Downtown Orange is a fun little neighborhood, all walkable streets and overpriced antique stores. Of late, however, it’s been getting some pretty good restaurants. The Filling Station is an old gas station, reworked as a diner. They serve a good solid breakfast and lunch, nothing especially creative, but always tasty and they have a great outdoor patio.
I’m a long-time fan of peanut butter with chocolate, but tend to go through phases with it. A couple of weeks ago, I noticed Newman’s Own Peanut Butter Cups in milk chocolate and dark chocolate. I bought one of each on a whim and had finished both by the end of the day. Went back for (one) more the next day … and the next … and had to force myself to cut down to once a week after that. I hope that this wave of the addiction wears off soon; in the meantime, at least it’s organic!
just in case the basil won’t come back, these little packets of organic spices would be fantastic. Expensive, but fantastic.
I’m such a sucker for packaging.
I am very fond of a good independent coffee shop. This is Filter and it’s quite fine, but I’m not particular. It’s a special pleasure if you can happen upon one unexpectedly while travelling and then have awhile to linger with the locals.
it’s a restaurant and a command! at Graze, all of the food is served beautifully and in small proportions. Like this:
I had to steal this picture off of the website because I’m disappointed to say that I neglected to bring my camera to dinner. Everything was delicious, everything was attractive, definitely get the trio of seasonal soups, although you can skip the meatloaf and the wines are lovely. Eat at Graze!
Likely guaranteed to send you into Sugar Shock, but it’ll be entertaining beforehand …
or I’m just getting some really good oranges of late. Anyhow, I’m eating them like they’re going out of style and they taste FANTASTIC. In their honor, I offer you a selection of random and beautiful shots from Flickr:
in case you’re missed the rousing chorus about the no-knead bread, I tried it over the weekend:
I’d add more salt and I think next time I’m making a rosemary-olive loaf, but regardless, it was pretty tasty.
The Secret of Great Bread: Let Time Do the Work
PATIENCE REWARDED Jim Lahey’s bread needs little yeast and no kneading. The dough is poured into a hot pot before baking.
Mark Bittmann
INNOVATIONS in bread baking are rare. In fact, the 6,000-year-old process hasn’t changed much since Pasteur made the commercial production of standardized yeast possible in 1859. The introduction of the gas stove, the electric mixer and the food processor made the process easier, faster and more reliable.
From top: 1. When dough is bubbly, it is ready to be worked. 2. Fold dough once or twice; do not knead. 3. Shape it into a ball and let it rise. 4. Wheat bran flies as Jim Lahey lifts dough and drops it into a hot pot. 5. After baking, the crusty result.
I’m not counting sliced bread as a positive step, but Jim Lahey’s method may be the greatest thing since.
This story began in late September when Mr. Lahey sent an e-mail message inviting me to attend a session of a class he was giving at Sullivan Street Bakery, which he owns, at 533 West 47th Street in Manhattan. His wording was irresistible: “I’ll be teaching a truly minimalist breadmaking technique that allows people to make excellent bread at home with very little effort. The method is surprisingly simple — I think a 4-year-old could master it — and the results are fantastic.”
I set up a time to visit Mr. Lahey, and we baked together, and the only bad news is that you cannot put your 4-year-old to work producing bread for you. The method is complicated enough that you would need a very ambitious 8-year-old. But the results are indeed fantastic.
Mr. Lahey’s method is striking on several levels. It requires no kneading. (Repeat: none.) It uses no special ingredients, equipment or techniques. It takes very little effort.
It accomplishes all of this by combining a number of unusual though not unheard of features. Most notable is that you’ll need about 24 hours to create a loaf; time does almost all the work. Mr. Lahey’s dough uses very little yeast, a quarter teaspoon (you almost never see a recipe with less than a teaspoon), and he compensates for this tiny amount by fermenting the dough very slowly. He mixes a very wet dough, about 42 percent water, which is at the extreme high end of the range that professional bakers use to create crisp crust and large, well-structured crumb, both of which are evident in this loaf.
The dough is so sticky that you couldn’t knead it if you wanted to. It is mixed in less than a minute, then sits in a covered bowl, undisturbed, for about 18 hours. It is then turned out onto a board for 15 minutes, quickly shaped (I mean in 30 seconds), and allowed to rise again, for a couple of hours. Then it’s baked. That’s it.
I asked Harold McGee, who is an amateur breadmaker and best known as the author of “On Food and Cooking” (Scribner, 2004), what he thought of this method. His response: “It makes sense. The long, slow rise does over hours what intensive kneading does in minutes: it brings the gluten molecules into side-by-side alignment to maximize their opportunity to bind to each other and produce a strong, elastic network. The wetness of the dough is an important piece of this because the gluten molecules are more mobile in a high proportion of water, and so can move into alignment easier and faster than if the dough were stiff.”
That’s as technical an explanation as I care to have, enough to validate what I already knew: Mr. Lahey’s method is creative and smart.
But until this point, it’s not revolutionary. Mr. McGee said he had been kneading less and less as the years have gone by, relying on time to do the work for him. Charles Van Over, author of the authoritative book on food-processor dough making, “The Best Bread Ever” (Broadway, 1997), long ago taught me to make a very wet dough (the food processor is great at this) and let it rise slowly. And, as Mr. Lahey himself notes, “The Egyptians mixed their batches of dough with a hoe.”
What makes Mr. Lahey’s process revolutionary is the resulting combination of great crumb, lightness, incredible flavor — long fermentation gives you that — and an enviable, crackling crust, the feature of bread that most frequently separates the amateurs from the pros. My bread has often had thick, hard crusts, not at all bad, but not the kind that shatter when you bite into them. Producing those has been a bane of the amateur for years, because it requires getting moisture onto the bread as the crust develops.
To get that kind of a crust, professionals use steam-injected ovens. At home I have tried brushing the dough with water (a hassle and ineffective); spraying it (almost as ineffective and requiring frequent attention); throwing ice cubes on the floor of the oven (not good for the oven, and not far from ineffective); and filling a pot with stones and preheating it, then pouring boiling water over the stones to create a wet sauna (quite effective but dangerous, physically challenging and space-consuming). I was discouraged from using La Cloche, a covered stoneware dish, by my long-standing disinclination to crowd my kitchen with inessential items that accomplish only one chore. I was discouraged from buying a $5,000 steam-injected oven by its price.
It turns out there’s no need for any of this. Mr. Lahey solves the problem by putting the dough in a preheated covered pot — a common one, a heavy one, but nothing fancy. For one loaf he used an old Le Creuset enameled cast iron pot; for another, a heavy ceramic pot. (I have used cast iron with great success.) By starting this very wet dough in a hot, covered pot, Mr. Lahey lets the crust develop in a moist, enclosed environment. The pot is in effect the oven, and that oven has plenty of steam in it. Once uncovered, a half-hour later, the crust has time to harden and brown, still in the pot, and the bread is done. (Fear not. The dough does not stick to the pot any more than it would to a preheated bread stone.)
The entire process is incredibly simple, and, in the three weeks I’ve been using it, absolutely reliable. Though professional bakers work with consistent flour, water, yeast and temperatures, and measure by weight, we amateurs have mostly inconsistent ingredients and measure by volume, which can make things unpredictable. Mr. Lahey thinks imprecision isn’t much of a handicap and, indeed, his method seems to iron out the wrinkles: “I encourage a somewhat careless approach,” he says, “and figure this may even be a disappointment to those who expect something more difficult. The proof is in the loaf.”
The loaf is incredible, a fine-bakery quality, European-style boule that is produced more easily than by any other technique I’ve used, and will blow your mind. (It may yet change the industry. Mr. Lahey is experimenting with using it on a large scale, but although it requires far less electricity than conventional baking, it takes a lot of space and time.) It is best made with bread flour, but all-purpose flour works fine. (I’ve played with whole-wheat and rye flours, too; the results are fantastic.)
You or your 8-year-old may hit this perfectly on the first try, or you may not. Judgment is involved; with practice you’ll get it right every time.
The baking itself is virtually foolproof, so the most important aspect is patience. Long, slow fermentation is critical. Mr. Lahey puts the time at 12 to 18 hours, but I have had much greater success at the longer time. If you are in a hurry, more yeast (three-eighths of a teaspoon) or a warmer room temperature may move things along, but really, once you’re waiting 12 hours why not wait 18? Similarly, Mr. Lahey’s second rising can take as little as an hour, but two hours, or even a little longer, works better.
Although even my “failed” loaves were as good as those from most bakeries, to make the loaf really sensational requires a bit of a commitment. But with just a little patience, you will be rewarded with the best no-work bread you have ever made. And that’s no small thing.
No Kneading, but Some Fine-Tuning
LAST month I wrote about Jim Lahey, the owner of Sullivan Street Bakery on West 47th Street in Manhattan, and his clever way to produce a European-style boule at home. Mr. Lahey’s recipe calls for very little yeast, a wet dough, long rising times and baking in a closed, preheated pot. My results with Mr. Lahey’s method have been beyond satisfying.
Happily, so have those of most readers. In the last few weeks Jim Lahey’s recipe has been translated into German, baked in Togo, discussed on more than 200 blogs and written about in other newspapers. It has changed the lives (their words, not mine) of veteran and novice bakers. It has also generated enough questions to warrant further discussion here. The topics are more or less in the order of the quantity of inquiries.
WEIGHT VS. VOLUME The original recipe contained volume measures, but for those who prefer to use weight, here are the measurements: 430 grams of flour, 345 grams of water, 1 gram of yeast and 8 grams of salt. With experience, many people will stop measuring altogether and add just enough water to make the dough almost too wet to handle.
SALT Many people, me included, felt Mr. Lahey’s bread was not salty enough. Yes, you can use more salt and it won’t significantly affect the rising time. I’ve settled at just under a tablespoon.
YEAST Instant yeast, called for in the recipe, is also called rapid-rise yeast. But you can use whatever yeast you like. Active dry yeast can be used without proofing (soaking it to make sure it’s active).
TIMING About 18 hours is the preferred initial rising time. Some readers have cut this to as little as eight hours and reported little difference. I have not had much luck with shorter times, but I have gone nearly 24 hours without a problem. Room temperature will affect the rising time, and so will the temperature of the water you add (I start with tepid). Like many other people, I’m eager to see what effect warmer weather will have. But to those who have moved the rising dough around the room trying to find the 70-degree sweet spot: please stop. Any normal room temperature is fine. Just wait until you see bubbles and well-developed gluten — the long strands that cling to the sides of the bowl when you tilt it — before proceeding.
THE SECOND RISE Mr. Lahey originally suggested one to two hours, but two to three is more like it, in my experience. (Ambient temperatures in the summer will probably knock this time down some.) Some readers almost entirely skipped this rise, shaping the dough after the first rise and letting it rest while the pot and oven preheat; this is worth trying, of course.
OTHER FLOURS Up to 30 percent whole-grain flour works consistently and well, and 50 percent whole-wheat is also excellent. At least one reader used 100 percent whole-wheat and reported “great crust but somewhat inferior crumb,” which sounds promising. I’ve kept rye, which is delicious but notoriously impossible to get to rise, to about 20 percent. There is room to experiment.
FLAVORINGS The best time to add caraway seeds, chopped olives, onions, cheese, walnuts, raisins or whatever other traditional bread flavorings you like is after you’ve mixed the dough. But it’s not the only time; you can fold in ingredients before the second rising.
OTHER SHAPES Baguettes in fish steamers, rolls in muffin tins or classic loaves in loaf pans: if you can imagine it, and stay roughly within the pattern, it will work.
COVERING BETWEEN RISES A Silpat mat under the dough is a clever idea (not mine). Plastic wrap can be used as a top layer in place of a second towel.
THE POT The size matters, but not much. I have settled on a smaller pot than Mr. Lahey has, about three or four quarts. This produces a higher loaf, which many people prefer — again, me included. I’m using cast iron. Readers have reported success with just about every available material. Note that the lid handles on Le Creuset pots can only withstand temperatures up to 400 degrees. So avoid using them, or remove the handle first.
BAKING You can increase the initial temperature to 500 degrees for more rapid browning, but be careful; I scorched a loaf containing whole-wheat flour by doing this. Yes, you can reduce the length of time the pot is covered to 20 minutes from 30, and then increase the time the loaf bakes uncovered. Most people have had a good experience baking for an additional 30 minutes once the pot is uncovered.
As these answers demonstrate, almost everything about Mr. Lahey’s bread is flexible, within limits. As we experiment, we will have failures. (Like the time I stopped adding flour because the phone rang, and didn’t realize it until 18 hours later. Even this, however, was reparable). This method is going to have people experimenting, and largely succeeding, until something better comes along. It may be quite a while.
Adapted from Jim Lahey, Sullivan Street Bakery
Time: About 1½ hours plus 14 to 20 hours’ rising
3 cups all-purpose or bread flour, more for dusting
¼ teaspoon instant yeast
1¼ teaspoons salt
Cornmeal or wheat bran as needed.
1. In a large bowl combine flour, yeast and salt. Add 1 5/8 cups water, and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy and sticky. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rest at least 12 hours, preferably about 18, at warm room temperature, about 70 degrees.
2. Dough is ready when its surface is dotted with bubbles. Lightly flour a work surface and place dough on it; sprinkle it with a little more flour and fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rest about 15 minutes.
3. Using just enough flour to keep dough from sticking to work surface or to your fingers, gently and quickly shape dough into a ball. Generously coat a cotton towel (not terry cloth) with flour, wheat bran or cornmeal; put dough seam side down on towel and dust with more flour, bran or cornmeal. Cover with another cotton towel and let rise for about 2 hours. When it is ready, dough will be more than double in size and will not readily spring back when poked with a finger.
4. At least a half-hour before dough is ready, heat oven to 450 degrees. Put a 6- to 8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic) in oven as it heats. When dough is ready, carefully remove pot from oven. Slide your hand under towel and turn dough over into pot, seam side up; it may look like a mess, but that is O.K. Shake pan once or twice if dough is unevenly distributed; it will straighten out as it bakes. Cover with lid and bake 30 minutes, then remove lid and bake another 15 to 30 minutes, until loaf is beautifully browned. Cool on a rack.
Yield: One 1½-pound loaf.
it’s all about Spain right now - Spanish food, wine, cities. I found this blurb as a saved email from last summer and thought it sounded relevant. And delicious.
A primer on grapes and places
Emerging regions
Bierzo. Fruit from the signature Mencía vines from this region in northwest Tierra de Castilla go into reds that are terrific food wines, with more finesse than power.
Campo de Borja. An emerging area south of Rioja, where the old-vine Garnacha vineyards climb the slopes of Sierra del Moncayo.
Cariñena. South of Campo de Borja, Cariñena is the birthplace of a namesake grape variety, though Garnacha is the dominant grape.
Calatayud. East of Cariñena, Calatayud’s high-altitude, old-vine Garnacha is just starting to show up in wines for export.
Empordá-Costa Brava. This coastal zone of Catalunya has newly planted Tempranillo, Cabernet and Chardonnay vineyards. The signature wine is a rosado (rosé) made from Garnacha and Cariñena grapes.
Jumilla. A hot, high-altitude region southwest of Valencia known for bulk wine, Jumilla now is making modern wine with its old-vine Monastrell grapes.
La Mancha. South of Madrid, the flat, inland region is hot in the summer, freezing in the winter, and dry all the time. White Airéns and Tempranillos predominate.
Navarra. Near the French border, west of Catalunya, the region is known for Garnacha, much of which is made into rosados. Tempranillo production is rising.
Priorato. An area of Catalunya known for a wide elevation span (328 to 2,297 feet) and slate and quartzite soils; artisanal winemakers have planted Cabernet Sauvignon, but Garnacha and Cariñena still predominate.
Rías Baixas. This low-land, coastal region in Galicia, bordering Portugal, is known for its fresh, light Albariños.
Rueda. A Castilian region known for its white wines — Sauvignon Blanc, Verdejo and blends of the two — as well as Tempranillo.
Tierra de Castilla. The historic heartland of Castilian Spain includes the wine zones Ribera del Duero, Rueda, Toro and Bierzo.
Toro. Located within Tierra de Castilla, the region is known for its intense Tempranillos. Garnachas and Cabernets also are grown in the high-elevation vineyards.
Valencia. The region surrounding the Mediterranean town of Valencia encompasses the Alicante, Valencia and Utiel-Requena zones, which grow a wide variety of grapes.
Grape varieties
Albariño. A white wine grape native to Galicia known for producing wines with fresh peachy flavors, but it can also produce wines with the potential to gain complexity with age.
Garnacha. A grape widely grown throughout Spain’s northern regions, it adds spicy, cherry flavors to traditional Rioja red wines. Known in France as Grenache.
Macabeo. Also known as Viura, this white wine grape used in Spain’s sparkling cavas is the main white wine of Rioja and Navarra.
Mencía. A red wine grape that grows on hillside slopes and terraces in Bierzo, it’s often blended with Garnacha to make an early-drinking wine.
Tempranillo. The predominant red wine grape throughout Spain, it makes long-lasting, fragrant, fruity wines. It’s the backbone of traditional Riojas.
Verdejo. A white grape considered one of Spain’s best; it makes aromatic wines with character.
— Corie Brown
Sources: “The New Spain: A Complete Guide to Contemporary Spanish Wine” by John Radford, 2004; “The Wines of Spain” by Julian Jeffs, 1999
*
THE Times tasting panel met recently for a blind tasting of Spanish wines widely available at Los Angeles area retailers for $13 and less. Joining me on the panel were Food editor Leslie Brenner, Food columnist Russ Parsons and Randy Kemner, owner of the Wine Country in Signal Hill. The good news is there were plenty of simple but pleasing wines in this value category, as well as some surprisingly delightful wines that cost as little as $4.
Our favorite white wine among the Albariños, Verdejos and regional blends was the 2003 Protocolo, which retails for about $6. The best of the reds, which included Garnachas, Tempranillos and blends, was the 2003 Las Rocas de San Alejandro, an old-vines Garnacha that sells for about $10.
Wines are listed in order of the panel’s preference.
— Corie Brown
Whites
2003 Protocolo. A blend from Dominio de Eguren in Tierra de Castilla, imported by Jorge Ordoñez. A well-balanced, earthy wine with intriguing aromas of lemon and olive oil, a bit of complexity and a melony finish. At Liquid Wine & Spirits in Chatsworth, (818) 709-5019, and Mission Wines in South Pasadena, (626) 403-9463, about $6.
2004 Con Class. A white wine blend from Rueda, imported by Eric Solomon’s European Cellars. Sauvignon Blanc-like, with bracing acid, peach nectar and herbal flavors and aromas of fresh hay. Simple and pleasant. At Mel & Rose Wine and Spirits in West Hollywood, (323) 655-5557, and Wine Country in Signal Hill, (562) 597-8303, about $9.
2004 Rocaberdi. A blend (80% Macabeo, 20% Xarel-lo) from Catalonia, via Beaune Imports. A touch of oak dampens the tart grapefruit and peach aromas in this fun and likable blend. Nicely structured with crisp, bracing acids. At Wine Country, about $8.
2004 Naia. Imported by Jorge Ordoñez, this bracing Verdejo from Rueda offers citrus aromas and flavors of freshly cut grass and sweet lime. At Mel & Rose Wine and Spirits and Mission Wines, about $11.
2004 Floresta. A blend (55% Macabeo, 45% Chardonnay) from Empordá-Costa Brava, imported by Beaune Imports. Peach and apricot aromas, with pleasant creamy apricot and tangerine flavors. At Liquid Wine and Spirits and the Wine Country, about $10.
2004 Burgáns Albariño. From Rías Baixas, imported by Eric Solomon. Floral aromas, with a touch of turpentine, this wine has an off-putting vanilla- extract taste and an unpleasant finish. At Mel & Rose Wine and Spirits and Wine Country, about $10.
2004 Vionta Albariño. With off-putting milk-chocolate aromas, this wine was badly oxidized. At Wine Hotel in L.A., (323) 937-9463, about $13.
Reds
2003 Las Rocas de San Alejandro Viñas Viejas Garnacha. From old vines in Calatayud, imported by Eric Solomon. This wine, with its eucalyptus and herbal aromas and notes of tobacco and leather, has some character and complexity. At Mission Wines, about $10.
2004 Tres Picos Borsao Garnacha. From Campo de Borja, imported by Jorge Ordoñez. Sweet, smoky nose with flavors of black cherry and spices, this wine would pair well with charcuterie. At the Duke of Bourbon in Canoga Park, (818) 341-1234; Liquid Wine & Spirits; and Wine House in West L.A., (310) 479-3731, about $12.
2004 Mano a Mano. From La Mancha, imported by Jorge Ordoñez. This juicy Tempranillo has ripe berry and cassis aromas, black cherry flavors and a pleasant finish with some length. At Joan’s on Third in Los Angeles, (323) 655-2285, and Mission Wines, about $9.
2004 Abrazo del Toro. A blend (80% Garnacha, 20% Tempranillo) from Cariñena. A young, drinkable wine with charming cherry aromas. At Trader Joe’s stores, about $4.
2004 Wrongo Dongo. A blend from Jumilla, imported by Jorge Ordoñez. This one-note green peppery wine has off-aromas. At Mission Wines and Duke of Bourbon, about $7.
2004 La Nunciatura Tempranillo. From La Tierra de Castilla. Odd chocolate and grape aromas mar the simple, undistinguished flavors that follow. At Trader Joe’s, about $4.
2004 Coto de Hayas Garnacha Centenaria. From Campo de Borja. Sweet grapey aromas with an off-putting chemical note, a heavy dose of oak on the palate. Available at Mel & Rose Wine and Spirits and Wine House, about $11.
2004 Tikalo Albaliza. A pleasant yet undistinguished blend (65% Tempranillo, 35% Garnacha) from Tierra de Castilla, imported by Eric Solomon. Purple grape aromas with a funky leather flavor. At Wine House and Mel & Rose Wine and Spirits, about $6.
2001 Estola Reserva. The panel disagreed on this blend from Bodegas Ayuso in La Mancha , with curious licorice and menthol aromas. One panelist found it to be like an acceptable fruity jug wine; another called it “watery and bad at the same time.” At Trader Joe’s, about $5.
2003 Veroleón. A blend (70% Garnacha, 30% Merlot) from Navarra. The bottle we opened was so badly oxidized it was undrinkable. At Trader Joe’s, about $5.
I thought that I was doing alright with my little pepper mill but clearly, I’m going to have to update my spice rack!
FORGET arugula. The true symbol of how far American cooking has come in the last few decades is black pepper.
When I went to restaurant school in 1983, our bible of ingredients, “Wenzel’s Menu Maker,” listed only two varieties, Malabar and Tellicherry, but neither from the southwestern coast of India where those particular peppercorns are actually grown. It insisted that “the only use of black pepper is as a condiment.” And its recipes never specified freshly ground pepper in an era when big tins of pallid powder were stored near the stove and every table held a pepper shaker, not a mill.
Right now I have black peppercorns in my kitchen from Indonesia, Malaysia, Vietnam and Ecuador, in addition to bags of Tellicherry and Malabar. And I’m as likely to use any of them in a dessert or as a crust on meat as I am to relegate them to a mere finishing touch for food. Pepper has come into its own as an ingredient, not least because of the renaissance of salumi, for which it is crucial to the flavor and curing, and to the point that Santa Monica entrepreneur Jing Tio of Le Sanctuaire has invested in six Indonesian farms to produce artisanal pepper for chefs and other caring cooks.
The whole spice rack has undergone an upgrade as cooks have gotten more discerning and the world has shrunk, thanks to frequent fliers searching out new sources of the usual allspice-to-turmeric lineup on most shelves. But black pepper — the world’s most popular spice for millennia — has benefited most from the new awareness that terroir matters, as much with food as with wine. No spice-respecting cook ever settles for the gray stuff in a tin anymore than he or she would choose Nestlé’s semi-sweet when single-source choices are available from Venezuela and myriad other countries. The all-purpose berries sold as “black pepper” may add heat. If you want nuance and resonance, you need a “varietal.” Maybe two or three.
Taste the differences
BUT size is also a consideration — bigger is better. Some of the peppercorns imported from other tropical countries can be nearly as good as those from India, with subtly different flavor. Floral is not a word you would think of first with peppercorns, but Sarawak, from the island of Borneo, is just that.
Generally, you can use them all interchangeably at the table. For cooking, however, some take more kindly to sugar than others and are better suited to dessert. Overall, you can never go wrong reaching for Tellicherry for a recipe.
All true peppercorns in the Piper nigrum family are berries from a vine that grows anywhere around the equator. Those from the mountainous southwestern coast of India are allowed to mature but not ripen before they are picked, ideally by hand. Malabar peppercorns are harvested at the same time as Tellicherry but grow lower on the same vines. Both types are blanched, then air-dried in the sun until they turn dark and aromatic.
Color is not an indicator of quality, according to Tio. As he notes, all-black peppercorns are not found in nature; the peppercorns should be deep brown to almost purple-black. What is more important is the taste and smell: Piperine gives peppercorns pungency, while volatile oils make them aromatic, Tio says.
Crush a few Tellicherry peppercorns with a mortar and pestle and you immediately smell why the name has such mystique. The aroma is beyond robust and almost sweet, while the flavor is acutely well-balanced. Taste it and you feel the heat immediately. Malabar peppercorns are smaller and less potent, both to the nose and on the palate. But they can be hotter; you feel the pungency all the way across your tongue.
Sarawak peppercorns, which are air-dried indoors and retain more flavor, are also exceptional. Crush even a couple and you can sense why pastry chefs such as Pierre Hermé are so taken with them for desserts made with berries, pineapple and apricots. The fragrance is not strong but it is peppery and sweet, almost like allspice, and the heat finishes strongly. These go particularly well with cream and butter and sugar, and would even work in a cheesecake, as Marcus Samuelsson makes with black peppercorns.
Another contender for the black ribbon is Lampong, the kind Tio produces organically in Indonesia, which contains more piperine. The peppercorns are relatively small and the aroma is subtle, almost hinting of cinnamon, but the heat and flavor are extremely well-balanced. Tio, however, says they are most valuable for pure pungency. Though Tellicherry has a “cucumber finish,” he says, Lampong has no finish; it is just extremely strong. (Most of his chef clients buy top-of-the-line Tellicherry for cooking and Lampong for preparations such as stock, in which great peppercorns would be wasted.)
Vietnam produces exceptional white pepper and now is becoming a leading exporter of black peppercorns. (It already outdistances Brazil with coffee and may do the same with spices; most of what is sold as generic black pepper in the United States has traditionally come from Brazil.) Its peppercorns have an aroma that is more complex than strong; you can almost whiff incense. The heat and flavor are just as rounded.
Peppercorns from Ecuador, which are very high in piperine, have a sweet, searing fragrance and intense heat; to me it seems as if you feel them more than taste them.
Cook with it, bake with it
LE SANCTUAIRE sells top-grade, extra-bold Tellicherry for $60 a pound and Lampong for $12 a pound. Tio says spices should be judged by a “see, smell, taste” standard, but what he sells he also has analyzed by a lab to be sure the peppercorns have the right oil content and density (to be sure they have not been over-dried) and are free of pesticides. Kalustyans.com carries all the varieties above, for $4.99 (Sarawak) to $5.99 (Lampong) for a 4-ounce bag.
(Green peppercorns are just what they sound like: picked before they are mature and then either dried, freeze-dried or pickled in brine. White peppercorns are actually fully ripe black ones that have had the husk removed. Pink peppercorns are a different species, while Sichuan peppercorns come from still another family.)
Any of the black peppercorn “varietals” will transform any dish if you do nothing more than grind it over just before serving. But you can do so much more, with sweet as well as with savory recipes. Just a pinch of black pepper in a pumpkin pie filling or gingerbread batter will add a pungent undertone; you can even sneak a little into the cinnamon coating for snickerdoodles for a hint of heat. But as much as a quarter-cup mixed with panko will create a vibrant, crunchy crust for seared lamb or pork chops, or steaks, or even fresh tuna. Any roast benefits from a coating of crushed peppercorns too.
Peppercorns, whole or crushed, are also easy to use to infuse sauces such as a custardy sabayon to spoon over steamed green beans or grilled fish. Add them to Port and poached pears for a lively but light dessert; a few allspice berries crushed with the peppercorns will intensify the complexity. (Allspice and peppercorns have a natural affinity. The French make a blend called mignonette by combining black and white peppercorns in a grinder with allspice berries and sometimes coriander seeds in a 2-to-1 ratio.)
Black pepper is also underutilized in baking, as far as I’m concerned, maybe because I grew up eating biscuits with pepper gravy. It suits any yeast-bread dough, particularly one with prosciutto or pancetta, but is an even more direct pleasure mixed with Parmigiano-Reggiano in a quick bread that can be sliced to serve with drinks or a salad and toasted for breakfast.
Whole black peppercorns are also an essential ingredient in a good stock, a crab boil or corned beef.
When coarsely crushed, peppercorns take on a more mellow flavor. You can do this with a mortar and pestle or by putting the peppercorns in a paper bag and running a rolling pin over it.
Whole black peppercorns have an enviable shelf life; they keep at least a year if stored in an airtight container in the dark. Once they’re ground, the flavor starts dissipating until all that’s left is a sneeze risk. It’s better to keep a full pepper mill than a small dish of ground pepper handy to the stove. Or, these days, several pepper mills.
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Peppered pears
Total time: 1 hour
Servings: 4
Note: The poaching liquid also can be served without the pears as a sauce for chocolate ice cream.
1 1/2 tablespoons black peppercorns, preferably Tellicherry
2 teaspoons whole allspice
3 cups good-quality Port
1/3 cup sugar
4 large, firm but ripe pears (preferably Anjou)
1. Combine the peppercorns and allspice in a mortar and coarsely crush with pestle. Place the spices in a large saucepan or pot (wide enough to hold the pears, halved, in a single layer). Add the Port and sugar and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer 15 minutes.
2. While the Port mixture steeps, peel, halve and core the pears.
3. Strain the Port mixture through a fine sieve to remove the spices. Return it to the pan on low heat. Lay the pears into the pan, cut side down. Cover and cook over low heat for 5 minutes. Uncover and turn the pears over. Cover and cook 3 minutes longer, until the pears are soft but not mushy. Transfer to a platter with a slotted spoon and arrange cut side up.
4. Raise the heat under the saucepan and cook the liquid until it is reduced almost to a glaze, to about half a cup, about 15 minutes. Pour over the pears, filling each cavity, and serve at once or after cooling.
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Peppered lamb chops
Total time: 25 minutes plus time for chops to temper, about 1 hour
Servings: 4
Note: Ask your butcher to cut the chops 1 1/4 -inch thick. They may be single- or double-bone chops depending on the size of the lamb. You or the butcher can trim the excess fat; leave a little for flavor and so that the chops don’t cook too quickly.
8 rib lamb chops, about 1 1/4 -inch thick, trimmed of excess fat
Salt
1/2 cup panko
4 tablespoons coarsely ground black pepper
1 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme
4 tablespoons canola or peanut oil
1. Bring the lamb chops to room temperature so they will cook quickly and evenly. Season them on both sides with salt to taste.
2. Combine the panko, black pepper and thyme in a shallow dish.
3. Heat two large, heavy skillets, preferably cast-iron, over medium-high heat.
4. When the skillets are very hot, add 2 tablespoons of oil to each and swirl to coat the bottom. Press the chops firmly into the pepper mixture on both sides to coat evenly and thickly. Place the chops in the skillets and cook 4 minutes. Turn the chops over and carefully pour off the fat from the pans.
5. Continue cooking for 3 minutes, then turn the chops on their sides to sear the fat for 3 minutes. Return to the second side down and cook until the chops are done to taste, about 2 minutes longer for rare. The crust will be very brown.
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Pepper-Parmesan bread
Total time: 1 hour, 15 minutes plus cooling time
Servings: 8 to 10
2 tablespoons melted butter plus extra for pan
2 cups flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, preferably Tellicherry
1 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
2 large eggs
1 cup milk
1. Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 9-by-5-inch loaf pan and set aside.
2. In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, salt and pepper and mix with a whisk until thoroughly combined; make sure the pepper is well distributed. Stir in the cheese.
3. In another bowl, combine the eggs, milk and melted butter and mix lightly. Pour this mixture into the bowl with the dry ingredients and cheese. Mix with a wooden spoon or rubber spatula until all the ingredients are well moistened.
4. Scrape the dough into the prepared pan and bake for 1 hour, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the loaf comes out clean. Cool slightly on a rack before turning out of the pan. Serve warm or at room temperature.
