London Gourmet: Ottolenghi Does It Sweetly

It was the last beautiful day of London’s Indian summer, and I had a plan to meet my flatmate in Hyde Park on the quiet lawn between the Royal Albert Memorial and Queensgate.  The temptation to bring something sweet was overwhelming, and what better choice than Ottolenghi’s bakery outlet just off Kensington Church Street.  I had the luck of finding a Sao Paulo native, and was able to ask her in Brazilian Portuguese for the cakes she likes best.

With a cheeky smile, I commented that it must be difficult to resist the temptation of dark chocolate mousse with honeycomb, lemon pousset with blackberry compote and the like.  She laughed and said that she doesn’t.  A regular workout at the gym does the trick.  “Everytime something breaks, we have to throw it away, we can’t sell it unless it’s fully intact, and so we eat it.”  Something tells me that accidents may happen regularly at this delectable pastry shop.

The three samples that were recommended to me are not only staff picks but customer favorites: polenta cake with lemon icing and pistacchio, blackcurrant meringue and chocolate bread and butter pudding.  Treats in tow, I headed back to Hyde Park to catch the last bit of light and share a bite or two with my flatmate, for academic purposes of course.

The polenta cake had a lovely consistency, as the natural grittiness of the polenta batter is softened by sweet and soft lemon icing.  There is something refreshingly textural about it as a gastronomic experience, almost as if the cake was given an extra dimension.  The pistacchios were more decorative and occasional than essential to the cake, as just under a dozen were stuck to the icing.  Their nuttiness adds to a few unusual bites, keeping the tongue on its toes, and then one returns to the ping-pong of polenta and lemon.

I am not a huge fan of the solitary meringue, outside its holy triptych of  Eton Mess-Pavlova-Vacherin.  Swayed by the lovely Brazilian shop assistant’s songs of praise for the blackcurrant meringue with meringue color and fruit bits (as one can also choose the one without fruit), I decided to take a chance.  Blackcurrant is an ingredient pairing made in heaven for airy, sweet meringue, for its pucker-happy, chewy bittersweetness gives just the right balance.

The last, and best dessert sampled was the chocolate bread and butter pudding.  In the form of an oversized muffin, for British standards that is, it is soft and flaky without ever being greasy, and the semi-dark chocolate complements the yeastiness not unlike a posh version of Nutella and bread.  I was very reluctant to share this sweet with my flatmate. 

 The proof is indeed in the pudding for Ottolenghi’s array of delectable treats.  Shame that I won’t be able to pass by without picking something up, as it’s on my bicycle route to the office.  Alas, cycling is my urban gym, and so should any desserts need breaking – and eating – I’ll be there to do it.

Liguria, or the Seaman Longing for Land

 

Lenta e rosata sale su dal mare

la sera di Liguria, perdizione di cuori amanti e di cose lontane.

Indugiano le coppie nei giardini, s’accendon le finestre ad una ad una

come tanti teatri.

Sepolto nella bruma il mare odora.

Le chiese sulla riva paion navi che stanno per salpare.

– Vicenzo Cardarelli, ‘Liguria’

Translation:

Languid and pink, she rises from the sea,

the evening of Liguria, perdition of loving hearts and far-away things.

Couples linger in the garden, the windows light up one by one,

like many theatres.

Buried in the mist, the ocean breathes.

The churches on the waterfront are ships about to set sail.

There is a word in Portuguese that is almost impossible to translate: saudade. Saudade is more than longing or nostalgia, more than missing someone or something. It can be a term of affection, for someone that see again after a long absence, and it is not only tied to our heart, but to our soul. If there be a region in Italy embodied by this painful tug and pull and incongruous sense of place, it is Liguria.

Surrounded on its entire western side by the waters of the Mediterranean, and a seafaring people who have over the centuries traded far and wide, from Africa to Asia and back, one would presume their diet include fish and mollusks along with spices from various voyages across the globe.

 

Ligurian gastronomy instead speaks of earth – animals of the land, herbs from the fields and nothing exotic. Saudade, longing if we have to choose an equivalent English word, is written into the region’s very cuisine. After long trips across the ocean, when Ligurians are home, they leave their boats in the port, and do not bring them to the kitchen table, figuratively speaking.

The symbol of Genoa, Liguria’s biggest city, is the lighthouse, or that which indicates home to those out at sea. In the local dialect, ‘mare’ (sea) and ‘male’ (bad) are the same word, ‘ma’. When the ships dock, Ligurians say they have reached ‘salvamento’, or ‘safety’. Land equals salvation.

 

Whereas Venetians, an equally seafaring folk, live their waters with an opportunistic eye. For the Genovese, the ocean is an obligation. In fact, the classic Ligurian expression for someone digraced speaks volumes: ‘essere a pane e pescetti’, or ‘to be reduced to bread and small fish’.

Marzemino in Trentino – Natural Instincts

                                                     Eugenio and Tamara Rosi of Azienda Eugenio Rosi

 

When our Alma Wine Academy sommelier class walked into Azienda Eugenio Rosi , it gave the impression of a family’s back storage, filled with boxes of wine and a smattering of colorful elementary school drawings. Immediately, the worlds of work and private life blurred into a rustic suggestion that the two were far from separate.

The woman who took us through, Tamara, was the winemaker’s wife and certainly much more in the daily operation of this boutique winery in Trentino. With amber-colored hair tied back in a casual ponytail and no-nonsense work boots, she expressed a down-to-earth, laid-back demeanor with a touch of grown-up hippie for good measure. Tamara offered a broadstroke introduction to the Azienda Eugenio Rosi winemaking philosophy and essentially welcomed us into the home she shares with her husband, Eugenio.

 

For the first time in this sommelier school odyssey, I took in the experience of wine as a product of grapes, and as a product of the soil, grown by a farmer, the first human touch of the libation as it were. And here was a farmer, or farming family rather, and therefore united by love and commitment to each other and to the earth, who decided to take winemaking into their own hands, independently and courageously according to the principles of biodynamic farming. From planting to harvest, barrique to bottle, Eugenio, the winemaker, and Tamara, his wife, had chosen to follow nature, in lieu of technology.

 

Eugenio came out to join Tamara in telling the story of their vineyard with an equal dose of humility and groundedness. His feet were on the ground, this ground, in Trentino, all of his life. Like all Italians, he getured with his hands, and what hands! Rugged, worn and dirt-ridged, they spoke of the soil, of his years working for a ‘cantina sociale’ or wine-making collective. He explained that he had been making wine from grapes rown on a collection of land parcels from around Trentino, and was ‘born under a Marzemino vine’.

 

Marzemino is an autoctonous red varietal from the pre-alpine region of Italy, and Eugenio grows his in the hills between Calliano, Volano and Rovereto. He gives the grapes all the time they need on the vine, within reason of course, and lets them mature further in a process called appassimento, or raisining, or drying of the grapes (think raisins). He uses large Slovenian wood barriques and small cherry wood barriques to age his wines, and doesn’t cut corners.

 

Eugenio Rosi has been called the Proletariat God of Marzemino and an artisan-winemaker. The down-home style in which he has chosen to make his wines includes just under ten hectares and 18,000 bottles per year, counting among them Marzemino, Chardonnay, Bianco IGT Vallagarina (Pinot Bianco 60%, Nosiola 20%, Chardonnay 20%), Cabernet Franc and the magnificent Doron 2005 Rosso Dolce VdT.

 

In his Marzemino Poiema 2006, Eugenio raisined 30% of the grapes, creating a succulent contrast between a crisp, acidic entrance in the mouth and a rich, mature fruitiness on the finish. A ‘capolavoro’, as the Italians say (a work of art).

The Doron 2005 Rosso Dolce VdT was a lovely finish to our tasting. It is an appassimento (dessert wine made from grapes that have been raisined). Eugenio has managed to capture the terroir of his corner of Trentino in the glass, with temperature shifts that create lively acidity and the super-maturation of the grapes adding their fruity sweetness, combining to form a wine that tells the story of its origins.

 

Not unlike Eugenio himself, and the lovely Tamara, the Doron invites you into its sensorial home, amongst sweet children’s drawings, and transmits a depth of passion found in small producers making rather big waves.

Castelmagno Cheese – Northern Italy’s Royal Blue

Aromatic, sapid and persistent, the cow’s milk cheese Castelmagno enriches many of Piedmont’s ‘primi piatti’, or first courses. The complex and earthy cheese takes its name from the town of the same name, in the province of Cuneo, at the foothills of the Italian Alps. It is produced today in Castelmagno, Pradleves and Monterosso Grana.

Records from 1272 prove a long and mighty reign for Castelmagno. The Marchese of Saluzzo, feudal lord of Valgrana and Valmaira, accepted the cheese as a form of payment for rural taxes. The exchange of a food product for its equivalent monetary value speaks not only of evident proliferation of Castelmagno in the region, but also of its codifiability. We can assume that any cheese could have been chosen to appease the medeival taxman. A certain standardization and guarantee of quality must have been well established and accepted, and therefore Castelmagno’s history likely stretches back further than we can trace.

There are four principal factors that render Castelmagno a rather unique and expressive cheese. The microclimate of the region, at 1100 meters above sea level, must first be considered. The southern cut of Piedmont is enriched by alpine air, humid days and cool nights. Of course, the gray-white cows grazing in the area’s pastures, of the Piedmontese breed, may produce less milk than their northern Bruno-Alpina cousins, but make up this lack in spades of richness and texture. The cows’ steady diet of fresh, local cheese and hay from surrounding fields helps to create a creamy and erbaceous materia prima, and ultimately a truly Piedmont foodstuff.

 

In Italy, quality food products are regulated by the government, and guarantee to cheese lovers not only the confirmation of their regional origins, but the very means of production. The DOP, or Denominazione di Origine Protetta, which means Protected Designation of Origin, was established for Castelmagno in 1996.

Castelmagno is produced with whole Piedmontese cow’s milk, with the allowance for a small percentage of sheep’s milk or goat’s milk, which adds either a spicy or buttery texture, respectively. The raw milk is mixed with liquid rennet and made to coagulate at 35-37 degrees Celcius. The resulting curd is then cut and placed in a container for 24 hours, when a second beaking of the curd takes place, during which the cheese is seasoned with salt and placed in wood moulds

Castelmagno’s crust, initially thin and of a pinkish-yellow hue, darkens and thickens as it ages, and the pasta, pearl or ivory, becomes yellow, with thin, blue-green veins. The veins are the result of the fungus penicillum, added to the cheese during the aging process. Traditionally, Castelmagno belongs to the family of blue cheeses, although this is changing as a dangerous market trend dangers the very essence of this king of Piedmont.

The polemic of Castelmagno’s shrinking veins is, some would say, a mirror of the cheese’s own disappering act. Today, the consumer prefers a delicate, moderately sapid flavor, and without herbs. To this end, a shorter aging period is chosen, with the addition of sheep’s milk or goat’s milk, up to ten percent by law. I

 

t is still possible to find blue-veined Castelmagno with  a good dose of aging balanced on aromatic shoulders, the same way it has been produced for centuries. The problem is that market-led changes to the cheese’s production are the very characteristics that make Castelmagno such a unique whole milk cheese.

It is always a tenuous situation in the gastronomic world, taking into account the philosophy of Slow Fooders and back to the earth traditionalists who believe in purity first and foremost, when the consumer’s whim can spark the demise of a food that has resisted certain death for over 700 years.

 

What is a producer to do, risk short term loss in reduced sales in exchange for the preservation of his craft? I would argue that this cheese is worth saving. There are always two roads to take – educate the end-user about its history and essential properties, or crumble in the face of the dollar and create a pseudo-Castelmagno whose destiny is to become unrecognizable and anonymous, yet more consumer-friendly.

Cape Verde meets Alto Adige

 

If Mohammed Can’t Come to the Mountain … or how Capo Verde met Alto Adige (or how the karma of far-flung people and even further-flung places are tied with an invisible thread, with no beginning and end) …

Professor Matteo Pessina pf the Alma Wine Academy agreed to let us tag along on Saturday to his wine excursion to Alto Adige. Having little idea of what we were in for, and as we were on our way to the nearby Merano Wine Festival, in the general neck of the woods (or pre-Alpine region, as it were), there was no reason not to join the gang.

We met up at a petrol station about an hour north of Parma, with the Prof, his wife and various acquaintances equally keen to taste local boutique wines. The first town we stopped in had a well-stocked provisions shop, where we picked up assorted meats and cheeses for lunch, including a sort of gelatin pickled vegetable roll, which was a lot tastier and a lot less gelatinous than I would’ve imagined. Pretty darn tasty, I’d dare to say. In small quantities, of course. It makes sense then that I have never seen anyone wolfing down a gelatin pickled vegetable roll at any party lately …

We stopped off at a small, family winemaker’s cantina, and sat in the generous, autumn sunshine, among his vines, and up a street with a church that rings the bell every hour, with luscious Pink Lady apples dripping off the trees. We tasted a pas dose metodo classic sparkling wine, with no residual sugars and balanced yeasts, dry and fresh and perfect with the herbed goat cheese and dry, pita-like Alto Adesino bread we’d laid out for lunch.

The owner of this vineyard couldn’t have been a day over seventy, and he proceeded to explain to us in his thick Germanic twang (in this part of Italy, the locals of his generation speak Italian as a second language) that he was actually eighty-three. I was gob smacked, as my grandfather was always my example of delayed aging, or eternal youth, take your pick. But this man, he genuinely looked fifteen years younger than his birth certificate.

 

Usually farmers are known to be weathered by the sun, but here in the north with all the wholesome goodness around, Austrian-style if I have to make a comparison although this is most definitely still Italy. I suppose the crisp, fresh air purifies the skin and the soul alike.

After the subsequent bottles were bought, we made our way through the mountains to our next destination, a very small cantina, just four hectares, on the road to Castle Juval, near the Forst Beer factory. Here we were greeted by terraced, winding vines cultivated at six-hundred meters, onwards up to seven-hundred, with Riesling and Pinot Grigio taking advantage of the mineral-rich terrain.

Now here is where Capo Verde comes in, at six-hundred meters and counting. My wine school confidante Matthias started talking to the intern, David, and motioned me over, mentioning that the man spoke Portuguese. I bounced right up and started blabbering on in my Brazilian accent.

 

He spoke in a mixture of Portuguese and Italian, and gave us a brief introduction to Cape Verdean winemaking. Who knew? Most wine aficionados, I am sure. But, hey, you can only be new once, and I am a bit of a green tannin in the wine world, so the learning is long and the excitement palpable.

Here, then, is my version, in brief, of Cape Verdean viticultural history.

The chain of ten islands, located off the west coast of Africa, include nine which are habitable, and all derive, geologically speaking, from volcanic origins. Hence, on the island Ilha Fogo to be exact (Fire Island in English) there are mountains that rise up to two-thousand meters. David, the kind-hearted and gregarious intern who invited us to stay and help out in the cantina, clued us into his terroir.

Wine was introduced by the Portuguese to Cape Verde in the seventeenth century. It didn’t take long for it to catch on, and by the nineteenth century, from Guinea to Brazil, they were filling glasses with mineral-rich, lip-smackingly fresh reds, whites and passito from Capo Verde.

 

Principally, Cape Verdean winemakers cultivate the red varietal Preta Tradicional and the white Moscatel Branca, equivalent to Tourigia Nacional and Moscatel de Setubal, respectively, both from Portugal, original colonizers of the island chain.

The region called Cha-das-Caldeiras has been making wine for nearly a century, and in 1998 it got an injection of technical and financial assistance from an Italian agricultural cooperative, which kick-started a call to higher quality and quantity. When the project started in 1998, 120 hectares were utilized to grow the grapes. Today, the area has nearly doubled.

 

Most of the vines can be found on the volcano’s ridges and in the higher areas of Achada Grande. The dry, hot climate, with big temperature shifts between day and night and between the warm and cool seasons affect the wine greatly, and for the greater good. With many hours of sun during the vegetative cycle of the plant, accompanied by a super fertile, volcanic soil; create ideal conditions for a quality crop with considerable sugar content.

I could go on, but there is certainly a goldmine of information about Cape Verdean wines online, and I just wanted to share this peculiar and beautiful encounter up in the mountains of northern Italy with someone from an equally high place down in Africa, on a volcanic island chain.

 

There is something quite poetic and romantic about the contrast, and how wine brings the world together on a sunny hillside in November. It reminds me of finding seashells up in the mountains in Greece, and finding this incongruous, and being told that the slope I was standing on used to be filled with. Everything comes back round again. It’s like Matthias said, in life you always see people twice. I suppose the earth moves like its inhabitants, in this cycle of existence. 

There’s got to be something about wine, volcanoes and karmic connections; it must be all the good energy coming up from the earth, out of the molten, into the roots, through the grapes and into the glass, reverberating through the laughter and good cheer of the company who share its libatious bounty.

Chablis of Domaine Gerard Tremblay

The lovely town of Chablis is known to locals as La Porte d’Or de la Bourgogne, or The Golden Door of Burgundy.  Its vines, and coffers, are proudly rooted in a mercantile past and vibrant present, exemplified perfectly by Chardonnay’s most stylish incarnation, in the form of the steely and sophisticated Chablis.

Winemakers in the region may be standing on the shoulders of giants, yet the phylloxera crisis in 1981 reduced their hectares from 40,000 to 3,000 and has made the survivors as flinty as their wines.  Gerard Tremblay is one such pioneer.  He has been making Chablis from a small, family-run vineyard since 1973, with rather beautiful results.

On a property covering 34 hectares, including 10 in Premiers Crus and others in Chablis, Petit Chablis and Grand Crus,  Tremblay is known to be obsessed with quality and unafraid to use 20th century methods to extract the most authentic expression of the terroir.  Chablis insiders will note that his wines are treated like children, all unmistakably different yet equally special, from the entry-level Chablis to Grand Cru Vaudesir.

The first wine tasted was Chablis Premier Cru Montmains 2008.  The nose is characteristic of the grape, with peppery citrus such as grapefruit and Sicilian lemon, followed by white pepper and a dab of butter, all encased in grassy freshness.  On the tongue, gun-flint comes swiftly, yet there is a sleek, softness that lingers briefly, combined with a dry finish.  Full of minerals from its fossil-rich limestone soil, a steely sapidity pairs well with bright acidity.

Usually, Chablis is handled in stainless steel tanks, yet in the Premier and Grand Crus, oak is sometimes used to add tannic struture.  Tremblay ages 20% of his Montmains in oak barrels, adding a toastiness that blends imperceptibly with fruity spice, adding body and depth.  This wine would be lovely paired with veal piccata or herb-crusted halibut.  

The second wine, one year younger and fully unoaked, was Chablis 2009.  Another beast entirely, the floral, perfumed notes really shone through.  Sniffing this wine was like walking in a field of freesia and wildflowers in the springtime, perhaps near an orchard with blossoms just turning into fruit.   

Green apple, pear and tarragon were noted, followed by a whisper of honeysuckle.  Clean and bright on the palate, with strong minerality and sparkling acidity, it is a delicate, thin and wispy wine, not unlike a Parisian female, charming and elegant and just a bit sharp.  I would suggest this wine with broiled lobster or seared scallops with mango coulis.

Gerard Tremblay has succeeded in producing fine wine across the various expressions of the Apellation.  He adds a hard-working sensibility and unpretentious flair to winemaking, letting the Chardonnay speak for itself in the glass – a tad bit flirty, with crossed legs, of course.

A Picnic for Two with Melrose and Morgan

Last of the Summer Wine

There’s just one thing about a hamper from Melrose and Morgan.  You can’t really share it with more than one person.  Don’t even try it.   I know, I know, it’s called a Picnic for Two.  Times are tough, and spreading the love can be quite tempting.  Just know you’ve been warned. 

I’m not talking quantity here, because there is certainly enough to go around.  It’s desire that will set off a culinary tete-a-tete.  The desire that says ‘eat me’, a statement directed at you, and nobody else.  From scent to palate, the freshness and simplicity of their delicacies stand out from the fussy gourmet deli crowd and leave you, let’s face it, just a tad bit greedy.

The smart Primrose Hill grocer prides itself on stocking hand-prepared seasonal foods, chef’s ingredients and fresh produce.  Their glass-fronted shop is a cornucopia of gastro-abundance, with a neatly arranged rainbow of produce at the door, tempting cakes at the counter and the most stunning colour of pink ever seen on a roast beef, dying to be sliced and eaten.

Our hamper, a reusable, silver-lined cool bag, was packed with a mix of nibbles, including an outstanding aged Montgomery cheddar from Neil’s Yard, orange cherry tomatoes from the Isle of Wight, and among other bits, a chocolate mousse that seemed to walk on water with its capacity to be at once rich and velvety and yet airy and light on its feet.     

On the balmiest Saturday that London has recorded for at least a century, October 1, 2011, my beau and I picked up our goodies and headed for the park.  As a starter, the twinset of savoury spinach, tomato and parmesan tarts did a disappearing act.  The light, buttery flakiness of its crust was matched by the earthy, mineral tones of its veg and the soft, milkiness of the filling.  I could’ve sworn I went to egg heaven and back again.

Mrs Kings Melton Mowbray Pork Pie was a treat, with lusciously flavoursome pork from up north (Cotgrave, to be sure, just south of Nottingham) smeared with delicate jelly and wrapped in crisp, mouthwatering pastry.  Still in the same family it was started with in 1853, these pies are the bees knees.  I would suggest pairing with Melrose and Morgan’s signature piccalilly, as the acidity of the pear balances the pork’s fat content beautifully.

For more gastronomic temptation, visit www.melroseandmorgan.com.

The Wooden Spoon – Preserving Goodness in Kent

One of my earliest childhood memories involves a wild blackberry patch in the village of East Hampton, a worn cast-iron pot and the intoxicating smell of bubbling fruit and pectin in the kitchen.  For those raised in the countryside, this is a likely scene, and city-bound folk share in the collective dream if but from afar.  The Wooden Spoon, Master Preservers, have struck canning gold with their take on this tradition in their homemade, small-batch range of preserves.

A family business run out of the Coldharbour Farm, a converted Oast House outside the village of Wye, Kent, The Wooden Spoon’s picturesque homestead and bucolic location in the Garden of England epitomize their preserving ethos. 

The company still makes conserves and preserves rigorously by hand.  This means preparing, cooking and stirring with wooden spoons and spatulas.  They rarely produce more than 100 jars per pan, and consider their Master Preservers to be artisans.

Leading the market in the fruits in liqueur market, The Wooden Spoon offers traditional flavour combinations such as Mandarins with Orange Liqueur, Forest Fruits with Cherry Brandy and Tropical Fruits with coconut Liqueur.  They are also known to take the taste wheel for a spin, pushing the envelope with their fruits in liqueur Raspberries with Whisky, and Pears and Cranberries with Port.

Not one to be content with a run of the mill jam, the company has preserved rather uncommon fruits.  Greengage, for example, a green-fruited wild plum with a rich, confectionery flavour, features in their extra jam.  It is considered a fine dessert plum, and goes a right treat on a slice of pumpernickel toast. 

Producer: The Wooden Spoon

Region: Kent, England

Website: http://www.thewoodenspoon.co.uk (contact: sales@thewoodenspoon.co.uk)

Product(s) of Note:

Fruits in Liqueur – Raspberries & Whisky, Forest Fruits & Cherry Brandy, Mandarins & Orange Liqueur

Greengage Extra Jam, made from a green-fruited wild dessert plum with a rich, confectionery flavour.

High Fruit Spreads, sugar-free, suitable for diabetics, flavours Apricot, Orange, Blackcurrant, Lemon, etc.

Kilner & Gift Preserves, made with Fairtrade sugar & honey, Comb, Victoria Plum, Thick Cut Marmalade

Chutneys, Jellies & Mustards, modern & global twists such as Minted apple, Plum & chili, Ale Mustard.

High Fruit Compotes, 80% fruit, 20% sugar, Forest Berries, Apricot & Cinnamon, Rhubarb & Elderflower.

Marmalades, innovative mix, including Orange, Apricot & Almond, Orange & Whisky, Grapefruit & Lime

Peppersmith – Mint, Sicilian Lemons and Healthy Zing

English company Peppersmith has been making natural gum and mints for the past two years, sourcing ingredients from as far and wide as the Central American rainforest, a little farm in Hampshire and Sicily. 

Like many crops, the traditional English peppermint has a checkered history marred by the politics of war and conflict. What is known as the Mitcham triangle triangle in Surrey, made up of the towns of Sutton, Kingston and Mitcham, was the spiritual home of the Black Mitcham variety of peppermint.  During the Second World War, the necessity for cereals all but eradicated this plant, and it is being reintroduced to the area by the farmer who supplies Peppersmith.  We think that’s a very good thing.

Peppersmith believes that a mint or gum doesn’t have to have nasties to taste good.  They’ve found a sweetener that is actually good for your teeth, a naturally occurring sugar in birch and beech trees called xylitol.   It starves mouth bacteria, cutting off the multiplication process that creates tartar and tooth decay.  Thanks to xylitol, Peppersmith’s products are certified by the British Dental Health Foundation.

The newest product to launch and certainly the most delicious ingredient combination, is Sicilian Lemon and Peppermint fresh mints.  A summery citrus note is cut by the herbaceous, cool quality of the mint, and for those who want fresh breath without smelling like an Altoid, I would highly recommend these. 

Producer: Peppersmith        

Region: English-based with ingredients sourced from the Central American rainforest, Hampshire, Sicily

Website: http://www.peppersmith.co.uk (contact: gracie@peppersmith.co.uk)

Product Overview: chewing gum in mint flavours and fresh mints, all natural and British Dental approved

Product(s) of Note:

Sicilian Lemon and Peppermint fresh mints, light, refreshing mints with two varieties of Sicilian lemons.

Cresses for Cooks: Rob Baan’s Micro-Greens

Architecture Aromatique is neither edifice nor perfume.  With a brilliant, continental title and a long line of celebrity chef backers to boot, this Duch line of culinary seedlings packs a surprising, green punch.  Created by Dutch world traveler, home chef and businessman Rob Baan, at the helm of Koppert Cress since 2002, these micro-greens have featured from the Michelin-starred menus of The Fat Duck to the now-defunct but forever gastroluxe El Bulli.   

One such dish graced with an Architecture Aromatique product resembles a string of rosary beads encasing a holy trinity of eggs.  In reality, the eggs are coquilles Saint-Jacques bathed in a briny cockle foam and topped with Purple Delight, one of Koppert Cress’s eighteen edible flowers. 

Purple Delight is sweet and sour, with a soft, aubergine bud and one joyous drop of pomegranate honeysuckle hidden in its belly.  It’s stem is a green, herbal sting, thoroughly cleansing the palate.  When paired with the heady marine nature of coquilles Saint-Jacques, the flower serves to balance the mineral tones with a fruity earthiness.

Koppert Cress has cultivated an herb with all the autumnal qualities of a forest, from mushroom to nut and wet leaf.  Called a Tahoon cross, it is the earliest sapling of a tree endemic to China and is best used in winter risotto, adding moisture and depth.

For foodies who enjoy a tipple or two, the giants of micro-greens have come up with a way to have your cocktail and eat it, too.  Cactus leaves called Majii are infused with Margarita, leaving the plant transparent in its adulterated succulence.

Lastly, for the perfect strawberry sabayon, Koppert offers Purple Shiso Vinegar.  The recipe calls for sweet Marsala wine or port, which goes brown with heat.   The vinegar gives a lazy pungency, enough to cut the fat of the dessert’s yolk without losing its characteristic burgundy color in the cooking process. 

Producer: Koppert Cress

Region: Dutch-based with greenhouses

Website: http://www.koppertcress.com (contact: eric@koppertcress.com)

Product Overview: micro-greens from around the globe in 23 ‘flavours’, including 18 edible flowers

Product(s) of Note:

Rock Chives, garlic without the headache, lighter than head garlic without leaving suspicious breath.

Oyster leaves, light green leaves with the silkiness of a slimmed-down cabbage.  Sweet and persistent.

Tahoon, seedling of Chinese tree, smells and tastes like wild mushrooms, nuts and forest undergrowth.

Purple Shiso Vinegar, made from their Purple Shiso leaves, has light pungency, stays red when cooked.

Purple Delight, edible flower with purple bud on a green stem, pomegranate honeysuckle/bitter notes.

Majii leaves, from the cactus family, light green and succulent, becomes transparent when filled w/ liquid.