Spice

Lately I’ve been slightly obsessed with the pineapple fried rice at the new Thai place in Cary.  Usually I eat pad thai when we go out for Thai food–it’s sort of my benchmark dish.  I’ve had it in enough restaurants that I have a frame of reference when I try it at a new place, whereas most other things on any given Thai menu may or may not be familiar to me.  But somehow, I’ve gotten onto this pineapple fried rice kick.  I’m trying to figure out how to make it at home–I want it to be just. like. the. restaurant.

I’ve nailed the major ingredients–that was easy.  The tricky part is figuring out the more subtle, but essential, spice element.  I think it’s some kind of Thai curry powder.  Being, you know, a little obsessive about things sometimes, I got it into my head that this was something one had to make (I probably could’ve gone to the Asian market and purchased something serviceable, but honestly, a) it didn’t occur to me, and b) I probably wouldn’t be able to read the labels on the spices in the Thai aisle anyway).

So I got out my trusty spice grinder, and a small skillet, and went to work.  This is what I came up with (along with pile of empty spice jars to go in the recycling bin).

Now, my point here is not to tell you exactly how to make Thai curry powder (mainly because I haven’t had a chance to try mine yet; if it proves to be the elusive final ingredient that makes the fried rice perfect, I’ll post the recipe).  Instead, I bring up the whole spice issue to say this:  you wouldn’t believe the difference it makes when you buy whole spices, toast them, and grind them yourself.

Okay, yes, I admit that sounds a bit anal.  Don’t worry–I don’t do it all the time.  But it’s really not a lot of trouble, especially if you have the right equipment (for the record, I HATE trying to use a mortar and pestle).

Example:  say your recipe calls for cumin.  You have a little jar of ground cumin, but you also happen to have a little jar of whole cumin seed.  Put your smallest skillet/saute pan on the stove over low heat.  Get out the jar of whole cumin seed (humor me–resist the temptation to use the preground, just this once).  Measure out roughly the amount the recipe calls for, maybe a bit more just to be on the safe side.  There are probably formulas out there for how to convert quantities, but I just eyeball it, and then assume that the toasted/freshly ground version is going to be more flavorful than plain preground.

Sprinkle the seeds in the warm skillet, and let it heat up until you suddenly get a strong smell of cumin.  Stir it around a fair amount, so that the seeds get toasty all over.  When they smell good (okay, because this is cumin, it’ll smell slightly like body odor–that’s just the way cumin is.  Don’t worry, it’ll taste good), pour the seeds out of the pan and let cool (use this cooling time to get on with your recipe–chop an onion or something).

When they’re cool, put them in your spice grinder.  A spice grinder, in case you don’t have one, is basically a small coffee grinder.  As a matter of fact, lots of people use coffee grinders–you just have to be sure you don’t get your spice-coffee grinder mixed up with your coffee-coffee grinder (that body odor smell of cumin?  You probably don’t want that in your morning cup of Sumatra.  And unless you’re a pretty hardcore caffeine junkie, you probably don’t want that Sumatra in your refried beans).  Anyway, grind the cumin seeds to a fine powder, and use like you would the preground.  Yum.

The advantage of grinding your own spices is the taste.  They’re fresher, stronger, and toasting them releases volatile oils that add a flavor dimension that those little jars of powder just can’t capture.  Like I said, I don’t do this all the time.  But when I’m working with simple, basic (dare I say a bit bland?) ingredients, I want the spices to provide the complexity that makes a dish sing.  If you don’t believe me, do an experiment with plain old black pepper.  You can get whole peppercorns anywhere–go get some now.  Bash a few with a spoon, or the flat of a butter knife, or a hammer, if that’s all you can find.  Now grab that little cardboard shaker that lives on the kitchen table.  Take a sniff of that, then sniff the freshly bashed.  Completely different.  And if I’m trying to make pineapple fried rice without the benefit of a splash of peanut oil in the bottom of my pan, I want the rest of my ingredients to have as much oomph (meaning flavor) as possible.

Peppercorns, waiting to be ground.  My grinder is kind of old; the newer ones are all much more beautifully designed.  There are a bunch of different ones on Amazon.