Subscribe
Share
Share
Embed
The show that explores what makes Sri Lanka Sri Lankan.
The Golden Trinity | Sri Lanka’s Three Great Spices
Three spices hold the key to every dish in Sri Lanka. But which ones are they and why does their consequence stretch far beyond the humble kitchen?
It took just three homespun goddesses - Aglaia, Euphrosyne, and Thalia - to give their ancient Mediterranean world all the perfection it needed; its charm, beauty, and creativity. And so it is with the three great indigenous species of Sri Lanka: cinnamon, pepper, and turmeric. Native to the island, they are impossible to imagine life here without.
The greatest of these is cinnamon. Its perfumed bushes mark out the outer edge of the spice garden at The Flame Tree Estate & Hotel. No other thing, except perhaps Buddhism itself, water, or Sri Lanka’s island status, has had such a marked impact on the country as this miraculous spice, beloved of Herodotus, Aristotle, Nero, and such famous chefs as Vivek Singh and Emma Bengtsson. It is the magnetic North of the world’s spices, having enticed traders, colonists and planters to Sri Lanka, the invisible force field of its glittering commercial allure sucking them in, willing monopolist marketers, villainous vendors, wolfish merchants. The consequences of their commercial obsession were to remake the island - utterly.
But that is, of course, not the fault of the plant itself, and not even the fact that it has been expropriated in name by hotels and insurance companies, wellness spas, buns, babies, and kitchenware can detract from its epic health and culinary properties. Unlike Cinnamon aromaticum or Cinnamon cassia, which come mainly from Vietnam and Indonesia and are commonly known as Chinese cinnamon, Ceylon Cinnamon – or, to give it its Latin name, Cinnamomum verum - comes almost exclusively from Sri Lanka. It is, in fact, just one of ten species that can credibly claim to be fully indigenous to the island – the other fourteen key ones being imports of one kind or another.
The most significant difference between the two variants of cinnamon lies in their health qualities. Of the eighty or so chemical compounds that make up both varieties of cinnamon, there is little to compare in how well they are known to improve insulin, increase blood sugar uptake, reduce cholesterol, and, with their shared anti-inflammatory and antioxidant qualities, act against bacteria and fungi - even to the extent of stopping the growth of tumours. Both also help prevent the buildup of tau, a substance in the brain that can lead to Alzheimer’s disease. The way they metabolise into sodium benzoate mitigates the loss of proteins like Parkin and DJ-1, thereby inhibiting the progression of Parkinson’s Disease. The polyphenols in both varieties help detoxify enzymes, protecting against the growth of cancer cells. Their shared cinnamaldehyde component activates thermogenesis, a process that increases calorie burning.
But where they differ is in their inclusion of coumarin, an aromatic organic compound with known hepatotoxic and carcinogenic properties, and one that is known to cause liver damage. Compared to Chinese cinnamon, Sri Lankan cinnamon has exceptionally low levels of this dangerous chemical - 250 times less, to be exact. It is therefore the only sure variety to use for health benefits.
Gourmands would also argue for its preference in cooking. Sri Lankan cinnamon has a flavour that is arresting, in its difference – sweeter, more subtle, and less bitter than Cinnamon cassia. It has a softer texture and a lighter colour – and, commanding a much higher price than Chinese cinnamon, accounts for just 9% of the world’s $1 billion market. As one food writer put it: “Cinnamon is the flavour equivalent of being hugged by your grandmother.”
From fruit pies and custards, sweet breads and rolls, teas, soup, lattes, pilaf, baked meats, pancakes, cakes, dumplings and pot roasts, its delicate nature allows it to complement dishes rather than dominate them, war-lord style. Imagine some of the world’s great dishes like Kanelbullar, beef rendang, lamb tagine, apple crumble, Franzbrotchen Buns, or Teurgoule rice pudding – but without cinnamon to transform them. Across Sri Lanka, the spice has found its way into dozens of classic island dishes, including Watalappan, a spiced coconut and jaggery custard; Bibikkan; Dutch Lamprais; Kavum, sweet rice-flour treacle fritters; and scores of common curries. Here at The Flame Tree Estate & Hotel, our chefs have used it to create a morish breakfast bun – the Kanelbullar Crocodile Croissant – a pastry made like the classic Sri Lankan sugar crocodile bun, shaped like a croissant and flavoured like a Swedish cinnamon Kanelbullar.
The growing spice likes it hot but not blistering – a steady temperature of around 25˚C to 32˚C. Although the soils best suited to it are reckoned to be the sandy white soils of Negombo, its demand for plenty of moisture makes it a firm fixture in the central hilly area of the country.
It is grown most easily from seeds, 3-4 per pot, and planted out about 4 feet apart in these clusters, whose competing roots ensure a beautifully shrubby plant, best able to give off many branches to peel, and so limit the dangers of any one plant racing to become a fifteen metre tall tree.
Pruning starts at about 18 months, with cross branches removed and the plants kept to a height of around 3 metres. Twice-yearly harvesting occurs after about three years, at which point the branches are cut, the leaves removed, and the outer layer of bark scraped off with a Surana Kurutta knife. The raw stems are rubbed with brass rods to squeeze out the oils, and then, with the aid of a special curved knife – a Koketta – the softer inner bark is peeled to a target width, with different widths determining the final grade of the spice.
Thirteen different grades are recognised, mainly determined by the diameter of the quill. The highest, known as Alba, has quills that are less than 6mm in diameter. More typically, C4 is around 13-15mm in diameter, and C3 is between 15 and 17mm in diameter. All three are known as “Heen Kurundu” or Smooth Cinnamon. “‘Gorosu Kurundu'” includes quills that are up to 38 mm in diameter - typically used for grinding into cinnamon powder. The cinnamon sheaths are then dried in the shade, curling inwards; the quills are then placed on strings or racks to dry still further.
Among the world’s key spices, Sri Lankan cinnamon holds its own, costing up to $60 a kilo – more than cloves, though less than saffron ($500 to $5,000 per pound), vanilla ($200 to $500 per pound), or cardamom ($30 per ounce). Less labour intensive and climatically fussy than saffron; without any of the pollination drams of vanilla; the harvesting quagmires of cloves or the complex choreography of cardamon collecting; and less prone to animal attacks than any of these, cinnamon, by dint of experiment and experience, has recommended itself as the lead spice that we grow at The Flame Tree Estate & Hotel, with bushes populating not just the Spice Garden itself but also several acres of hilly land that lie to the east and south east of the hotel, on Singing Civet Hill, and underplanted beneath aged coconuts that know no straight line.
Pepper is the second great indigenous spice for which Sri Lanka is rightly famous. It is one of only two food items (the other being salt) to have earned a place as an immutable fixture at every table in almost every part of the world. Yet this extreme popularity belies its opulent history. Food historians have dated pepper’s first origins to the Malabar Coast of India – present-day Kerala - and to around 2,000 BCE. By that time, Adam’s Bridge, that frail corridor of land that connects India with northern Sri Lanka, was already several thousand years old. Rising and falling sea levels meant that, over time, it became more or less walkable – but the presence of black pepper so close to Sri Lanka probably implied its existence on the island too, brought here by birds, early migrants, or just by creeping, acre by acre, when the land was dry.
Its extreme antiquity was spectacularly demonstrated when pepper corns were found in the nostrils of Ramses the Great, who died in 1213 BCE and whose mummy was unearthed in 1881 in the Valley of the Kings. Arab traders brought it to the attention of the ancient Greeks, mainly as a medicine used to alleviate haemorrhoids, diarrhoea, and digestive disorders. It was also the go-to cure to reverse the effects of hemlock, the poison that killed Socrates. It has beneficial chemical properties derived from the alkaloid piperine, its main active compound, though it also contains other valuable compounds such as tannins, potassium, calcium, magnesium, Vitamin C, Vitamin B1, B2, B3, and Vitamin K. Modern science has since validated some of these presumed health benefits. The alkaloid piperine it contains has obvious antioxidant properties. Scientific studies have also linked it to anti-inflammatory benefits. Indeed, when combined with turmeric and ginger, the spice was found to have the same impact as prescription medication for patients with knee osteoarthritis.
On-going medical studies are also examining piperine’s potential in cognitive functioning; lowering harmful cholesterol levels; regulating blood sugar, providing pain relief; boosting the immune system by supporting white blood cells; treating vitiligo - and, most interesting of all, as a use in cancer drugs where its antioxidant and free-radical scavenging properties are of possible benefit in chemoprevention and controlling tumour growth.
For such a small item, it makes whatever dish it touches potent, adding an earthy, mildly hot flavour that hints of figs, citrus, pine, smoke, and wood. And from its earliest beginnings, nurtured by the humid climate and heavy rainfall it loves, it has long been one of the pivotal ingredients that make Keralan stews, roasts, and rasams distinctive.
The Romans began tentatively using it in their cooking, and the spice makes an early culinary appearance in the ancient Roman cookbook Apicius’ De re coquinaria. But its rediscovery in Kozhikode by the fifteenth-century Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama set it on a path to a much wider audience, eager to use it as much for cooking as for health. Within decades, it had become so prized that it became a currency in its own right, used to pay rents, taxes, and dowries. It entered the language as “black gold.” And it is as gold that it has continued, with a global market value of over two billion dollars, ten per cent of which is Sri Lanka’s more than marvellous share.
Today, barely a dish made anywhere is without its pepper; sometimes it’s the star, as in Steak au Poivre; often it’s the chorus; occasionally it’s the saint, as in David Lebovitz’s award-winning Black Pepper Ice Cream, a jungle version of which the chefs make here at The Flame Tree Estate & Hotel.
Unlike so many other spices, it is a walkover to plant, harvest and maintain. A vine that grows to four meters and lasts for at least three decades, it proliferates interplanted in home gardens on the island and as a commercial crop in such areas as Matale, Kandy, Kegalle, Badulla, Ratnapura, and Kurunegala. Cuttings are planted to grow up Gliricidia tree stakes, which pump nitrogen into the soil around them. Its green berries, like tiny grapes, are harvested twice yearly from June to August and again from November to February, and dried and blanched to become black. White pepper is made from the same fruit but is immersed in water for several days, then rubbed clean of its outer coat. Its peppery-hot taste deters most animal attacks, though not those of songbirds, who are so configured by nature as to feel no burning sensation when they guzzle its grapes.
But for real pepper buffs, black pepper has a cousin that, though little known, is infinitely grander – long pepper. Both are indigenous to Sri Lanka and belong to the Piper genus within the Piperaceae family. Where they differ is in their taste. Whereas black pepper is candidly pungent, long pepper is way more complex – hotter, sweeter, with delectable hints of incense, cloves, and nutmeg. It grows like a catkin, so red as to resemble a runaway mulberry.
It has somehow joyfully resisted most attempts to commercialise its growth properly, despite its reputation, at least in Indian Ayurvedic medicine, as being a stalwart tool to help manage obesity, liver disorders, asthma, lung strength, rheumatoid arthritis, and high cholesterol. It is also promoted as something that sharpens the brain, slows ageing, and enhances a flagging libido. However, empirical evaluation of this aspect of the fruit remains sadly lacking. As a vine, it much resembles black pepper but demands greater shade and more water to really flourish, and the sort of perfect drainage for which good plumbers win gold medallions.
In cooking, it can be used much like black pepper, yet makes curries bolder, marinades zestier, and stews famously more aromatic. For anyone seeking the ultimate recipe, look no further than Long Pepper Chicken, which first surfaced somewhat unexpectedly in the Arthashastra, a 2nd-century BCE Indian Sanskrit treatise on statecraft, politics, economic policy, and military strategy. It is a simple dish to prepare. Add crushed long pepper, ginger, and salt to the yoghurt, then add the chicken pieces, and let them marinate overnight. Then add mustard seeds to hot oil, more peppers, and then the marinated chicken, until it browns. Squeeze lemon over the result and try not to wolf it down disgracefully.
“When in doubt, rock the red.” Turmeric is the third of the island’s most important indigenous spices, though it is valued primarily for its culinary uses; it is also much cherished as a medicine and a dye. It is one of those rare spices that has dominated the tropical zones of the world since records began, appearing in archaeological findings in Australia dating back to 10,000 BCE, in cuneiform texts from the Assyrian kingdoms in the seventh century BCE, and in Vedic medicine of South Asia, 1000 to 500 BCE.
Although awash with potassium, sodium, calcium, iron, phosphorus, vitamin C, vitamin B3, and vitamin B6, as well as several oils, its most crucial component is curcumin. This is the active ingredient that gives the spice its stunning colour and most of its critical health benefits. Modern scientific research is homing in on its quantifiable properties. Studies have begun to show how it can help in treating inflammations, degenerative eye conditions, arthritis, cholesterol, and kidney health, as well as possibly mental conditions: depression, anxiety, and dementia.
Few Asian and Arab dishes would be the same without turmeric. Dosas, bhajis, samosas, Moroccan pastillas, Tunisian tagines, aloo gobi, butter chicken, chana masala, kormas, rendangs – all owe their appeal in large part to their inclusion of turmeric; as do newer entrants, from martinis to sourdough bread. Rice, dhal, chicken stew, coconut milk, curries, custards, jackfruit pickles and even puddings: across Sri Lanka, there is barely a recipe that fails to touch on turmeric in one way or another. Our chefs at The Flame Tree Estate & Hotel turn into marvellous ice cream. Even so, its cultivation ground to almost zero during the troubled decades of the civil war, and turmeric, as it slowly recovers in local production, is still seen as horticultural gold, commanding over 3,000 rupees per kilo.
In many ways, it is a pleasing spice to grow, making few demands on its attendants. Fresh rhizomes, with budding green shoots, are planted a few centimetres deep. Sun, good drainage, mulching, and water do the rest. Where it falls just short of perfection is in the allure it offers to wild boar. They adore its roots, its leaves, the taste, and texture of the whole plant. And herds of them wander our land – usually at night. Often in small groups of three or four, they occasionally like to mass like D Day armies with up to 20 or 25 beasts dropping in for a midnight snack. Bold, large and understandably entitled, they have to be deterred from the turmeric beds by our nightwatchman; and by fencing that is almost always never quite enough. What amounts the boar leaves behind are ready to harvest after seven or eight months, after which time the rhizomes can be replanted for a new crop.
That was a production written and recorded by David Swarbrick at The Ceylon Press, based in the jungle north of Kandy, at The Flame Tree Estate & Hotel, and set up to tell the story of Sri Lanka.