Japanese Black Sugar or Kuro Sato

I recently came across this stuff when I was perusing my favorite local Asian market – yes, the same one where I bought the Umeboshi Paste and lost my mind getting ingredients for my Homemade Furikake Popcorn. And the interesting thing is, though it’s commonly referred to as “black” sugar (and sure looks pretty dark to me), Kuro Sato, the official name, is actually more in the brown sugar family and bears a similar resemblance and taste to jaggery or piloncillo.

Like those other forms of sugar, Japanese black sugar is unrefined, cane sugar, and this sort comes from Okinawa. It too contains vitamins and minerals not found in traditional white sugar; the fact that it isn’t processed as heavily leaves behind the trace minerals that naturally occur in sugarcane – potassium, iron and calcium to name a few.

The flavor…is beautiful! It has a smoky, malt-like taste with a bit of saltiness. It’s not as sweet as white sugar and definitely takes on a caramel / molasses quality to it. In fact, I’m thinking about making some black sugar caramel sauce for a vanilla sundae or even going all in and making candies myself (the Japanese, of course, already have black sugar candies…). It’s such a rich flavor, and I can only imagine working this into a chocolate dessert. Where I’d pair jaggery with fruit, the malti-ness of this to me is meant for chocolate.

You can find black sugar at your local Asian market or online through Amazon or Kalustyan’s…

Sawtooth or Culantro

Ok, so this picture is a bit of a rustic departure from my norm, but it was actually taken a while back when I visited a spice farm in Goa. At the time, this leaf was described to me as a version of cilantro that the locals cook with and that’s used for all sorts of medicinal purposes. I’ve since found out that this herb is called sawtooth and does indeed make a beautiful substitution for cilantro.

Sawtooth is actually native to South America and Mexico where it’s referred to as culantro or recao; it really has too many names to keep track of. It’s used in a lot of Thai, Cambodian and Vietnamese cooking where it’s called pak chi farang and even in West Indian cuisine as shado beni. For a long time, I used to wonder when I‘d read through West Indian and Trini recipes what the heck shado beni was – I always assumed it was cilantro, but now I know better!

And this herb shouldn’t be confused with cilantro though the taste is similar – sawtooth has a lot more punch. It’s brighter, more pungent and a bit peppery; the leaves’ oils have a more potent, volatile quality than cilantro. It’s fantastic in chutneys, curry pastes, to garnish soups or noodle dishes (pho is a great example), anywhere you’d typically use parsley or cilantro or another bright herb.

From my remedial understanding of gardening, sawtooth is apparently a lot easier to cultivate than cilantro. And what makes it particularly interesting is its long shelf-life. The herb keeps for a while, maintains its flavor and can even be frozen or stored in oil without losing its oomph.

I’ve found sawtooth in Chinatown in downtown NYC and at West Indian markets in Brooklyn. I’m assuming there are also Latin specialty stores that keep it as well. Not such an easy herb to find, but definitely worth seeking out and trying…

Guava Paste or Goiabada

This stuff is a no-brainer. Whenever I hit up a Latin market (though I’ve also seen it in the ethnic isle of larger grocery stores), I pick up a pack of this paste, pasta de guayaba or goiabada. It’s guava purée that’s been cooked down with sugar and a bit of pectin. It sets into a semi-solid, gelatinous state – think membrillo or quince paste – and inflects everything it touches with that sweet, floral flavor, excellent with both savoury and sweet dishes.

Guava paste is used throughout Latin American cooking; from the Domican Republic to Colombia to Cuba to Mexico, guavas and guava paste are featured heavily, particularly paired with fresh cheese. This pair is often found together in its most simplest form, as cheese with slices of guava paste (which makes it extremely handy to keep on hand for a spur of the moment cheese plate), but I recently saw a recipe with guava paste, a beautiful white cheese, and dulce de leche all baked together in one happy puff pastry…umm, yum. how divine does that sound?? I’m definitely going to have to create my own incarnation.

Cookies, tarts, jelly rolls, cakes, soufflés, and turnovers – guava paste is used to enhance desserts throughout Latina cultura. And, believe me, a little guava thumbprint cookie or cheesecake doesn’t hurt anybody, but I do want to explore, beyond that, how to incorporate this gorgeous ingredient into other savoury dishes. A beautiful vinaigrette, for example, or an amazing barbecue sauce or glaze. I use quince paste in lamb meatballs, why not this? It has a flavor that just melds harmoniously, particularly with pork or chicken.

I would love to hear your family’s recipe for goiabada or how you may have uniquely incorporated this surprising ingredient into a dish!

Creole Mustard

You guys may remember a few months back I headed out to New Orleans, ate at some crazy delicious spots, and got to do some cooking to learn how the locals really throw down. Predictably, I came back with a suitcase full of Louisiana-centric ingredients – maybe 5 different types of hot sauce, boil seasoning (both powdered and liquid), and some mayhaw jelly to name a few of them. One of my favorite NOLA finds, though, was this secret recipe Creole Mustard.

Now, I say secret recipe because (and I heard this from a man named Don Creole, mind you, down at the French Market. Check him out if you go!) this is top secret stuff, and the companies that make the mustard won’t go much further than to say they use high quality brown mustard seeds (stone ground and more flavorful than the yellow bunch) and a ton of spices. The bottle also maddeningly says that the ingredients are: “water, vinegar, mustard seed, spice, canola oil, and xanthum gum.” Which spice I ask?!? Don also said that this Rex brand is the best of the best, and his accent was so syrupy and convincing that I threw the bottle right on in my basket next to the mayhaw jelly.

Creole mustard takes mustard to a new level. It’s thick, rich, and spicy without having a ton of heat. I’ve heard that the seeds are marinated for quite some time in vinegar, and I can detect garlic, cayenne, either nutmeg or allspice, and a touch of horseradish in the bottle I have. It’s a key ingredient in the famed, Louisiana remoulade sauce, and I’ve been using it in lieu of Dijon mustard since I got back.

Delicious in marinades, transformative on a ham sandwich, and makes a next level vinaigrette, I’m all about Creole mustard from here on out. You can definitely find it online, but can you believe even Whole Foods carries it…

Star Anise

This might sound completely idiotic, but I’ve recently been hit over the head with the fact that everyday is a totally subjective monster. What’s everyday to you may be completely foreign to someone else, and so it’s always better to err on the side of giving too much info lest you leave someone out! Recently, I’ve been doing a lot of events and I always keep a bunch of spices out on the table. I’ve noticed that, without fail, star anise seems to draw people in who want to know more about its flavor and how to use it in cooking.

Spidery, little star anise is actually the fruit of an evergreen tree that’s been dried. The spokes of star anise are usually split, revealing a shiny, oblong seed; interestingly enough, the pod has a lot more flavor than the seeds. And what an incredible flavor! Although completely unrelated to aniseed, the flavor is similar with really strong, licorice-like notes. There’s also a woodsy spiciness, not unlike cinnamon or even clove – truly complex and warm and deep. When you inhale the fragrance of the spice, it smells sweeter and more herbal than it tastes. The scent is transporting…

Star anise is a secret weapon, that ingredient you can add to everything from desserts to braises that people won’t be able to identify. I’ve used it in a few sweet dishes on here: a sugar plum sherbet and my Godson’s favorite banana & star anise tapioca pudding (see note below), and I plan to throw it in a mean, super spiced apple pie post apple-picking; it’s ridiculously delicious with vanilla bean, cinnamon and nutmeg . But it’s a beautiful ingredient on the savoury side as well – key in Indian garam masala and Chinese five spice, this spice takes bbq sauce to a new level and is gorgeous in some wine-braised shortribs.

Although beautiful in its whole state, beware that it is extremely difficult to grind star anise to a complete powder without industrial strength. I like to keep some whole ones to throw into liquids as the flavor diffuses easily and also keep some powder for dishes where a ground spice is more appropriate.

Note: Star anise should NOT be confused with Japanese star anise. Star anise (which is the Chinese version that is typically sold for cooking purposes) has long been used to treat colic in babies in many different cultures along with fennel and anise.

Hawaij, a Yemenite Spice Blend

Lately, I’ve been noticing certain occurrences, coincidences, tapping me on the shoulder, and I’m learning that it’s important to pay attention when these things happen. They say things come in threes, and that’s how I thought to take notice of this spice mix. First, I read this poignant article on how loss motivated a return to culture in the case of Chef Michael Solomonov and (a restaurant I’ve been dying to visit) Zahav in Philly. And hawaij is mentioned. Second, I was flipping through one of my favorite author’s cookbooks, Claudia Roden and the Book of Jewish food – and, again, this spice blend jumped off the page at me. And third…it’s Rosh Hashanah – Happy New Year to those that celebrate!

Hawaij is actually a Yemenite Jewish tradition, a ground spice mixture that consists of black pepper, saffron, turmeric and cardamom. In Aden, a port city of Yemen, the blend is slightly different – it still has black pepper and cardamom but includes cumin and coriander (according to Claudia). Of course, other sources include clove, cinnamon, and even ginger in the mix – it’s definitely one of those traditions that differ by family history. The turmeric in the blend obviously draws parallels to curry, but to me, the flavor is floral, peppery, earthy, and astringent from the cardamom.

It’s typically used in soups and stews and to flavor rice, but it also makes a killer spice rub. I envision some crispy chicken thighs rubbed with hawaij drizzled with a delicious pan sauce from the chicken drippings, stock and butter. That just made me so hungry. I also love the idea of lively-ing up a basic fall/winter brothy soup with a small teaspoonful of this stuff. And, you know, why not a tender, fall-off-the-bone osso bucco seasoned with hawaij and served with a fall mushroom risotto? I’m motivated – so check back for recipes with hawaij soon…

Umeboshi Paste

Ok, so I have to admit. In gathering all of my ingredients for the popcorn with homemade furikake, I went a little bit wild in Sunrise Mart. Food shopping almost trumps shoe shopping, and I totally glazed over that day throwing item after fascinating item into my basket. In the end, I walked out with three different kinds of soy sauces, some matcha green tea powder I plan to use in shortbread, and a diluted yuzu seasoning base I already have used to make a killer fish marinade. I also picked up some of this totally unexpected umeboshi paste…

Umeboshi are Japanese plums that have been pickled with red shiso and salt, and the paste is simply the purée. The plums are traditionally eaten with rice or inside a rice ball, in sushi, layered between egg slices, with tea or even shochu. The flavor is distinctive – tart and plum-my, a touch of sweetness, and extremely salty – and if it’s a wet version, the umeboshi “vinegar” (or left over pickling juice) is super strong and acidic, so use in moderation.

I have all sort of thoughts for how to use umeboshi paste! Yes, in salad dressings and marinades – it’s the perfect acidic balance. But also mixed in with yoghurt for a crudité dip, with garlic in an aioli, to round out a beautiful cocktail (killer margarita ingredient! No salt rim necessary…), in scrambled eggs, to add a kick to a potato gratin, or to jazz up a simple brothy soup.

You can find umeboshi and umeboshi paste at most Asian grocers, at certain Whole Foods and online retailers.

Bzar, an Emirati Spice Blend

It was kismet! My good friend, Arwa, over at La Mère Culinaire and I have been emailing back and forth about Emirati food. She keeps telling me how I have to head out to Dubai to get some serious cooking lessons in the cuisine of the region AND even went so far as to send me this gorgeously fragrant spice blend to entice me further. A few weekends ago, as I was catching up on all my food mag reading, I came across this article in Saveur that talks about the same blend! It’s called bzar, is key to making delicious and authentic Emirati cuisine, and I just had to share it with you all.

Now, this super special version that Arwa sent me is actually her grandmother’s secret recipe (love it!) that her aunts gather at her grandmother’s house to make. She tells me that you can pick up pre-fab versions of the blend in the UAE (and I’ve seen a few versions masquerading around as Arabic Spice Blend here), but apparently her grandma’s is the real deal and so I feel very fortunate to have some.

The good news is that the individual spices that make up the blend are all readily available. Cumin seeds, coriander seeds, black peppercorns, fennel seeds, cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, ginger, fenugreek seeds and dried red chilies all go into this complex blend, and the cumin, coriander and red chilies are dry roasted in a pan before blending to a powder with the rest of the ingredients.

Bzar is used to spice Emirati stews, which are often called saloona or marag, is an integral ingredient in Emirati foga, meaning “on top of”, which is a rice dish where lamb, chicken or fish is on top of the rice, and makes a great rub for fried fish! I used it in a lamb stew I made and even tried it with lentils (delicious!). It’s warm, earthy – perfect in time for the Fall and would make a fantastic rub for any roast. Bzar-rubbed roast chicken anyone?

Black Cumin

One of my favorite things about the smoked peach chutney I posted earlier this week is the quick, sharp bite of cumin that hits whenever I bite into one of the seeds. I left them whole in the chutney precisely for that reason – I love that subtlety. The chutney inspired me this week to talk about another cumin seed that isn’t featured as prominently in grocery stores as its cousin the traditional cumin seed, called black cumin.

If you google black cumin, a ton of links come up for nigella seeds, which is not correct. Both cumin and black cumin are from the parsley family, and black cumin is simply a darker-colored version of the traditional sort. It looks a lot like caraway and has a slightly different, more milder flavor than traditional cumin. Where cumin has a bit more earthiness and an almost gamey quality, black cumin is sweeter, delicate, with more of the pine-menthol flavors and even a nuttiness. To me, it doesn’t linger as much on the palate as regular cumin.

Another difference from traditional cumin is in its use – how and where it is added to dishes. Rather than being ground to a powder form, black cumin is often left whole. It is generally very lightly toasted, which highlights that nutty flavor even more.

Black cumin is featured in a lot of North Indian, Pakistani, Afghani, and Persian dishes, often referred to as kala jeera or shahi jeera. Rice dishes like biryani benefit from a sprinkling of these seeds, and they are often a first ingredient for curries and stews. I love that they are used in breads and plan to do some black cumin biscuits soon myself. I pretty much use it whenever I want a milder version of cumin, where I want it to highlight but not overpower. Let me know if you’ve ever worked with this spice before!

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?

Epazote

Modern day foraging in urban areas is not necessarily a new idea. With amazing restaurants like Noma, whose philosophy of foraging the local countryside has defined a new tradition, I’m happy to see how much this trend has been embraced and am looking around for a cool class to take some time this summer. This is only relevant because epazote, an herb that’s popular in Mexican cooking, actually grows wild in Central Park! I need to know what other exotic herbs I can grab from the NYC parks…

Epazote otherwise grows wild throughout Mexico, Central and South America, and Caribbean. Also called American wormseed, I’ve read the Aztec translation of the word actually means “skunk sweat” (which seems like one of the last things I’d like to add to food…). The fresh leaves have a strong, petrol-like smell, but the dried form, here, captures some of the flavor of this herb and works well as a tea to aid in digestion.

In Mexican cooking, epazote is a key ingredient in (amongst others) black bean dishes, Oaxacan mole verde, and mole de epazote, a goat casserole. It’s flavor is distinctive and may require some getting used to. Some describe it as soapy (like cilantro), camphorous, and definitely minty. It’s not something you want to add to raw dishes because it’s so pungent, but it doesn’t require long cooking time either; it does the trick in cooked salsas.

To be completely honest, I have not done a ton of cooking with this herb, but it does add beautiful flavor to my (seriously) beefy chili. I’m also working on a roasted tomatillo salsa recipe into which I slip in a bit. Share with me please! What are your favorite ways to use epazote?

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!

Browning (aka Burnt Sugar “Sauce”)

I mentioned browning a few weeks back when I was creating my spicy creole ketchup, where I used it as a base. I thought I would talk a bit more about this “sauce” and how it’s used in a lot of West Indian cooking. This is one of those down-home, secret ingredients that can make or break just how good a dish turns out and also help you flex knowledge when talking to someone who knows about West Indian food (don’t you just love that inside information)?

So what exactly is browning? Quite simply, it is burnt sugar. Sugar is heated either by itself or with a little oil or water until it’s taken to a stage of caramelization where it’s smoking and almost black. At that point, more water is added or ingredients are tossed in to stop the cooking process. Browning is often bottled and can be bought at most West Indian grocers, but, as you can tell from my description, it’s fairly easy to do at home (just don’t even THINK about touching it when it’s cooking unless you want the burn of your lifetime…).

If you’ve ever had Jamaican oxtail stew or Trini peas and rice, browning was probably the foundation of it. It’s additive to both color and taste and coats a dish’s ingredients with sweet goodness. Once the sugar is cooked to that stage, it develops a really rich flavor, molasses-like with smokiness and depth. It’s used a lot in savoury dishes, but it’s also a key ingredient in West Indianblack cake, a boozy, wine-soaked fruit cake that’s super dark and served around the holidays.

As I mentioned, I used it to form the foundation of a ketchup (why not?) because I love the flavor. But that’s a pretty unusual way to use it. Next time you are talking to someone who says they know West Indian food, see if they know as much as you do!

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