m sure they go a long way if you are not opening up the fridge, cracking off the top and spoon feeding yourself at intervals like I am…

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…

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