Consider saffron
It's hard to produce and more costly than gold, but there's nothing else like it. How do you use saffron in your kitchen?
Oliver Thring
Tuesday 29 June 2010
How would you describe the taste of saffron? It's sweet but bitter. It smells of hay, the ocean, diesel, bonfire embers and well-rotted apples. Its aroma is gentle but overpowering, as delicate as a surgeon and as sharp as a bitch-slap. Although people use turmeric to approximate its colour, it has no substitute flavour, no lemon-to-lime or cod-to-pollock neighbour. It dominates the dishes it appears in but acts as a mere backnote to other ingredients. Nothing in the kitchen is as full of paradox and subtlety as this singularly beautiful, weepingly expensive spice.
It's the stigma of a very pretty crocus native to a strip of west Asia. The modern plant is sterile, the hard-won result of cross-breeding and human-led Darwinism. Every year, people have to dig it up, split the bulb-like corms that form part of its root and replant them. The flowers bloom in October, pushing out two or three fragile, wispy stigmas that you can only harvest by hand, and pickers work through the night to catch these at their coy, alluring best.
It's punishing, fiddly work. So saffron is notoriously the most expensive spice, its retail price, pound for pound, often exceeding that of gold. Harrods, who know about this sort of thing, were kind enough to give me 2g of the finest: a bit of Spanish and some Moroccan. Together, the tiny jars used around 400 flowers, and cost over £25.
For as long as there have been people, people have known about saffron. A dye from its stigmas colours 50,000-year-old cave paintings in what is now Iraq. Ancient frescoes on the Greek island of Santorini depict a goddess watching – or perhaps blessing – a woman picking saffron, presumably for medicine. No one knows how old this painting is: a volcano buried it in around 1500BC, and the work could have been hundreds of years old even then. Ovid wrote that Smilax changed her pursuer Crocos into a flower, leaving the red stigma as a symbol of his passion. Another myth describes Hermes, the messenger to the gods, accidentally wounding his friend Crocos: blood dripping from Crocos's head fell on the ground, where Hermes changed it into the flower. Zeus slept on a bed of saffron. The spice appears in the sybaritic verses of the Song of Solomon and in Chinese writings dating to 1600BC. Cleopatra used it "before encounters with men" – I haven't been able to find out how, but I'm sure you can use your imagination. ...
It's hot stuff, yeah, an' it's everywhere I go.
'Nuff said.
... inspired by the famous smitten kitchen cake, this is my own chocolate cake recipe with this peanut butter marshmallow frosting, covered in chocolate glaze and decorated with halloween m+ms and ghost marshmallow peeps. ...
introBananas Brulee
Nothing says "Dessert!" like a propane torch. This dessert is fast and easy to make, and most guests are impressed by the visual appeal of combining of dangerous tools and food!
Also, since Valentine's Day is coming up, this is a good way to make your special someone a unique treat while also wooing them with your torch wielding skills. Maybe if you have some properly curved bananas you can arrange them in the shape of a heart! ...
Ta much, dear Anneliese
Nothing says "Dessert!" like a propane torch. This dessert is fast and easy to make, and most guests are impressed by the visual appeal of combining of dangerous tools and food!
Also, since Valentine's Day is coming up, this is a good way to make your special someone a unique treat while also wooing them with your torch wielding skills. Maybe if you have some properly curved bananas you can arrange them in the shape of a heart! ...
Ta much, dear Anneliese
Sexy, vast, eggy popover sort of thing.
C'est magnifique.
C'est magnifique.
October 4, 2009
Help, quick – I’ve unscrewed the top on a ticking bomb
Jeremy Clarkson
... I like a hot sauce. My bloody marys are known to cure squints. And at an Indian restaurant I will often order a vindaloo, sometimes without the involvement of a wager. So when I accidentally found that bottle of Insanity, I poured maybe half a teaspoonful onto my paella. And tucked in.
Burns victims often say that when they are actually on fire, there is no pain. It has something to do with the body pumping out adrenaline in such vast quantities that the nerve endings stop working. Well, it wasn’t like that for me.
The pain started out mildly, but I knew from past experience that this would build to a delightful fiery sensation. I was even looking forward to it. But the moment soon passed. In a matter of seconds I was in agony. After maybe a minute I was frightened that I might die. After five I was frightened that I might not.
The searing fire had surged throughout my head. My eyes were streaming. Molten lava was flooding out of my nose. My mouth was a shattered ruin. Even my hair hurt.
And all the time, I was thinking: “If it’s doing this to my head, what in the name of all that's holy is it doing to my innards?” I felt certain that at any moment my stomach would open and everything — my intestines, my liver, my heart, even — would simply splosh onto the floor. This is not an exaggeration. I really did think I was dissolving from the inside out.
Trying to keep calm, I raced, screaming, for the fridge and ate handfuls of crushed ice. This made everything worse. So, dimly remembering that Indians use bread when they've overdone the chillies, I cut a slice, threw it away and ate what remained of the very expensive Daylesford loaf, like a dog. ...
Well, it's hot stuff, yeah
An' it's everywhere I go!
- Memphis Minnie
Help, quick – I’ve unscrewed the top on a ticking bomb
Jeremy Clarkson
... I like a hot sauce. My bloody marys are known to cure squints. And at an Indian restaurant I will often order a vindaloo, sometimes without the involvement of a wager. So when I accidentally found that bottle of Insanity, I poured maybe half a teaspoonful onto my paella. And tucked in.
Burns victims often say that when they are actually on fire, there is no pain. It has something to do with the body pumping out adrenaline in such vast quantities that the nerve endings stop working. Well, it wasn’t like that for me.
The pain started out mildly, but I knew from past experience that this would build to a delightful fiery sensation. I was even looking forward to it. But the moment soon passed. In a matter of seconds I was in agony. After maybe a minute I was frightened that I might die. After five I was frightened that I might not.
The searing fire had surged throughout my head. My eyes were streaming. Molten lava was flooding out of my nose. My mouth was a shattered ruin. Even my hair hurt.
And all the time, I was thinking: “If it’s doing this to my head, what in the name of all that's holy is it doing to my innards?” I felt certain that at any moment my stomach would open and everything — my intestines, my liver, my heart, even — would simply splosh onto the floor. This is not an exaggeration. I really did think I was dissolving from the inside out.
Trying to keep calm, I raced, screaming, for the fridge and ate handfuls of crushed ice. This made everything worse. So, dimly remembering that Indians use bread when they've overdone the chillies, I cut a slice, threw it away and ate what remained of the very expensive Daylesford loaf, like a dog. ...
Well, it's hot stuff, yeah
An' it's everywhere I go!
- Memphis Minnie
May you have great and tasty, most fortunate rebirths Mr Floyd!
Na fo'get da pumpkin soup, Mon.
Somewhat like scrambled eggs?
Pfui!
Ackee's exactly like scrambled eggs!
Pfui!
Ackee's exactly like scrambled eggs!
Codfish fears conquered
Published: Tuesday | May 19, 2009
Robert Lalah
So a couple of weeks ago, I was in Norway and came across the much-maligned codfish head that Jamaicans so often say is the ugliest part of any living thing that you will ever come across.
Now, the one I saw was, in fact, detached from the body and, to make matters worse, was dried for more than two months. So, if the head of a cod was ever going to be ugly, it was now.
I have to say, though, that it wasn't all that bad. Maybe it was a serious case of oversell, because I had heard so much about how ugly it was supposed to be before I made the trip, but I was a little disappointed with the outcome. It seemed like a regular fish head to me, not a demonic embodiment of all things evil from the depths of fish hell, as some have made it out to be.
But what do I know? I decided to consult the experts, so I headed to the hills of Clarendon to seek audience with Maleva Wright, the 78-year-old pastor of the Jesus of Nazareth Praise Sanctuary in Hayes. She, I am told, has been spreading both the gospel and the codfish myths all across Clarendon for more than 30 years. I took a picture along with me to find out what she thought.
"Dis yah? No man, yuh coulda neva ah carry salt-fish head fi mi look pan! Yuh wah bring crosses dung pan me?" she yelped at first glance. She took a few steps back.
It took a considerable amount of time to calm her down, but eventually she came around. I asked her to have another look at it.
The woman, her hair grey with age, whispered a verse from Psalm 23, then looked at the picture again.
"Allright, it ugly, but it nuh ugly to dat. Maybe when it did alive it did uglier," she said, handing the picture back to me. ...
"Codfish Head."
"What'd you say?"
"I said, 'Codfish Head.'"
"What'd you say?"
"I said, 'Codfish Head.'"
"What'd you say?"
"I said 'Codfish Head.'"
"What'd you say?"
"I said, 'Codfish Head.'"
A gold star to anyone who knows what I parody above.
Published: Tuesday | May 19, 2009
Robert Lalah
So a couple of weeks ago, I was in Norway and came across the much-maligned codfish head that Jamaicans so often say is the ugliest part of any living thing that you will ever come across.
Now, the one I saw was, in fact, detached from the body and, to make matters worse, was dried for more than two months. So, if the head of a cod was ever going to be ugly, it was now.
I have to say, though, that it wasn't all that bad. Maybe it was a serious case of oversell, because I had heard so much about how ugly it was supposed to be before I made the trip, but I was a little disappointed with the outcome. It seemed like a regular fish head to me, not a demonic embodiment of all things evil from the depths of fish hell, as some have made it out to be.
But what do I know? I decided to consult the experts, so I headed to the hills of Clarendon to seek audience with Maleva Wright, the 78-year-old pastor of the Jesus of Nazareth Praise Sanctuary in Hayes. She, I am told, has been spreading both the gospel and the codfish myths all across Clarendon for more than 30 years. I took a picture along with me to find out what she thought.
"Dis yah? No man, yuh coulda neva ah carry salt-fish head fi mi look pan! Yuh wah bring crosses dung pan me?" she yelped at first glance. She took a few steps back.
It took a considerable amount of time to calm her down, but eventually she came around. I asked her to have another look at it.
The woman, her hair grey with age, whispered a verse from Psalm 23, then looked at the picture again.
"Allright, it ugly, but it nuh ugly to dat. Maybe when it did alive it did uglier," she said, handing the picture back to me. ...
"Codfish Head."
"What'd you say?"
"I said, 'Codfish Head.'"
"What'd you say?"
"I said, 'Codfish Head.'"
"What'd you say?"
"I said 'Codfish Head.'"
"What'd you say?"
"I said, 'Codfish Head.'"
A gold star to anyone who knows what I parody above.
Hail, hail to the herein fail upon fail.
we got the chance to create a sculptured cake based on one of my all-time-favorite movies: "Monty Python & the Holy Grail". The client's daughter was turning 17, and happened to be a huge Python fan (a girl of good taste... no doubt!)
Her mother was tickled by my enthusiasm during our phone conversation -- I even quoted dialogue from the movie to prove my knowledge of it, and my excitement over the theme(... and that I'm a complete movie NERD). It was a once in a lifetime cake to do -- I mean really... how often do we get a call for "The Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch" at our cake shop?! ...
Her mother was tickled by my enthusiasm during our phone conversation -- I even quoted dialogue from the movie to prove my knowledge of it, and my excitement over the theme(... and that I'm a complete movie NERD). It was a once in a lifetime cake to do -- I mean really... how often do we get a call for "The Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch" at our cake shop?! ...