Unique Citrus in NYC

We are smack dab in the middle of citrus season, and, yesterday, I came across a few different types that I had never eaten, cooked with, possibly seen before! One, called the Buddha’s hand, is not in this picture because it was $30 per lb (basically for the single fruit), and I couldn’t bring myself to spend that slash I would rather spend that on something that will last longer – say, truffle oil and some beauty products….It’s worth checking out though just for its grotesquely interesting shape and the fact that it’s used to make citron vodka. So the citrus I ended up actually buying are pictured above and are Rangpur limes and mandarinquats.

I went all in and just bit into the Rangpur lime, which is lime in name only and is the larger rounder fruit. Not necessarily the wisest thing to do, BUT I got a full sense of the flavor – super sour in a bright lemony way with a honeyed sweetness and perfume. The fruit is actually a cross between a mandarin and a lemon, so, at least, my taste suspicions were confirmed (that’s exactly what it tastes like though with the lemon predominating).

The mandarinquat flesh was also shockingly sour. As the name implies, this one is a cross between a mandarin and a kumquat and has that signature bell shape. I grew up with a kumquat tree in the backyard and have many happy memories of illicit tree-climbing (eschewing the “fall and break your head” adage) and kumquat-eating to my heart’s content. Here, the peel is eaten with the flesh and sweetens it up quite a bit. In fact, the peel has a sweet spice-like quality where the flesh resembles a sour orange.

When I think of cooking with either of these, my mind straight away goes to cocktails! The thought of a Pisco sour using a Rangpur lime sounds just about right, or candying the peel of the mandarinquat and using the peel and syrup in a simple vodka-based drink. Of course, both of these would be beautiful in desserts, as a riff on lemon meringue pie or a fruit mousse. I think I would just pour that syrup and candied mandarinquat peel on vanilla ice cream for my very own creamsicle and call it a day. Thoughts?

Sal Rosada from Maras

When someone mentions pink salt, I tend to always think about the curing sort, with sodium nitrite. But finishing salts do come in all colors – black, pink, red, grey – and this pink salt I happened to pick up while I was exploring Peru. A lot of times during my spice stories I talk about unique ingredients and their extraordinary flavor. This salt I wanted to share with you more for the story and the experience it represented for me, less for its individual influence on cooking.

To me pink salt is pink salt and perhaps my palate is just not developed enough. My understanding is that the reason for (any) color in salt is due to the lack of a refining process, and so salts mainly differ in mineral content, size and shape of crystals, intensity and the way they disperse in foods. One exception I know to that is kala namak or black salt from India – this type has a distinct, sulphurous taste that makes it easily identifiable.

In the Sacred Valley, near a town called Maras, I visited these salt-evaporation ponds that the locals all referred to as salt mines. Here’s a photo – and it can’t quite do it justice. I was blown away by the site (it’s massive and intense) and particularly the fact that these have been in use from the Inca times, a way of capturing salt from a nearby, super-salty spring. I literally put my hand in the stream and minutes later my hand had dried with a thorough dusting of salt on it. The pans need only natural evaporation for the gorgeous salt crystals to form.

What I loved was how the ponds help support the locals according to people I spoke with from the area. Some of the pools have been passed on for generations; each family owns and harvests its own salt though it’s usually sold through the coop that manages the ponds. One thing is for sure – labor cost isn’t figured in…Carrying those heavy bags of salt at that altitude and that distance would be no joke!

Kodampuli or Malabar Tamarind

This week, I came across an ingredient that has quickly become one of my favorite new foods – a smoky, heady dried fruit that had my mind racing for different ways to use it! Although I tend to work on more of the modern dishes for Junoon, I decided to take a step back and focus on researching and developing a recipe for a traditional curry from the south of India, a Kerala shrimp curry. From my experience in Goa and in cooking Indian cuisine, I knew about kokum and tamarind as souring agents but had never heard about kodampuli, a smoked, dried fruit that’s used almost exclusively in the Kerala region.

Kodampuli is also called kudampuli, Malabar tamarind, gambooge or fish tamarind and is not actually tamarind at all as I first thought. The fruit is small, pumpkin-shaped and ripens from green to yellow. It’s grown in the south of India, other areas of southeast Asia and in part of Africa. Once the fruit ripens, it’s deseeded and dried in the sun after which it’s smoked. They have a really long shelf life, so if you happen to get your hands on this hard-to-find ingredient, you can keep it for literally years.

I was super excited to use this in the curry because I’m a bit obsessed with smokiness in foods (and cocktails), and I certainly had never tasted a smoky curry. To get the best out of the fruit, you have to rinse it and soak it in boiling water for about 10 to 15 minutes. Both the fruit and the liquid are used in cooking and impart a sour but not acidic (I finished it with grilled lime juice) quality to a dish. The flavor is not wholly unlike kokum or tamarind but there is a subtle, smoky finish; I think it added a delicious complexity.

You can be sure that I will be throwing these little guys in winter soups this season. Their flavor is best when simmered in a liquid for 10 to 15 minutes, so any braises I make (braising is one of my favorite cooking activities) may get a sour kick. I’d love to explore using these in sauces and meat marinades for searing or grilling – perhaps simmer it in wine or water with garlic and spices to do an overnight marinade or brine. Quite frankly, I’m just not sure how I’ll go back to regular tamarind again…

Catupiry

Because I live in NYC, when I travel, I tend to shy away from big cities and focus on countrysides and off-the-beaten-path destinations. I like to experience the physical beauty of a place while taking in the culture, and the rush of a city is the last thing I crave. But, literally, as soon as the plane landed in Rio de Janeiro, I felt an indescribable energy – a laid back beach culture combined with effortless sexiness and an urban edge. This is one big city I looove. Of course, cooking and food exploration was high on my list here, and I wanted to share with you one of the most delicious finds, a rich, creamy, spreadable cheese called Catupiry.

Catupiry is completely Brazilian, and the way it’s made is apparently a well-guarded secret of one family who created it in the state of Minas Gerais early in the 20th century. It’s a popular brand of requeijão cheese, a type of cream cheese that dates back to times of slavery in the country. The flavor is really mild, luscious, with a bit of tang, and I think it resembles a cross between mascarpone and fromager d’affinois. Because it’s local to Brazil, it is certainly not the easiest thing to find in the States. If you are in the NYC area, I know Rio Bonito in Queens carries it as does Seabra Supermarkets in Jersey.

Requeijão cheese is part of Brazilian food culture and is incorporated in family’s dishes on the day to day. It may be used in the country’s famous cheese bread, pão de queijo, as a breakfast spread, baked with shredded chicken in a pastry crust (that just made me hungry! might try that soon), simply enjoyed with guava paste (would be delicious in these guava cheese crepes), or, and this might be my favorite, as a pizza topping. I will certainly be making recipes with Catupiry soon and will make sure mascarpone works for them too for those who can’t find it!

Persian Saffron

If you have been reading this blog, it is no secret I’m a huge fan of what I think is one of the more alluring spices out there….saffron. A tiny pinch of these little stigmas from the Crocus flower can completely transform a dish, infusing savoury and sweet foods alike with its intoxicating perfume. For me, saffron represents a childhood memory – the unforgettable taste of seviyan, a sweet pudding made with vermicelli flecked with cardamom and sultanas that was a treat (or special request!) my Mom would make. .

When people think of saffron, there is usually a close association with the Spanish sort. The reality is Kashmiri and certain Italian saffrons, though not marketed as much as Spanish saffron, are the highest quality and the most potent in terms of aroma and color. Persian or Iranian saffron (my saffron of choice) falls in right after these and is as good as (if not better) than the best saffron from Spain.

Anyway you slice it, if you want good saffron, you’re going to have to shell out! Each strand is plucked by hand for goodness sake. But the last thing you want is to spend on a spice and then have it lose its flavor, so I always think about longevity and rationing when buying a spice….The thing that distinguishes Persian saffron is that it has a lower moisture content, which means it keeps for a longer period of time and also crushes easily into a powder (so you can use less). It easily infuses a dish with its color as the small particles disperse more easily.

Although my childhood memory was a sweet saffron dish, here in my recipes, I’ve done nothing but add it to savoury dishes – fried chicken, saffron & roasted garlic spaghetti squash gratin, and shakshuka to name a few (I’m sure there are more). Saffron is often “bloomed” first, soaked in a liquid before being added to a dish. It blooms easily in a warm liquid like milk, cream, or stock as well as alcohol and not as easily in fats like oil or butter. I would love to hear how you incorporate saffron into your dishes so please share!

Shiro Powder

A few years back I spent some time in a kitchen in Brooklyn learning Ethiopian cooking, at a small, authentic restaurant called Bati in Fort Greene (I highly recommend it!). The chef there “mama” (which is exactly what I called her…) showed me dish after dish, albeit speaking in Amharic, and I followed along as best as I could – watching, tasting, smelling, feeling (and googling where otherwise stumped!). It was quite an education, and I felt incredibly fortunate to be grounded in the true tradition of this cuisine – from the fermentation of their bread, injera, to learning how to perfect kitfo, a luscious, warm steak tartare, to savouring the gorgeous vegetarian stews, shiro being my favorite.

Shiro is a staple, Ethiopian stew that’s made from peas, lentils, and chickpeas that are dried and ground into a fine powder, shiro powder. The flavor is rich, spiced and nutty, and the shiro powder comes blended with a ton of spices and herbs – fenugreek, cardamom, and sacred basil to name a few – as well as dried garlic and ginger. The stew consists of sautéed red onions, garlic, water, shiro powder and some green peppers, and occasionally is finished with a spiced, clarified butter, which is one of my favorite ingredients in the world. Easy to make and imparts everything you cook in it with rich flavor….

This is the time of year where the cold weather makes you just want to curl up with a nice soup or stew over rice, and I love this ingredient because it’s low maintenance, already has a ton of spices in it, and can easily thicken up and flavor most soups you have out there. This is such a great ingredient for vegans to incorporate because of its protein levels and makes a quick meal because all of the lentils are powdered. I like to do a nice, creamy cauliflower soup and throw this in; it’s used to thicken up beef stews in Ethiopia as well so I have added it to a basic bowl of chili. Feel free to use your imagination!

Fennel Pollen

I was recently dusting some of this gorgeous, fragrant pollen over scallops to finish off a dish when I thought about the fact that this (slightly sexy) ingredient isn’t as popular as it used to be. For a time, you couldn’t open up a menu in NYC without seeing a sprinkle of fennel pollen somewhere, and now….not so much. Whether it’s trendy or not, fennel pollen creates a luxurious and fragrant layer to a dish, with that signature anise-like aroma and a delicacy that is as beautiful to look at as it is to eat.

Many people are pretty familiar with fennel seeds and their culinary use, and I’ve actually touched on Lucknow fennel here, my favorite and what I think is the most intense of the bunch. But the pollen is another thing altogether. It is just that, harvested from the yellow flowers of wild fennel, which grows mainly in Italy (thus its use in Tuscan cooking) as well as in California, where it was apparently planted by Italian immigrants.

Some claim that the flavor of the pollen is way more powerful than the seeds, and, if you’re lucky enough to live in Cali and harvest it fresh, that could be true. What I pick up at the spice store, however, has a gentler flavor, more reminiscent of the Lucknowi fennel seeds in its sweetness but with less of a sharp bite.

Now, this isn’t the cheapest spice out there, but a little of it makes a big impact. A sweet, tiny bowl of it stays perennially on my cheese board for entertaining – it complements soft cow and goat milk cheeses beautifully. I am guilty of sprinkling a bit on top of buttered popcorn, throwing it into my scrambled eggs, and mixing it with olive oil for a bread dip. Although it works really well with pork in a spice rub, I prefer its delicacy paired with fish and seafood where it can really stand out. But what I’m really itching to do now is bake with it. I may throw these into some shortbread or, better, madeleines this weekend….

White Peppercorn from Penja

It’s interesting, the whole concept of terroir. It’s traditionally used when describing wines (and sometimes coffee and tea) to paint just how the land, the environment, and the climate all affect its flavor and characteristics. But, to me, terroir works for so much more than that and can be applied to many different parts of the culinary world – produce, mushrooms, dairy and cheeses, meats and even, like in the case of this pepper, spices.

While most peppercorns are grown in South Asia (India, Sri Lanka), Malaysia, Sumatra, Indonesia or even Vietnam, this white pepper comes from Africa, a small, populated area in Cameroon called Penja actually. Penja has a monsoon climate, warm and humid, and its soil is high in volcanic material. Peppercorns are grown in this region, and the Penja white peppercorn specifically has become a standout in the culinary world for its incredibly distinct flavor, which is largely attributed to its unique terroir…

Now, Sarawak peppercorns from Malaysia are thought to be the best white peppercorns out there – hot, woody and pine-like. But white peppercorns from Penja are milder, with a floral bite, musky and not a ton of heat. After picking these up on my latest spice hunt (in the city…), I envisioned coarse grinding these over oysters, to flavor a béchamel or a simple piece of fish. I think it complements mild, creamy textures where the spice can really do its thing.

The downside to these guys is that there is very limited production in this region, so it’s not so easy to find…the usual online purveyors do carry it though!

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