The Aphrodisiac Encyclopaedia
Page 13
Cut the steak into thin strips. Work across the grain of the meat, ideally producing strips that are 5 cm long by about 1 cm wide and ½ cm thick.
Crush the garlic with the back of a knife and a little table salt. Mix this paste with finely chopped chilli, rice wine, soy sauce, toasted sesame oil and honey. Pour this marinade over the beef strips, cover and leave to marinate for at least 2 hours.
Meanwhile peel the ginger and cut into matchsticks. Top and tail the fine beans (alternatively you could use thin asparagus or purple sprouting broccoli sliced in half lengthways). Finely slice the spring onion on the diagonal.
Remove the beef from the marinade, and allow to air dry. Reserve the marinade.
Mix the cornflour with salt and five-spice. Beat the egg. Coat the beef strips in beaten egg, then toss in the cornflour mix until well coated.
Heat the vegetable oil in a wok or large heavy saucepan. When it is very hot, add half the beef and fry for about 2 minutes until golden brown. Remove and keep warm whilst frying the remaining beef.
After frying the beef allow the oil to become very hot again. Toss the ginger matchsticks in the spiced cornflour, shake off any excess flour and then deep-fry for about 30 seconds until golden brown. Remove and keep warm.
Reduce the amount of oil in the pan to just 1 tablespoon.
Stir-fry the green beans for 30 seconds, then add the sliced spring onion and stir-fry for 10 seconds longer. Finally add the marinade.
Return the crispy beef and ginger fries to the wok. Toss to combine and serve immediately with steamed rice, and bok choi dressed with oyster sauce.
MUSTARD
Although mustard seeds have been used as a spice since time immemorial, it was the road-building Romans who invented modern mustard. They pounded mustard seeds with unfermented grape juice or must. The resulting paste was so fiery that it became known as burning must, mustum ardens, and so via Chinese whispers to mustard. It was massively popular in Roman times, an essential condiment for meat and fish that sat on almost every dining table. One of the reasons it was so popular was a deep-seated belief that mustard inflamed the senses. Pliny the Elder wrote that ‘with a few spoonfuls of mustard, a cold and lazy woman can become an ideal wife’. Somehow I don’t think Pliny is referring to housework.
By the Middle Ages, mustard’s aphrodisiac reputation was sufficiently entrenched for the Church to banish it from monkish tables, fearing sexual mayhem in the monastery. Attempting just such a scenario, frigid Danish dames thawed their dainties with a potion of mustard, mint and ginger. I assume only the extremely keen applied this externally. The Chinese had of course known all this for millennia. Due to mustard’s warming properties, Chinese medicine had long regarded its seeds as a powerful aphrodisiac yang tonic.
When it comes to divining its aphrodisiac effect the Chinese were almost certainly on the right track. To say mustard is warming can be something of an understatement. A strong English variety thrashes the tongue, sears the nose and sets eyes watering. Then as suddenly as it arrived the sensory crisis is over, leaving an invigorated diner with tingling senses. Biologically, mustard’s molten assault triggers the release of soothing, euphoric endorphins. It also quickens the pulse, dilates the blood vessels and generally raises one’s metabolism. Research from Oxford has shown mustard to boost metabolism as effectively as ephedrine, speeding it by as much as 25 per cent for several hours. The symptoms are a simulacrum for sexual arousal. Mustard simply bamboozles the body into desire. The active ingredient, allyl isothiocyanate, is also responsible for the kick in horseradish, wasabi and rocket.
The heat in mustard depends greatly on how it is made. Bizarrely, the most important factor is the temperature of the liquid mixed with the ground mustard seed. Cold water produces the fieriest paste whilst the warm dilutions of Dijon produce a milder, more refined mustard. Cooked out in a sauce, the fire is all but extinguished. The varieties of seed also play a part. White mustard seed is responsible for the tongue lashing. Black mustard (actually juncea) rises up the nose.
The bon viveur should approach mustard with a little caution. Although the aphrodisiac effect is keenest with crying-strength mustard, too much is certain to swamp the finer points of a delicate dish. At strength, it sings most sweetly with simple dishes of seasoned pork. A strong smoked ham basks in the heat of a good mustard, whilst a hot dog sits up and begs for the stuff. The gutsy flavours of roast beef and smoked fish similarly stand up and flourish in mustard’s potentially overbearing company. Although rarely attempted, making your own mustard is surprisingly simple and can provide new gastronomic heights to this ubiquitous condiment. Set pulses racing with a personally prepared cider and celery mustard. Quite flash, the apple and celery notes complement pork perfectly. It is guaranteed to impress your sausage.
Cider and Celery Banger Mustard
Black mustard seeds : 100 g
Yellow mustard seeds : 100 g
Coriander seed : ½ tsp
Turmeric : ½ tsp
Celery seeds : 1 tsp
Dried thyme : 1 tsp
Sharp apple juice : 150 ml
Sweet cider : 150 ml
Mustard powder : 1 tbsp
Cider vinegar : 100 ml
Sea salt
The main advantage in making your own mustard is its freshness. Unlike commercial mustards, no vinegar or salt is required for preservation. It is used solely for flavour and in much reduced quantities.
In a dry pan heat the mustard, coriander, turmeric and celery seeds for a few minutes to activate their flavours.
Pour the seeds into a pestle and mortar and crush until very fine.
Pour the resulting powder into a fine sieve. Shake and stir until all the fine particles pass through the sieve and only the larger pieces of seed husk remain. Place this powder with the dried thyme in a bowl and cover with the apple juice and cider. Let the mustard absorb the moisture overnight.
Add the mustard powder to the mix and half the cider vinegar. Leave to stand for 20 minutes, then transfer to a food processor and blend until the mustard is the desired consistency.
Leave to stand for a further 3 hours, add some more vinegar if it is too thick, then blend again.
Season to taste with the remaining vinegar and salt.
If you want a smoother mustard, pass it through the finest sieve you have to remove any remaining husks.
Store for a week before using. Refridgerated, it will keep for months.
NUTMEG
Every banana-skin-toking schoolboy knows that nutmeg has narcotic properties and is mildly hallucinogenic. It can be smoked, snorted or eaten. Getting baked on nutmeg is described as a euphoric state somewhere between waking and dreaming. In the 1940s it inspired saxophonist Charlie Bird Parker’s improvised flights of jazz fancy. Malcolm X was another nutmeg narco. Not quite on the level of E=mc2, in Charlestown gaol he devised the stoner’s equation 1 × nutmeg = 4 × marijuana reefer. Narcotic effect is no guarantee of aphrodisiac ecstacy but it certainly marks nutmeg out for closer inspection.
Formally known as myristica fragans, nutmeg is the seed of a tropical evergreen tree that until the 1800s grew exclusively on the Banda Islands of Indonesia. Around the seed is a lacy red coating. This is mace, nutmeg’s milder-tasting cousin. As nutmeg was traded further and further from its remote origins it developed a varied aphrodisiac following. The Unani medical tradition of Arabia and India considers nutmeg a warming tonic for fortifying the male libido. In China and Zanzibar it is women who feel nutmeg’s aphrodisiac effect. It is a vital ingredient in a Zanzibar bride’s pre-wedding porridge. The brides say that it ‘makes them loose’ – whether this is literal or metaphorical is unclear. In Europe, nutmeg sparked a not insignificant war between the Portuguese, Dutch and British. All wanted control of this desirable spice and its lucrative trade. Nutmeg’s external aphrodisiac effect was noted. In seventeenth-century England, maverick master of physick, William Salmon, recommends nutmeg oil on the nether regions. A quick polish with an oi
ly rag and the sexual engine roars into action.
Inquisitive scientists support nutmeg’s aphrodisiac credentials. An experiment in India has proved that male rats dosed with nutmeg extract display an increase in both libido and potency. The active ingredient in nutmeg is the compound myristicin. Comprising about 4 per cent of nutmeg’s essential oil, myristicin is a weak monoamine oxidase inhibitor. For the uninitiated, what are known in the trade as MAOIs block the oxidisation of monoamines such as dopamine, serotonin, adrenaline and phenylethylamine. The result is higher levels of these pleasurable libido-enhancing chemicals swilling round the brain, tickling away at the brain’s bonk spot. Dr Alan Hirsch in his smell studies found that the aroma of pumpkin pie is one of the sexiest scents for both men and women. Nutmeg is the key spice in this American homey classic, providing yet more evidence that it is not only narcotic but rather erotic.
If you want to fly the nutmeg high you are best off with its essential oil. Dip a cigarette in the oil, light up and wreathe yourself in fragrant smoke. Eating the spice is effective but the bumper dose and slightly queasy, twenty-four-hour trip may not be to everyone’s taste. Enjoying nutmeg’s aphrodisiac effect is more mainstream. Much less nutmeg is needed – a heavily seasoned dish should do the trick. The effect is heightened if you combine nutmeg with foods high in tyramine such as mature cheese, pineapple, avocado, chocolate or cured meat. Tyramine stimulates the release of the very monoamines that nutmeg keeps active, resulting in a double dose of fun. Gastronomically and chemically everything comes together in the supper classic of macaroni cheese spruced up with posh cheese, smoked ham and spinach. Nutmeg is equally adept in sweet dishes. A rum, ginger and pumpkin cake with nutmeg frosting should hit the spot – pumpkin pie crossed with carrot cake on honeymoon in Barbados.
Florentine Macaroni Cheese
Nutmeg : 1
Milk : 150 ml
Bay leaf : 1
Parsley : a few stalks
Onion : a few slices
Peppercorns : 3
Butter : 2 tbsp
Plain flour : 1 tbsp
Comté cheese : 60 g
Parmesan : 60 g
Taleggio cheese : 60 g
Smoked cooked ham : 4 thick slices
Baby spinach : 150 g
White bread : 1 slice
Mustard powder : a large pinch
Dry macaroni : 250 g
Garlic : 1 clove
Mascarpone : 100 g
Parma ham : 2 slices
Salt and pepper : to taste
Preheat the oven to 200°C.
First off prepare your béchamel. Grate half the nutmeg into the milk, add a bay leaf, a few parsley stalks, a couple of slices of onion and a few peppercorns. Gradually bring to the boil, then take off the heat and when cool, strain out the solids.
Melt 1 tablespoonful of butter in a small pan. As soon as it has melted remove from the heat and stir in the plain flour. Gradually beat the infused milk into the roux paste. Return to the heat and bring to the boil, stirring all the while. Allow to boil for a few minutes to cook out the starch and your work is done.
Grate the Comté and Parmesan cheese and cut the Taleggio into small cubes.
Slice the smoked ham into 1 cm strips and roughly chop the baby spinach.
Cut the crusts from the slice of white bread and whizz up in a food processor to make some breadcrumbs. Mix these with half the Parmesan and half the Comté. Grate a little nutmeg into the breadcrumbs, season with pepper and add the mustard powder. Mix together.
Bring a large pan of water to the boil. Cook the pasta for a minute or so less than required. Drain and rinse with boiling water.
Rub a baking dish first with garlic and then with butter.
Add the remaining knob of butter to the large pan. Heat and when the butter is foaming, add the sliced ham. Cook for a minute over a medium heat then throw in the pasta with the remaining Comté and Parmesan cheese, together with the mascarpone and chopped Taleggio, and the béchamel sauce.
The cheese will slowly melt on to the pasta and ham. Stir and shake the pasta in the pan to ensure it is melting evenly. If the sauce is looking dry add some more milk.
When the cheese has melted, add the chopped spinach and stir into the pasta.
Pour the pasta into the serving dish. Cover with the sheets of Parma ham and sprinkle with the Parmesan breadcrumbs.
Cook in the oven for 10 minutes, finishing under the grill if necessary to brown the crust. Serve with a large glass of red wine.
Pumpkin Cake with Nutmeg Frosting
Clove : 2
Cinnamon : ½ stick
Nutmeg : ½
Ginger root : 4 cm
Butter : 100 g
Eggs : 2 eggs, beaten
Brown muscovado sugar : 150 g
Self-raising flour : 150 g
Baking powder : 1 tsp
Salt : a large pinch
Walnut pieces : 75 g
Sultanas : 75 g
Dark rum : 75 ml + a tablespoon
Pumpkin (or butternut squash) : 250 g
(peeled and grated weight)
FROSTING
Icing sugar : 100 g
Cream cheese : 200 g
Butter : 85 g
Vanilla extract : ½ tsp
Nutmeg : ¼
Preheat your oven to 180°C. Butter a small roasting dish and line with baking paper.
In a pestle and mortar or spice grinder turn the cloves and cinnamon into powder. Grate the nutmeg and finely chop the ginger.
In a food processor, beat the butter until fluffy. Add the sugar and beat together. While the motor is running gradually pour in the beaten egg.
Sift together the flour, spices, baking powder and salt. Add to the egg mix then fold in the walnut, chopped ginger, sultanas and rum. Finally stir in the grated pumpkin or butternut squash.
Pour the cake mix into a tin and bake for 40 minutes or until the top is springy.
Allow the cake to cool for 5 minutes, then turn out on to a rack. Spike the cake with a skewer and sprinkle with some more rum while warm. Leave to cool.
Meanwhile make the frosting by beating together the icing sugar, cream cheese and butter. Add the vanilla extract and grated nutmeg and beat in.
Slather the cake with frosting. Serve small pieces dusted with a little more nutmeg as after-dinner petit fours or big pieces for afternoon tea in bed.
PEPPER
The ubiquitous peppercorn is the undisputed champion of the spice world. A few turns of the pepper mill will lift almost any dish. The power of pepper, however, is not restricted to purely culinary matters. It also enjoys a mighty aphrodisiac reputation – according to legend nothing heralds a good grinding more than a hefty pinch of pepper.
To secure a lady’s ecstatic affection, the fabled Kama Sutra advises its readers to baste their privates in pepper and honey. The Perfumed Garden is equally enthusiastic on the subject. The Arab advisory commends an even more delicate placement of pepper, ‘upon the head of your member’, promising ‘matchless enjoyment’ for all involved. Those who fret about the size of said member can also benefit. The classic text prescribes pepper, honey, lavender, galangal, musk and ginger. Massage this paste into the nether regions, and watch with wonder as the skinny runt becomes ‘large and brawny’, capable of filling a lady with ‘a marvellous feeling of voluptuousness’. Not to be sneezed at.
Aphrodisiac or no, the peppercorn has a unique and exalted place in history. Indigenous to India, pepper was one of the first traded commodities. As far back as 1213 BC pepper was being brought to Egypt. Rameses the Great, the legendary Ozymandias, was mummified with peppercorn stuffed in his nostrils. By Roman times the pepper trade was immense, employing a fleet of 120 ships. In the Middle Ages a monopoly on pepper funded the splendours of the Italian Renaissance. This monopoly drove Portugal, Spain and England to set sail around the world seeking new routes to the spice, sowing the seeds of five centuries of European colonialism. Wider availability turned the origin
al black gold into an everyday essential. By 1700 even the distinctly plebeian Peter Piper could afford to pick a peck of pickled pepper – much to everyone’s tongue-tangling mirth.
A peck is an imperial dry measure equivalent in volume to approximately 9 litres. With this amount of pepper at his disposal Peter Piper could get up to an awful lot of mischief, as the scientific evidence very much supports pepper’s aphrodisiac reputation. The compound piperine is responsible for pepper’s heat and also its hot reputation. Piperine stokes up the body’s metabolism and increases the production of serotonin and beta-endorphins. A faster metabolism will generally improve energy levels, which as one might imagine is no bad thing for the carnal-minded. The increased production of serotonin and beta-endorphins is more specifically pleasure related. Serotonin combines the double whammy of brightening the mood and delaying the arrival of that gloriously sticky male moment. Which in itself must surely improve the mood of the fairer sex.
Beta-endorphins are the body’s natural opiates, eighty times stronger than morphine. They are released in moments of extremis. Designed to soothe acute pain, endorphins also influence the opposite end of the pleasure spectrum, being largely responsible for the proverbial post-coital bliss. Logically, more endorphins should equal more bliss – and this is indeed the case. As for rubbing pepper on one’s Peter Piper, it sounds jolly painful but perversely there is probably something in it. Piperine would certainly stimulate blood flow to the profane extremities, which in turn should indeed produce a brawny yet nerve-tingling performance. As Jane Fonda might say, ‘no pain no gain’ – but then again, perhaps ‘feel the burn’ is more appropriate.
When it comes to the kitchen, ignore Fonda’s Law; pain is off-limits and the burn is to be avoided. A thoroughly civilised gentle heat will suffice. Pepper’s uses are endless but perhaps the most prominent are in the seasoning of eggs, cabbage, pasta and potatoes, for which it is indispensable. Pepper’s main flavour compounds all evaporate in air. To ensure optimum spice, always use freshly ground pepper and store peppercorns in an airtight container.