While owning a pepper mill does not a foodie make, the lack of one certaintly causes me to question one’s taste. I often wonder why more restaurants don’t keep a small mill on each table (well I intend to answer my own question – read on!)
What could be simpler to elevate one’s cuisine than throwing out the nasty preground stuff and cranking out the fresh cracked?
I grew up in a house with an ugly little pepper shaker, I used it a couple of times, and than ignored it. I don’t really remember pepper again until I was an adult at a “fine” restaurant. The salad was tossed tableside, and after plating, the server wielded an enormous pepper mill. The grinds were large and luscious and the flavor popped in my mouth. Aha! Now I knew what the fuss was all about. I married my dining companion and years later my family has to endear that long uncomfortable moment when our waiter utters, “say when … sir … SIR?”
You’d think from my musings that I use a lot of pepper, but you’d be wrong. I only use
enough pepper for each dish. I’m proud, though of my teenage (no strike that) young-adult daughter who puts the fresh ground stuff on everything, even, I’ve heard, Fruit Loops. Though, of course, she salts her food generously before tasting it, so maybe she’s got some more growing up to do.
Pepper is almost as essential to food as its more popular cousin salt. I’ve read countless times that when a chef adjusts the seasonings, he isn’t calibrating the level of the smoked paprika or assessing the quantity of nutmeg (a whole nother grinding subject!), but deciding, solely, whether to add more S&P. I don’t buy it myself, though I’m sure there are those who will argue the definition of seasonings. When I taste a near complete dish, I don’t limit myself, yet that optional and optimal final toss of salt and a smart twist of the old grinder are what can set apart the pro from the proletariat.
Two pepper grinders currently reside in my kitchen within easy reach. One set to coarse grind, mostly for steaks and salads. The other is set to a finer grind for most other uses.
The battered fellow on the left, the elder at the table, is set to merely crack the peppercorns – releasing the essential oils and adding a textural component to the dish. Manufactured by Olde Thompson right here in the good ol’ USA, and stolen by me from a family seafood restaurant. Too further add to the shameful act, I hid the implement in the baby’s diaper bag. I may have been over-served. (That’s why restaurants don’t leave the pepper mill or have pepper mills so large that they are difficult to conceal!)
The big guy’s partner in crime is a more eccentric affair set to produce dust of pepper essence. It is a treasured gift from Mrs. Ramon and I particularly like the exposed gear works. It can be a bit cumbersome to use, and is truly a pain to fill, yet it will always grace my table. Its manufacturer is unknown, but at least its origins are honorable.
Someday I hope to own a third mill (hint hint) to keep in my car next to the containers of
fleur de sel and crushed red pepper. Pepper grinders make great gifts. They can be quite creative and you might be thought of fondly with each use. You can use the opportunity to splurge on some “gourmet” peppercorns to fill it, saving the remainder for your own use. At least if the gifted allows the mill to languish, you can be sure they will bring it out when you dine in their home. This will aid you in choking down their bland victuals.
Important names in a search of the history of pepper included Pliny the Elder, Alaric the Visigoth, Vasco de Gama, and Elihu Yale. It is thought that black pepper originated in the Western Ghats of Kerala State, India, due to the many varieties found there. Wars have been fought over this berry. In cartoons, pepper makes people sneeze.
Please share photos of your friend the pepper mill. Share your stories, and celebrate life, if necessary, one grind at a time.
-ramon
Ps: Examining the photo, I now note the dented salt cellar, also stolen, from some long defunct gyro joint. The road to redemption is long …