by Cookiecrumb
By now, more than a few Eat Local participants have addressed the spice conundrum: “Most spices aren’t local, but they really make my food taste better. Besides, I already have a bunch on hand, and I’m not exactly putting any local cinnamon growers out of business by using them.”
I would never argue that you shouldn’t use your spices during May. I’m not going to use anything imported myself (just bein’ a purist), but as one clever blogger concluded, they don’t really cost that much to ship, being so lightweight, and you don’t really use huge quantities. In other words, a lot of bang for the petroleum buck.
At this point I could digress into talking about the medieval Spice Trade, which opened up international commerce, as a result establishing new routes of travel, new cities (for overnighting travelers), new cravings, a new class division in cuisines. Heh. Early globalism.
But, nah.
Anyway, say you decide to forgo imported spices for a month. What will you do to add a little needed kick to your meals? Think about it: No cumin. No black pepper. No cloves.
Well, my first answer would be: “Last year, you should have started an herb garden.”
OK, smarty-pants me. And I know herbs are not the same as spices.
No, I’d say “get imaginative.”
Here are just a few ideas for alternative seasonings, all local to my region:
Chile peppers, fresh or dried. If you crave the taste of black pepper, try adding the foresty, resiny flavor of rosemary.
Juniper berries! Peppery, gin-flavored, strange, wonderful.
Bay Leaves, especially if you use more than you usually do, release mulled-wine aromas. You could use them instead of cloves or allspice in a meat braise or bean pot. By the way, bay leaves were used in old English cookery to season desserts such as blancmange, so you might consider laurel a replacement for the so-called baking spices, as long as you’re cooking with liquid. Oh, wait, this presumes you have local bay leaves. We have them growing all over the place in California, and I have a potted Greek laurel tree on my patio.
Other “greeny” flavors. Before I got the laurel tree, I craved a “green” flavor in some of my meals during last year’s ELC, so I saved carrot tops, dried them in the sun, and put them in a jar to use instead of bay, along with a pinch of mint. You could try other edible greens; experiment.
Mint: Why not? Just as frisky as cinnamon, but different.
Celery leaves are kind of peppery, and celeriac leaves and stalks are insanely peppery.
Do you have local lemons? The rind is so much deeper in flavor than the juice. Or orange rind. Lime rind. Gosh, grapefruit rind, if you are so lucky to have any.
Ginger. I have an ornamental ginger plant on the patio, and it needs pruning or else it will burst its pot. Luckily, at the bottom of each stalk is a ginger rhizome that, although not as potent as culinary ginger, smells great and will probably add some “something.” I’ve heard it’s also possible to keep culinary ginger buried shallowly in dirt in a pot, watering lightly occasionally, and it will continue to produce lobes. So technically, it “becomes” local. I’ve never tried it, though.
Then we come to foraging for flavors, and I’m a little nutty about this. OK, here goes:
Wild “pepper” from the California Pepper, or Peruvian or Brazilian pepper tree, Schinus molle. (Too much might be toxic, so use in moderation.)
Lavender. I know, it’s a cultivated plant, but it grows so abundantly around here that sometimes I swipe a flowering top or two from somebody’s landscaping. Oh! Shh.
Wild fennel, both seeds and pollen.
Mustard. It grows all over the place around here, though I’ve never collected any. I’m interested in seeing if the seeds are “all that.” I’d better hurry, though; it’s a spring plant.
Salt. I know. I’ve become famous for salt. I’ll confess, I’m a little nervous about making a dietary switch to my own locally harvested salt, but I figure a few grains this month won’t kill me. (Call my mom if I don’t blog in a few more days…) Ah go on. Try it yourself! Or, see if you have local salt in your area. It could happen! I’ve tasted a great native Utah salt, and I hear there’s a Big Sur fleur de sel. (If you can’t get local salt, don’t do without salt altogether. Your personal biological entity will get upset.)
Cookiecrumb lives in Marin County, California, and writes I'm Mad and I Eat, a blog that carelessly weaves food and politics, and occasionally devolves into utter silliness.
