Memories of Tamarind

I grew up in the Fordham Road section of the Bronx. In the seventies a large influx of Puerto Rican immigrants moved into the neighborhood and brought their food and their culture with them. On hot summer days a petite man dressed in jeans, a white cotton undershirt and an old straw hat would park his shaved ice cart at the entrance of St. James Park and 191st Street. This gentle and grandfatherly man would remove a small hand-held bell that hung on a metal hook at the side of his cart and deliver his refreshing offering like a carnival barker, “Coco Helado! Coco Helado! Ice-ee! Ice-ee!” When his voice reached the fourth story window of our Bronx kitchen I’d make a run for it.

I was loyal to Mister Softee ice cream during the week, but on weekends I preferred the sight of brightly colored syrups in transparent bottles that embraced a huge hunk of ice on José’s “Coco Helado” cart. At first I had some trepidation because José didn’t speak English and I had to infer the taste of the syrups by their color and the Spanish words written on masking tape that marked each glass bottle. I started with coconut, graduated to cherry and then discovered something I had never tasted before; tamarindo. The brown-colored syrup had no relationship to the colors of the rainbow which were responsible for attracting children to the cart. Tamarindo was murky, flecked with pulpy brown bits and didn’t resemble familiar fruit. I was on the verge of choosing pineapple when the response of a girl who ordered tamarindo shaved ice made a strong impression on me. I didn’t have to understand what she said to José after she took her first taste. I only had to see the smile on her face and the joyful pucker of her mouth. I learned what “refresca” and “dulce” meant that day.

My memories of tamarind went into hibernation when my family moved to the Pelham Parkway section of the Bronx in 1984. I was in college then and when I returned “Coco Helado” carts were rare sightings in the neighborhood. When they did show up the brightly colored bottles were gone, replaced by frozen containers of coconut ices that would be scooped into paper cups by hand. They were rich, delicious and flecked with fruit, but they did not deliver the refreshing sweet and sour taste of my beloved tamarindo.

Over the years the Lydig Avenue section in Pelham Parkway has become an international food market. You can find ingredients used in Asian, Albanian, Croatian, Dominican, Indian, Jamaican, Jewish, Mexican, Pakistani, Russian, Puerto Rican, and West Indian cooking along a stretch of four blocks that extend from White Plains Road to Barnes Avenue. My childhood memory of tamarind was that of a sweet and sour fruit diluted with copious amounts of sugar and water, poured over shaved ice and eaten on hot New York summer days. Finding the fruit in refrigerated section of a Lydig Avenue Key Food Supermarket was a eureka moment; I hesitantly experienced the fresh fruit at The Fancy Food Show in New York City this summer and didn’t expect to encounter it again this year.

Eating sweet tamarind is delightfully addictive. The delicate pod cracks easily between the fingers, revealing a network of veins that support a soft brown pulp. (When extricated in its entirety, the protective netting resembles the fragment of an exoskeleton one would expect to find in a cabinet of curiosities.) The pulp, which has a few large seeds, is similar to a date in texture and color, which is why the Arabs refer to the native Indian fruit as Tamr Hindi (date of India). The flavor of sweet tamarind is familiar yet otherworldly. Woody notes of prune, orange, apricot, black tea and pumpkin evoke the honeyed sweetness of wet autumn leaves; something one does not expect to find in a tropical fruit. A faint trace of tartness lingers in the finish, paying homage to the sour cultivars of tamarind found in India.

I would never have tasted tamarindo if it wasn’t for José and his colorful “Coco Helado” cart. Knowing what true tamarind tastes like allows me to tie a string from one memory to the next. It makes me wonder what my next memory of tamarind will be…

Notes:

To learn more about the ethnobotany of Tamarind visit Plant Cultures.

For a step-by-step guide on eating fresh sweet tamarind visit Food Mayhem.

Botanical image of tamarind is drawn from Köhler’s Medizinal-Pflanzen.

Image of a broken up tamarind pod by Michelle Krell Kydd.

Select Key Food supermarkets sell Wangderm Brand sweet tamarind in the refrigerated section. Wangderm Brand’s distributor, Vasinee Food Corporation, introduced the product at this year’s Fancy Food Show in New York City.

Fragrant Rituals: Chemex Coffee

“Coffee should be black as Hell, strong as death, and sweet as love”--Turkish Proverb

The alarm clock rings at 5:30 a.m. It’s dark and quiet. The kitchen refrigerator enters a cooling cycle and broadcasts a familiar melodious hum. The ingredients for a coffee breakfast wait inside the door. A single tug of the handle and the long strips of foam tape that insulate the frame of the refrigerator door are released from their conjoining magnetic sleep. The refrigerator light goes on and it’s the only light that illuminates the room.

A sleepy hand takes out a canister of coffee beans and deposits it on the kitchen counter next to a curious hourglass-shaped carafe corseted by a wooden frame and tied with a simple piece of rawhide adorned by wooden beads. The device is a Chemex®, a uniquely designed coffee maker found in the kitchens of coffee purists who take Masonic pride in owning a kitchen appliance displayed in the permanent collections of the Museum of Modern Art, the Smithsonian and the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Electric coffee makers corrupt coffee’s flavor—a cardinal sin and olfactive sacrilege of the highest scientific order. With .1% volatile flavor components coffee is the most aromatic substance on earth. The smell of coffee tells the brain that an awakening is about to transpire and creates a revivifying prelude. The pot warmer of an electric coffee maker destroys many of coffee’s 800 fragrant constituents. No thank you. I will take my pyrazines, furans, vanillin and tri-syllabic molecules straight up; you can leave overdone blackened coffee to the devil.

Morning light rises on the autumn horizon. Even the sun knows it’s time for coffee. I fill a pot with four cups of filtered water and set it on the burner. The flinty click of the pilot ignition makes staccato sounds that resemble the snapping fingers of a flamenco dancer. There is something comforting about crown of blue flame on the burner that is familiar and mesmerizing. I flip the light switch and reach inside the cabinet next to the stove where the unbleached Chemex® filters are kept. You’ll never see white coffee filters in my kitchen because bleached filters leave an aftertaste in coffee that distorts its delicate flavors. Unbleached filters have a natural vanilla odor (think wet paper shopping bags in the rain) that complements coffee, which is why they are always the right choice.

Fitting the square-shaped paper filter into the top of the Chemex® is a pleasurable act of minimalist origami. The filter, which comes folded in quarters, is opened so that one layer is separated from three, forming a shape that looks like an upside down sail or the exaggerated mouth of a hungry bird. The filter is nestled into the top of the Chemex® in preparation for the addition of coffee grinds. I have a very specific ritual for measuring and grinding coffee beans and can do it in my sleep; four tablespoons of beans, three grinds and three short pulses. Coffee ground for a Chemex® is slightly finer that coffee prepared for an electric drip coffee maker. This is because the first step in making coffee in a Chemex® involves the “blooming” of the beans.

The kettle whistles and the flame is turned off. I steady the weight of the pot in my right hand and add enough boiling water to cover the coffee grinds. This process allows the grinds to swell and prepares them so they can release their flavor with additional infusions in boiling water. Small iridescent bubbles form on top of the wet grinds as the aroma of coffee begins to fill the kitchen. The wet grinds look like flourless chocolate cake batter.

When the water settles to the bottom of the carafe the first of two rounds of boiling water are slowly added to the Chemex®. The perfume of coffee intensifies with each pouring and gets in my hair as I inhale the fragrant steam that rises from the top. How does the perfumer keep his nose out of the alembic, I wonder? Why would anyone want to brew coffee any other way? I reach for a coffee cup handmade by a local potter. It is shaped like a short drinking cauldron and keeps the coffee warm. I pour the first cup. Steam rises and curls upwards as if a message could be found in the vapors. I cradle the cup in my hands anticipating the first sip.

Notes:

Chemex coffee makers and brewing supplies can be purchased at Sweet Maria's.

If you want to learn more about the sensory evaluation of coffee Ted Lingle's The Coffee Cupper's Handbook is highly recommended. It is priced at $38.00.

Image of Chemex from The Coffee Roaster.

Image of Chemex filter from I Need Coffee.

Image of Coffee Bean Roasts from Sweet Maria's.

Image of Coffee Flower by Tim Wilson.

Crumiri: Cornmeal, Vanilla & Memory

My father introduced me to fire when I was seven years old. He watched over me as I stood on a step stool and cracked two eggs in a pan. The familiar popping and crackling sounds that define the melody of fried eggs began, followed by a soft cacophony of squealing that resembled the chatter of hungry baby chicks. I asked my father if he could hear the chicks under the pan lid. He smiled, making several attempts to conceal his laughter. When the eggs were done I turned down the flame, opened the lid and slid two sunny-side-up eggs onto my plate.

My father was a better eater than a cook. When he chose to prepare a meal he had a hodgepodge style of assembling savory dishes that involved caramelizing onions before adding potatoes, meat and any appropriate leftovers he could find. Dad never indulged in pastry making but there was one unusual exception; cornmeal dough designed for catching carp. My father had a precise method for cooking the bait so it would form a firm, but malleable ball when it was finished. The recipe was simple; one cup of water, one cup of cornmeal, one tablespoon of sugar and a tablespoon of pure vanilla extract. Vanilla, according to my father, was the magic ingredient that lured carp. On one occasion my mother, who regularly used vanilla to bake cookies and cakes, chastised my father for using the “good vanilla” in his bait formula. While searching for an alternative a European butcher he knew recommended powdered vanillin, an assertive artificial vanilla used by bakers to add creamy vanilla flavor to pastry. Vanillin powder was a hit with carp which left my mother with a new dilemma; she had more fish to clean.

On May 30, 2009 I lost my 82-year-old father to pancreatic cancer. I am filled with comfort each time his spirit visits me through memory. How and when these moments occur is not predictable, but they are most intense when I am around food or nature; two of his great loves that were generously passed down to me. The story you are reading is the result of a blotter of vanillin I smelled while in perfumery class at Givaudan in September. One whiff and I instantly remembered the smell of my father’s carp bait cooking, the way he shaped the dough in his hands and how his hazel eyes gleamed when he said it was good enough to eat. I wanted to find a way to immortalize that memory with something I could eat. The resulting search led to crumiri, a Piedmontese cookie made with cornmeal. Crumiri can be flavored with a variety of extracts and spices; just like a master dough. Piping the cookies is the traditional manner in which crumiri are shaped, but I chose to roll the cookies individually by hand in order to enter into communion with the memory of my father shaping his cornmeal dough.

Glass Petal Smoke’s recipe for crumiri has a digital lineage that begins with Father Giuseppe Orsini's Italian Baking Secrets, migrates onto the pages of Ivonne's Cream Puffs in Venice and finally lands on Clotilde Dusoulier’s Chocolate & Zucchini website. I have modified Ms. Dusoulier’s recipe to suit my tastes and memories. Since the cookie is Italian in origin and cornmeal is yellow, it seemed appropriate to add Italian bergamot (Citrus bergamia) for a bright twist.* Food grade essential oil of bergamot for this recipe was obtained from a flavorist. One and one half teaspoons of lemon extract will deliver superior results if you don’t have access to food grade bergamot.

Crumiri
Yield: 4 dozen

Ingredients:
· ½ cup (plus 5 tablespoons) unsalted Land O’ Lakes Butter, at room temperature
· ½ cup (plus 3 tablespoons) organic cane sugar
· 2 large eggs, at room temperature
· 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
· 4 drops of food grade Italian bergamot oil (or 1½ teaspoons of lemon extract)
· zest of one organic lemon
· 2 cups Hecker’s All-Purpose Flour
· 2/3 cup stone-ground yellow cornmeal
· ½ teaspoon non-iodized sea salt
· ¼ teaspoon nutmeg

Instructions:
· Divide oven racks into thirds and preheat the oven to 350°F.
· Line two baking sheets with unbleached parchment paper and set aside.
· Soften butter in the microwave for 50 seconds. It should be partially melted (not warm) when it is done.
· Cream together butter, bergamot oil (or lemon extract), lemon zest and sugar. In a separate bowl beat the two eggs and vanilla. Add the butter mixture to the egg mixture and incorporate.
· In a medium mixing bowl, combine the flour, salt, nutmeg and cornmeal. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and incorporate.
· Shape one teaspoonful of dough at a time by placing it between your hands and rolling it between the centers of your palms, pressing down very slightly. Place onto baking sheet in rows of four.
· Bake for 15 minutes, turning and reversing trays from top to bottom at 7.5 minutes and continuing to bake for another 7.5 minutes or until slightly golden around the edges.
· Transfer to a wire rack to cool.
· Store in an airtight container.

Notes:

*Italian Bergamot essential oils found in health food stores or online aren’t necessarily food grade. Find a reputable stockist that states that the essential oil of bergamot they sell is cold-expressed from the peel and food grade. Enfleurage in NYC is a good source. Dose conservatively as food grade essential oils are highly concentrated.

Cornmeal dough recipes are commonly shared among carp anglers, but claims regarding ingredients that give the bait its power vary with folkloric regularity. One angler cites several ingredients common to perfumery including; bergamot, cumin, fennel, lavender, lovage, sweet birch, orris root, peppermint, rue, tonka bean, wintergreen and valerian. Carp have a highly developed sense of taste and smell which contributes to their survival as bottom feeders.

This post is dedicated to the memory of my father, Paul Krell, born Perec Krell in Brzeziny Poland on May 1, 1927. Brzeziny was named for the town's numerous birch trees and was home to a blossoming textile industry that gave birth to many generational tailors. My father was one of those tailors. As a young man he survived Auschwitz as a child laborer, making uniforms for prisoners in the concentration camps. He was interviewed by Beth B. Cohen in "Case Closed: Holocaust Survivors in Postwar America," a book about the immigrant experience and post-DP life of Holocaust survivors.

Chuao Firecracker Chocopod: Chocolate for the Senses

A Chuao Firecracker Chocopod invites suspicion at first glance. A connoisseur would never consider eating premium Venezuelan dark chocolate blended with “pop rocks”. Chocolate doesn’t need gimmicks that are so sacre bleu, so yesterday's El Bulli, so ridiculously infantile. Warning: the first time you eat a Chuao Firecracker Chocopod be prepared to eat those doubting words.

Chocolate lovers are used to cacao bars that play on complementary and contrasting textures using ingredients like nuts, dried fruit and crisped rice. Adding compressed carbon dioxide crystals to chocolate creates an inverse experience of “crunch” because you don’t have to bite down to experience tactile sensations; the presence of water in your mouth act as a catalyst for passive mouthfeel (an extension of the sense of touch). Touch isn't the only sense activated in the Chuao Firecracker Chocopod experience; you can hear the carbon dioxide crystals popping when the chocolate melts inside your mouth.

To fully embrace the effects of a Chuao Firecracker Chocopod follow this cardinal rule; no biting. Begin by placing a small piece of chocolate on the tongue, allowing it to melt slowly. You’ll notice the heat of chipotle chili as it gently grazes the tongue and mingles with the distinctive flavor of dark Venezuelan chocolate. Compressed carbon dioxide crystals snap and crackle as the chocolate melts, creating the sensation of 1000 little fingers tickling the taste buds. This feeling causes most first-time “Firecracker” eaters to cover their mouths in order to stop themselves from laughing out loud. Others smile pensively as they try to get inside the tasting experience for the first time. There are a brazen few who wonder what it would be like to kiss someone with the candy inside their mouth.

Chuao Firecracker Chocopod is more than a novelty; it's a chocolate lover's excuse to indulge in playful connoisseurship. The pleasure of eating a "Firecracker" is just as thrilling as watching someone having the experience for the first time. If this qualifies as a type of confectionery voyeurism, so be it. No one is going to arrest you.

Notes:

In honor of its seven year anniversary Chuao Chocolatier is offering online customers a 20% discount thru December. Use code 7ANNIV20 to take advantage of the savings. A box of 12 individually wrapped Chuao Firecracker Chocopods sells for $12.00. A “Firecracker” chocolate bar is also available and retails for $6.00.

While you’re on the Chuao Chocolatier site consider trying the Chuao Panko Dark Chocolate Bar, another Glass Petal Smoke favorite. One bite and you’ll ditch that old “crunch bar” jones for a new and improved version that uses Japanese Panko breadcrumbs in lieu of crisped rice.

The Geometry of Perfume’s Future

Fragrance marketers will resort to “gifts with purchase” and nail biting as they watch sales numbers move into the end of the calendar year. No matter what the outcome, searching for signs of recovery in profit and loss statements will not yield solutions to fundamental paradigm shifts. The perfume category is diluted with smell-alike fragrances, functional products for the home and hyper regulation. Bloggers have become virtual beauty advisers for fragrance connoisseurs and search engine users, challenging the mettle of those who sell at-counter and online. Popular opinion clings to proven growth in luxury niche, but that is only a part of the potential for an upturn.

Great creations are inspired by artistry that pushes boundaries, imagination that riffs on common notions and shatters them, reconfiguring the fragments so that every finished fragrance released resonates with another; not in sameness, but in thoughtfulness that engenders respect for the art of perfumery and results in a consumer’s desire to purchase fragrance. Flankers and celebrity fragrances have become archetypal extensions of the scene in the Wizard of Oz that unmasks the “great and powerful Oz” as an ordinary person (note the latest lawsuit between Abercrombie & Fitch and Beyonce Knowles regarding her fragrant collaboration with Coty). Consumers have a distinct advantage when the curtain is drawn and the impostor is revealed; marketers need to know what existing and potential fragrance consumers want. This could potentially give loyal fragrance fans the power to determine the destiny of the category; the playing field is level and everyone has a pair of ruby slippers.

Where will inspiration for future fragrances come from? Many will be born out of carefully orchestrated synesthetic experiences that complement the sense of smell and reach beyond the gourmand approach of mixing appetizing aspects with aromatic ones. New accords and fragrance families will enter the olfactive palette enhancing emotion via the five senses. Fragrance will literally touch the consumer utilizing warming, tingling, and cooling sensations (the term “haptics” is already nudging its way into the olfactive vocabulary). Believable storytelling will infuse fragrance marketing with elements that are authentic, timeless and educational. Lastly, the paradox of collective individuality will be explored against a global canvas that encourages and respects cultures of difference; an extension of the effects of social media.

There is a wonderful example in architecture that illustrates the geometry of perfume’s future. The concept of patterning in tile work relates to the way shapes can fill a space (something akin to the way raw materials are combined to create a diffusive scent). Geometric forms that are common to traditional Islamic ornamentation appear in mesmerizing, elaborate, non-repeating patterns of ornament. These forms support the overall ornamental structure, as illustrated in the architecture of the roof of the tomb of Hafez, a famous Persian poet (note the turquoise star form).

There is a common characteristic in girih (ornate tile work) that permits non-repeating patterns to be aligned in large-scale works; one edge of each tile used in the tile work must be the same length as that of all of the other tiles used. If one considers the architecture of fragrance, there is a lesson that can be inferred by comparing it to ornamental structure; by limiting the number of repeated patterns in perfumery and creating structures that support signature we can liberate olfactive possibilities and introduce myriad creations. It is an approach that is desperately needed if the industry is to survive the hari-kari hand it may have dealt itself.