October 27, 1999
The Midas Spice: From Flower to Saffron
In This Article
Sources for Buying Saffron
Recipe: Saffron Panna Cotta
Recipe: Lazy Potpie
Recipe: Fennel Salad With Saffron Vinaigrette
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Join a Discussion on Dining In: Cooking and Recipes
By AMANDA HESSER
ANDISVILLE, Pa. -- Starlings were swirling overhead, searching
for a last nip from the grapevines. Their prospects did not look
hopeful; for miles around this rise in the hills, everything looked
gray, vacant, bleak.
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Marty Katz for The New York Times
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Saffron crocuses, with their red stigmas, growing in Lancaster County, Pa.
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Except what was at my feet. Sprouting through the cold, damp
soil were sprightly purple flowers -- half an acre of them popping
up in tight lavender clusters.
It was striking enough that the flowers managed to bloom under
such conditions, but even more so that here in southeastern
Pennsylvania -- an area known for chickens, mushrooms and a simple
way of life -- these were not just any flowers but saffron crocuses.
From this flower comes the threadlike saffron spice, the exotic
filament that makes paella throb with flavor, the mysteriously
potent aromatic that defines risotto Milanese and gives Swedish
holiday bread its egg-yolk color. And the precious commodity that
inventive New York chefs have begun to infuse into a surprising
range of dishes like panna cottas, salad dressings, souffles and
even rice crackers.
For ages, saffron has been associated with Spain, though most of
the 300,000 pounds of saffron produced worldwide each year is grown
in Iran. No matter where it comes from, saffron has always been
expensive -- even now a mere one-ounce tin can cost as much as $55 --
making it all the more daunting to use. But for Martin Keen, a
seventh-generation farmer here who may be the only commercial
grower in the United States, saffron is neither foreign nor exotic.
It is a backyard harvest that has been reaped in the area for more
than two centuries. For him and other local cooks, it is a
seasoning as natural in the kitchen as cinnamon or pepper.
Marty Katz for The New York Times
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Martin Keen pulling stigmas from the saffron crocuses he grows.
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The spice is believed to have first been cultivated in Persia,
but it established roots here through the spice trade. William Woys
Weaver, the author of "Pennsylvania Dutch Country Cooking"
(Abbeville, 1993), writes that German Jews in Pennsylvania in the
1790s were merchants who had taken control over trade in the
Caribbean from Spain and England. Saffron was one of the goods. In
the Philadelphia exchange, saffron cost the same as gold until the
beginning of the 19th century.
Even so, saffron eventually became more a staple of kitchen
gardens than a commercial crop. Keen's family was tobacco and wheat
farmers, but as the land was divided over the generations, they
needed to rely on more-expensive crops, like wine grapes. Saffron,
being both traditional and valuable, also made sense. Keen first
began growing it in 1985. Today, virtually none of Keen's crop,
which is sold under the Greider's label, will make it into stores
any farther away than Philadelphia. What he grows is saffron in
microcosm.
Saffron has a curiously distinctive flavor, but fresh from the
fall flower it smells sweet, of freshly cut hay, and feels like
waxed thread. Dried, it has a round penetrating scent, like the
pulp of roasted tomatoes with hints of clay and eucalyptus. It is
rich, it is bitter, it is medicinal, and its dye is so intense that
it can turn a white potato the color of ripe papaya.
Unlike most crocuses, saffron is a fall flower raised from a
corm, like a gladiolus. Most of the year, the plant remains
dormant, but come mid-October, its green leaves begin to shoot up
above ground, and soon after, the bright purple flowers. They
lushly carpet the field, and then die off in a matter of two to
three weeks.
For Keen, these are a frantic few weeks. Each day, new flowers
appear, so every inch of his plot must be combed. The work is
painful just to watch. To harvest, he straddles the three-foot-wide
row and bends all the way to the ground to pick off the crocus
buds. He shuffles along inches at a time, snapping the flowers off
their stems.
Keen pinched a frail purple blossom between two fingers, and
then pointed to the three pomegranate-red threads dangling between
the petals. "These are the stigmas," he said. "You just pull
them out." It was a simple explanation for one of the world's most
labor-intensive crops.
As soon as he finishes picking, he rushes the flowers home,
where friends and family members help to separate them. For every
hour of picking, it takes two to three hours to separate the
flowers, and yields a mere handful of stigmas. The stigmas are then
dried in a dehydrator. It's not as evocative as the classic images
of Spanish women toasting the saffron over coal fires.
Keen keeps his saffron in sealed Tupperware containers, marked
simply by year: 98 or 99. He does not lock them up. But he does
keep a close eye on them. Saffron must mature for several months
before selling, and humidity levels change often.
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Michael Rogol for The New York Times
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At Babbo, saffron is infused with lemon zest in a panna cotta.
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Keen's labors produce all of about two and a half pounds of
saffron a year. Although he appears to be the only commercial
grower in the United States, there may soon be others. Ellen Szita,
a saffron expert from San Francisco, says she has heard of a grower
beginning production near Austin, Texas, and her Web site,
www.saffroninfo.com, has received numerous requests for growing
information from people with several acres to plant.
Just 10 years ago, Spain produced 70 percent of the world's
saffron. But as younger generations have moved away from the farms
to take jobs in the city, its production has dropped.
Just the opposite has occurred in Iran. Since the 1979
revolution, there has been a movement back to farming, and 85
percent of the world crop is now harvested there each year. Iranian
saffron, often called Persian, cannot be imported directly into the
United States, so many growers send it to Europe to be processed,
after which it is sold here.
As more saffron from other countries has become available,
opinions about what is the best are changing. Spanish saffron,
particularly Coupe and La Mancha grades, was once considered the
most desirable. Paula Wolfert, the author of several books on
Mediterranean cooking, remembered the day when Richard Olney, who
was a food writer in France, introduced her to Greek saffron. "I
went wild," she said. "You needed one-third the saffron to get
the color and the taste." More recently, she discovered Persian
saffron, which she described as "potent beyond belief."
I had a similar reaction to Persian saffron when I tested it
against La Mancha saffron, Keen's and a Spanish variety from a
supermarket. Steeped in hot water, the Persian, which like Coupe
had the flavorless base of its stigmas removed, was darker, a blood
red, and its aroma was thick, pure and intense, much more so than
La Mancha. That variety was pale, its fragrance weak. The
supermarket saffron had very little color and tasted flat. Keen's
saffron was terrific, as intense as the Persian, but much
different. The filaments stained the water a deep orange, and the
aroma was full and minerally, more austere than the Persian.
Kalustyan's, an Eastern food store in Manhattan on Lexington
Avenue, sells Spanish saffron from La Mancha for $35 an ounce and
Persian saffron for $55 an ounce.
With prices that astronomical, it's no wonder that adulteration
is rampant in the industry. Those red threads can be duplicated in
many ways: the silks off corn on the cob, horse hair, dyed grass,
marigold leaves, newspaper -- you name it, and it has probably been
used. Sometimes, the yellow stamens and some petals are added, or
extra moisture is left in to increase the weight.
Then there are the false saffrons, like the safflower, from the
plant used for oil. The threads on it are short, tightly clustered
and more flame-colored than deep red. They color food but have no
taste. They are often sold -- legally -- as "Turkish saffron,"
"American saffron" or "Mexican saffron."
As precious as saffron is, a cook will soon realize it is
important to extract as much flavor as possible from the threads.
Generally they should be soaked in some form of liquid, but first
they should be pounded with a mortar and pestle, as garlic is
crushed to release its aroma. Saffron dissolves in water, so fats
like cream and oils work less effectively than water and acids. I
have found the best way to deal with it, regardless of the recipe,
is to steep the threads in a few teaspoons of hot water for about
20 minutes. Then you can evaluate the strength of the saffron
before using it in a dish.
Measuring saffron is not like scooping allspice or chopped
basil. Recipes often call for teaspoon measurements or by the
pinch, neither of which is much help. A half teaspoon is about 25
to 30 full-size threads. A pinch is more like 45. It is best to
begin conservatively, and then add more later.
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Saffron souffle at La Caravelle.
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For all its potency, saffron is actually quite the delicate
flower in the kitchen. If too much is added, a dish can turn
bitter. If cooked at a high temperature for too long, it loses its
nuance. And its flavor takes time to bloom. Sauces and creams
containing saffron, for instance, are better the next day.
In classic dishes like couscous and paella, the saffron flavor
is unmistakable. But it is also a marvelous background component,
in dishes like fresh marinated sardines with quinoa and saffron at
Sono, a new restaurant in midtown Manhattan.
At Aquavit, saffron becomes one of dozens of flavors layered
through a curry granita with bay scallop ceviche and caviar. Marcus
Samuelsson, the chef there, also infuses saffron in a potato foam
served over a warm salad of arugula, artichokes, goat cheese and
fingerling potatoes. Its smooth egg yolk color fools the eye: you
think it is mayonnaise until you taste it. In another dish, he
kneads saffron into a dough of cooked arborio rice and rice flour
to make crackers that look like strands of eggy fettuccine and
crack in your mouth like ice.
The red threads weave through a butter-yellow, lightly sugared
souffle at La Caravelle.
Saffron in ice cream shows up on many menus. It is as natural an
idea as any spiced ice cream like cardamom or star anise, except
that saffron's bitterness surfaces in a pleasant way.
At Babbo, saffron is infused with a little lemon zest into a
straightforward panna cotta. It is divine. It is beguiling. And
saffron's musky aroma lingers, like no other spice, in your mouth,
your nose, your head.
Here are sources for saffron.
Curious Yellow
Quality in saffron is difficult for a consumer to discern. When
sold in tins, it gives no clues whatsoever. Even if the packaging
is clear, make sure the store has a lot of turnover so that the
saffron is not old. Once home, transfer it to a dark, airtight
container for storage for as long as two years.
Just as tasting helps you find a wine you like, it takes
experimentation to evaluate saffron. It's best to buy it in ounce
(or half-ounce, if available) quantities through a spice importer
or a high-quality ethnic or specialty grocer, not the grocery
store.
GREIDER'S SAFFRON, from Pennsylvania, is $3.49 for 0.5 gram, or
about 0.018 ounce, at Pennsylvania General Store in the Reading
Terminal Market in Philadelphia; (800) 545-4891 or
www.pageneralstore.com. It is $2.95 at Lancaster Mennonite
Historical Society, 2215 Millstream Road, Lancaster, Pa.; (717)
393-9745.
PERSIAN SAFFRON is $55 an ounce at Kalustyan's, 123 Lexington
Ave., (28th Street), Manhattan; (212) 685-3451 or
www.kalustyans.com.
ORGANIC MACEDONIAN GREEK SAFFRON is $45 an ounce, including
shipping, from Vanilla, Saffron Imports in San Francisco;
www.saffron.com.
LA MANCHA SPANISH SAFFRON is $35 an ounce at Kalustyan's.
COUPE SPANISH SAFFRON is $41.95 a quarter ounce at Penzeys
Spices in Muskego, Wis.; (800) 741-7787 or www.penzeys.com.
KASHMIRI SAFFRON is $57.95 a quarter ounce at Penzeys Spices.
SAFFRON PANNA COTTA
Adapted from Babbo
Time: 30 minutes
3 1/2 cups heavy cream
3/4 cup sugar
Grated zest of 1 lemon
Large pinch saffron (60 to 65 threads), pounded with mortar and
pestle
1 packet gelatin plus 1 teaspoon, dissolved in 1/4 cup water
1 cup milk.
1. In medium saucepan, combine heavy cream, sugar, lemon zest
and saffron threads. Bring to boil, stirring gently, and then
remove from heat. Let saffron mixture rest for 15 minutes to
develop flavor and color.
2. Stir gelatin into cream mixture. Strain cream through
fine-meshed sieve or chinois, and then stir in milk. Pour mixture
into six chilled 1-cup ramekins or dessert cups. Chill before
serving.
Yield: 6 servings.
LAZY POTPIE
Adapted from "Pennsylvania German Cookery" (1950)
Time: 1 hour 45 minutes
1 1/2 pounds pork spareribs
2 carrots, peeled and cut into thirds
1 clove garlic, crushed
2 1/2 tablespoons chopped parsley, stems reserved
Kosher salt for seasoning
Large pinch saffron (60 to 65 threads), pounded with mortar and
pestle
6 medium red potatoes, peeled and quartered
1 1/2 cups sifted flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 egg, separated
3/4 cup milk.
1. Place spareribs, carrots, garlic and parsley stems in large
pot. Cover with water, season with salt, and bring to boil. Reduce
heat to simmer, and cook until meat is almost tender, about 1 to 1 1/4
hours.
2. Bring small pot of water almost to boil. Place saffron in
small bowl, and pour about 1 cup hot water over it. Let steep for
20 minutes. In small pot, combine potatoes and saffron water, and
add fresh water to cover. Season with salt, and bring to boil. Cook
until potatoes are almost tender, about 10 minutes. Set aside.
3. Into medium bowl, sift together flour, baking powder and 1
teaspoon salt. Add egg yolk, chopped parsley and enough milk to
make a thin dough. Whisk egg white with a little salt until stiff.
Gently fold into dough.
4. Add potatoes and half their water to pot with spareribs, and
increase heat to active simmer. Using soup spoon, drop dough in
spoonfuls into broth. Cover pot, and simmer until dumplings are
cooked through and pork and potatoes are tender, about 20 minutes
more. Taste, and adjust seasoning. Discard parsley stems. Ladle
into bowls, and serve.
Yield: 6 servings.
FENNEL SALAD WITH SAFFRON VINAIGRETTE
Time: 20 minutes, plus 45 minutes' sitting time
Large pinch saffron (60 to 65 threads), pounded with mortar and
pestle
2 tablespoons orange juice
3 teaspoons mirin
1/4 teaspoon minced garlic
1 1/2 teaspoons white wine vinegar
1 teaspoon honey
Kosher salt for seasoning
3 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons canola oil
1 bulb fennel, thinly sliced on mandoline or shaved with
vegetable peeler
Freshly ground black pepper to taste.
1. In small saucepan, heat 1 cup water almost to boil. Place
saffron in small bowl. Pour 2 teaspoons hot water over saffron, and
let sit for 20 minutes. Stir in orange juice, mirin, garlic,
vinegar and honey. Season with salt. Let saffron mixture sit for 5
minutes.
2. Slowly whisk in olive oil and canola oil until emulsified.
Taste, and add more salt or orange juice, if needed.
3. Place fennel in large bowl, pour dressing over it. Season
with pepper. Toss well. Taste, and adjust seasoning. Serve
immediately.
Yield: 4 servings.