Category Archives: Condiments

ho-hummus: journeying beyond the chickpea

You’re probably familiar with hummus – the smashed chickpea spread/dip often served with pita bread or falafel or, if you’re my friends, tortilla chips. You can always rely on the comforting presence of a plastic container of hummus nestled between the bowls of salsa and guacamole at parties around here. And if you’ve had hummus, you’ve eaten tahini which is an essential ingredient in hummus. Tahini is a ground paste of sesame seeds and oil used in a lot of Middle Eastern cooking.

I’m totally down with hummus, of course, but I love the flavor of tahini, and it comes through more clearly when mixed into a thing known as “tahini sauce”. Tahini sauce includes a lot of the same ingredients as hummus but has nothing to do with chickpeas and is often thinner – really more of a “sauce” (as the name implies) than a “spread” or “dip”. It’s a mildly bitter, garlicky sauce that’s fantastic with lamb and falafel or drizzled over a pita loaded with fresh, crunchy veggies – cucumber, red bell pepper, sprouts, tomatoes, carrots, bitter leafy greens. The flavors of garlic and sesame really shine when they don’t have to compete with overbearing chickpeas demanding all the glory.

Tahini Sauce
Makes about 1 1/4 cups.
I love dipping carrots into this sauce. I think I’d love dipping just about anything into this sauce.

2 garlic cloves, minced and mashed to a paste with 1/2 tspn fine sea salt (or finely minced and pressed with a knife to vaguely release oils if mashing garlic to a paste is beyond your abilities the way it’s apparently beyond mine)
1/2 cup tahini, stirred well
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup olive oil
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh cilantro
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin

Stir all ingredients until well-combined. Serve at room temperature.


saving the world one chutney at a time

Some of you are going to have immediate questions based on the title of this post, the most obvious one being: “I’ve always assumed chutney is just another word for salsa.  And what the hell is the deal with compote, anyway?”

Yes.  Well, that’s really more of a comment, isn’t it?   I can’t waste all day on you people and your comments so cleverly disguised as questions.  So let’s move on, shall we?

Once upon a time in India, someone somewhere developed chutney.  They called it chatni.  And it was good. 

Or maybe not so much, and so additional time and effort and resources had to be expended in order to make it good.  Everybody got to brainstorming and figured out, for example, that you could leave the condiment to cook under in the sun for days until the proper flavor had developed.  At that point, the wealthier folks began serving chatnis as condiments at weddings and other special occasions. (And by the time the wealthy people got their hands on it, it must have been good.  Wealthy people have taste, as has been proven time and time again by the likes of, say Paris Hilton.)

Skipping shamelessly over the politics here, eventually the British popped over to India, added sugar and preserving agents to the salty, peppery relishes they found there – these “chutneys” – and began shipping them over the Europe as luxury goods.  In the 1600s, European cookbooks began to include recipes for the condiments which were known as “mangoed” fruits and vegetables, even though European cooks substituted more accessible fruits like peaches and melons.  With the development of canning technologies, chutneys have since become affordable and can be commonly found in Indian and western households alike, if you’re the type to go through cabinets during parties.  Which I am not.  So take my word or leave it.  Go do your own research in other people’s cupboards. 

Mainly what I’ve learned through my research is that chutney has a much more complicated backstory than I could ever be expected to muster energy enough to untangle.  Same with that last sentence. Suffice to say, chutney has passed the test of time, unlike the mixes of things from the back of fridge that I come up with on those weekends between paychecks.

The magic of chutney is that you can make it with any fresh ingredients you have on hand, so that chutneys from different places reflect the flavors of those places. Mangoes, peaches, tomatoes, pineapples, tamarind, apricots, eggplants, onions, raisins.  Chop up or simmer down your fruits and vegetables; add an acid, such as vinegar or lemon juice, and flavorings like garlic, ginger, sugar, coriander, peanuts, coconut, honey, mint, or chiles; and voila

In India, chutney refers to a condiment or relish that is served with nearly every meal.  Indian chutneys have historically been fresh, uncooked relishes made with seasonally available fruits, spices, and herbs. They were meant to be consumed right away, but they can also be pastes or dry powdered mixtures* that can be stored for months in the cabinet. But so far my practical experience is limited to the English-ified versions – those sweetly spicy, fragrant chutneys made by cooking fruit, sugar, and vinegar down into a sweet, chunky sauce that is less like a salsa and more like a particularly complex apple pie filling. 

The recipe below is for one of these types – a cinnamon-and-cayenne-scented chutney with dried apricots and plums plumped up alongside fresh ginger and tart apple that will pair with pretty much anything.  Grilled chicken, spicy sausage, roasted pork, cheese and crackers.  Anything blackened. Turkey sandwiches.  Hot dogs.  Marinated tofu.  Curried things.  I’m assuming bacon.  

I’d like to assuage everybody’s fears re the salsa/compote issue, but the following chutney is about the perfect way to spice up a cold winter day, particularly if your access to brandy is limited, and it’s clearly going to take me some time and way better resources than random folks on the internet to work out what’s what in the vast world of chutneys, salsas, and compotes.  So no more thinking.  We’ve really got to get on with the posting of the recipe.

I made the following chutney last weekend. I made one mistake: I cooked it at the last minute and served it hot. It was okay.  But let this chutney sit for a day or two in the fridge, and its complexity increases significantly. The spicy cinnamon flavor is enhanced by this time in the fridge, and the whole thing develops a wonderful, sticky, jammy consistency.

Chutney with Dried Apricots and Plums 

Altered slightly from the recipe found here .

Makes 2 cups

3/4 cup quartered pitted prunes
3/4 cup quartered dried apricots
1 large onion, chopped
1 large green apple, peeled and finely chopped
1 medium tomato, seeded and roughly chopped* (or 1/2 cup diced canned tomatoes)
Very scant 1/3 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon freshly grated ginger (or 1/2 teaspoon ground ginger)
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground clove
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup cider vinegar

1 Place prunes and apricots in saucepan; add 1 cup/250 mL water and bring to boil.
2 Remove from heat; cover and let stand for 30 minutes.
3 Stir in onion, apple, tomatoes, sugar, ginger, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, black and cayenne peppers, salt and vinegar; bring to simmer.
4 Cover and simmer on low, stirring occasionally, until thickened to jamlike consistency, about 2 hours.
5 Remove from heat.
*To peel tomatoes, prepare a bowl of ice water. Cut a shallow X into the bottom of each tomato, slicing only through the skin. Bring a saucepan of water to a boil and submerge tomatoes for approximately 20 to 30 seconds. Remove from boiling water with a slotted spoon and immediately plunge into ice water. Peel tomatoes with fingers starting from the X.

Postcript: I wonder if you could make a reasonable chutney using prickly pear fruit. You could call it Sonoran Spring chutney. Although in Tucson, I guess they really would just wind up calling it a salsa, vinegar be damned.  I think I’ve uncovered my next project.

* How to cook a dry bitter melon chutney.