A Somewhat Condensed Guide Through the Fraught Business of Buying Saffron
And the recipe from last Tuesday's post
As promised, I present the recipe to go with Tuesday’s post, along with a handy guide to buying saffron. Sign up for a free subscription so you won’t miss next week’s story about a kid who decided to raise farrow deer for the Portland, Oregon food world!
There is no getting around the fact that buying saffron is a lot like buying illicit drugs. The concern for purity and potency are the same, as are where it is grown and how it is processed. You may have to go through some trial and error to find the kind of saffron you like and then search for a reliable, and steady, supplier.
Part of the difficulty in cooking with saffron in America is that it’s simply not part of our culinary culture—unless you’re Amish. Then your ancestors cooked with it ever since the Middle Ages, and the spice trade made some German merchants very rich. Amish and Mennonites fleeing from religious persecution in the 18th century brought the corms to Pennsylvania, where a majority settled and eventually established a very profitable trade supplying Spanish colonists in the Caribbean. Unfortunately, saffron was shipped there alongside other American exports to the islands—molasses, rum, cod, and, far too often, slaves.
But I digress.
Another difficulty with saffron is that it can’t just be used straight from the jar. The dry stigmas needs to be revived by steeping them in some kind of liquid, such as hot water, wine, or oil. Only then can its quality and potency be determined. To make matters more trying, like wine, much depends on the growing season’s climate. From year to year, each crop will taste slightly different, making it difficult to rely on just one brand or country.
Spain’s saffron is most readily available and commonly considered the best, its taste mellower in comparison to other countries, including its neighbor Italy. After Spain, the easiest to find is from Greece, the taste of which will knock your socks off. Indian saffron from Kashmir is intense, but never-ending regional conflicts and government restrictions limit its export. Middle Eastern—specifically Iran, Iraq, and Afghanistan—would be the gold standard if only it could get to market or, in the case of Iran, international sanctions are lifted. The next best saffron to Middle Eastern is produced as it was in the 18th century by the Pennsylvania Dutch. It’s so potent you need only a tiny pinch of its thick threads.
In recent years, what I would call boutique crops have come to market—some from the old fields of France, Switzerland, and England, others grown by small organic farmers in the United States. I recently heard saffron from New Zealand is really good.
Here’s what I suggest: Do some legwork before you start trolling through the internet. If there’s a Middle Eastern community near you, check out their markets. Specialty stores sometimes carry a variety of saffron. If you come up empty, then search on the web. Yes, of course, Amazon has a bunch, including Zaran Saffron, a reliable source. Our friend at Penzeys Spices has very good quality Spanish saffron.
For a complete guide and history of saffron, and an uncommonly bald-faced self-promotion, read my book Secrets of Saffron, the Vagabond Life of the World’s Most Seductive Spice.
Now that you have read through all that, and bought some saffron, you have arrived at the recipe I promised for my neighbor’s saffron lobster. If you’re squeamish about lobster killing, you may use lobster tails. Shrimp—cooked in its shell—is a reliable substitute, but buy the largest you can afford.
Richard’s Saffron Lobster
Serves 4
a large pinch (at least 50 threads) of saffron
1/4 cup olive oil
1 large live lobster (about 1 1/2 to 2 pounds)
3 cloves of garlic, minced
1/2 cup chicken stock (preferably homemade)
1/2 cup white wine
salt to taste
juice of 1 lemon
Add the saffron to the olive oil, stir gently, and let sit for at least 20 minutes. The oil will take on a rosy tinge. Better yet, pour the oil into a bottle and steep it for a day or two. The flavor will really pop out.
When you are ready to cook, pith the lobster by laying it on its stomach and quickly driving the sharp point of a thin-blade knife in the space directly behind the lobster’s head. Split the lobster in half down the middle. Discard the sack and vein, roe, and tomalley.
In a large flat-bottom pan, pour in the oil and heat until hot over a medium-high burner. Add the garlic and sauté briefly. Add lobster, meat side down. Cook for half a minute. Turn over to the shell side—by this point, the tail has probably curled. Cook for one minute on one side, then flip to the other side and cook for another minute. Lower the heat. Add chicken stock (be careful—the hot oil may splatter when you add the stock), wine, and salt. When the liquid begins to simmer, cover the pan and let cook for about 10 minutes or until the lobster shell has turned red and the meat is firm and rosy. Add the lemon juice and stir to blend.
Serve immediately on a bed of pasta, rice, or grain, and pour a little of the sauce over all.
Thank you for reading today’s story! With your help, I can continue to write stories not often told—and celebrate people who should be remembered and acclaimed—in the food world and at the American table.