Niagara Falls and Shoelaces

One of the joys of creating new recipes is in learning and experiencing new things, and few things are as exciting as trying new ingredients.

No matter how long you’ve been cooking, there are so many interesting components out there in the world that can make up a dish, you’d be hard-pressed to ever run out of new ingredients. Think about all the great cooking shows over the years that have explored culinary scenes from a variety of locations and cultures around the world. No Reservations with the late Anthony Bourdain, Ainsley Eats the Streets with Ainsley Harriott, F-Word with Gordon Ramsay, and Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern are just a few. For the most part, these shows feature the host trying out dishes with unusual ingredients or unexpected preparation that, more often than not, turn out to be (surprise!) absolutely delicious (well, at least according to the host).

On these shows, rare is the case where the host will negatively criticize the dish even though they consist of some ingredients that sound rather unappetizing (everything is beautiful and nothing gross, right?). But it does happen occasionally. The maggot-filled cheese, casu marzu, from the Italian island of Sardinia was decidedly NOT a favorite of Gordon Ramsay (who would have guessed?); the octopus ice cream and five-year-old, unrefrigerated fermented sushi, funazushi, (yes, that’s raw fish sitting around at room temperature, folks!) did not go down well with Andrew Zimmern; the so-called “mystery” meat that was sold out of a suspiciously covered basket into which dark recesses nobody was allowed to peek was probably best left unsolved (sometimes even inquiring minds shouldn't want to know) if Ainsley Harriott’s reaction to tasting it allows us to deduce anything elementary.

Along those lines, let me introduce you to an ingredient with a very unique property, with which I had the (mis?)fortune of becoming acquainted in a rather unexpected way.

Situated in Manhattan, Union Square Greenmarket is a farmer’s market that occupies the promenade area surrounding Union Square park along its western and northern borders, paralleling 17th Street and Union Square West. Union Square itself is a major transportation hub, where the eastside subways converge briefly with the crosstown subway lines. This guarantees plenty of foot traffic from both New Yorkers and tourists alike who are traversing the island from a number of different directions: traveling north-south on the Lexington Avenue line, going crosstown via Broadway, or coming or going across the East River to Brooklyn using the L-train.

Foot traffic is further exacerbated by the presence of the many restaurants and shops both adjacent to and in the near vicinity of Union Square. There’s the ever-popular Wholefoods supermarket, a constantly-crazy Traders Joe’s grocery store with checkout lines that regularly circle the entire inner parameter of the store, and a multi-story Barnes & Noble booksellers with great views of the park at the cafe level above.

The market itself is open year-round, but only on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. On those days, the madding crowd is particularly dense. In addition to the usual throngs of people that would be there on any other day, the market stalls consume scarce walkway space, and additional pedestrians converge to the area to browse and shop at the Greenmarket.

At the Greenmarket, the vendors lay out assortments of enticing foods ranging from raw honey showing off a range of golden hues through their glass jars, freshly-baked artisan loaves of crusty bread piled high in woven baskets that would rival the inventory of any Parisian bakery, and crisp leafy greens with their herby aroma filling the air from samples sauteed with garlic and provided free-of-charge to woo prospective shoppers.

It was under these conditions on that particular day, while shopping for microgreens that I made my way through the crowd towards one of the vendors I frequented for items like edible flowers, nasturtium, arugula, and the like.

While browsing through the selections of the day, I noticed a stack of small plastic containers, each about the size of two or three combined decks of cards, containing what appeared to be small flower-like plants with stems about one to two inches in length. The bulb at the end of the stems was round in a slightly elongated, not quite perfect sphere with a muted, but beautiful yellow color. Upon further inspection, the bulb appeared to consist of many small, minute pieces making up the whole, like corn kernels on a corn-on-the-cob.

They were visually pleasing, and I thought to myself, “Excellent! Maybe these would make a good garnish for a dish.”

I had already cycled through a number of different garnishes in my prior dishes and was looking for something new and unusual. Pointing at the boxes, I asked the vendor, “What are these? Can you tell me what they’re like?”

The lone vendor attending to the stall was a young man, likely in his early 20’s, wearing a hoodie and a baseball cap, and sporting a short, scruffy beard. I had not seen him before, even though I had shopped at this stall on prior days. He looked at the boxes and confessed, “Those? Uh, sorry, I’m new and not really sure. The owner will be back soon. He can tell you more.”

“So you can’t tell me anything about them?” I gave him a quizzical smile.

“Not really,” he said, “but I think I heard him say they’re spicy.”

Since I like spice, I was thinking this could be good. Also, how spicy could it be? I once had a case of mistaken identity where I accidentally ate a ghost pepper and lived to tell the tale (yes, the notorious Bhut jolokia that is 400 times hotter than Tabasco sauce - but that is a story for another time). If I had stumbled upon an unusual garnish with a spicy flavor and an attractive look, it could be quite the find.

“May I try one?”

“Sure,” he said, reaching for the top box. He carefully opened the plastic container, delicately picked out one of the tiny plants with the fingernail tips of his thumb and index finger, and gently laid it on my open palm.

I raised it to my nose and gave it a good whiff. There was nothing distinctive in its smell. Since I was unsure how hot or spicy it would be, I gingerly put the plant to the edge of my incisors and just grazed a bit of the yellow bulb off.

My first reaction was disappointment. I thought, “This isn’t spicy… at all.”

Using my tongue, I moved the small pieces of the bulb around the inside of my mouth, slowly rubbing them around my top palate and lips. Still nothing.

Then the floodgates opened. No, really, the analogy might sound metaphorical, but it verged on the literal. There was no heat, but I could feel an immense amount of saliva pour out of my glands filling up my mouth. This was accompanied by a strange tingling and numbing sensation on my tongue and lips as well as in the rest of my mouth. What in the world was happening?!

I knew instantly that the saliva over-production was not going to stop right away. It had only been a few seconds of time, but I could sense my mouth would overflow with saliva at any moment. Sure, I could swallow it, but I had no idea what other effects the plant would have and I wasn’t about to plunge further down the rabbit hole at this point.

I needed somewhere I could let the saliva run out. Panic-stricken, I looked around in vain for a public trash can. None to be found. I eyed the row of hedges lining the park a few yards behind the stall. The crowd of people would be too thick to traverse in time.

The vendor could tell from my face that something was wrong. “Are you OK -”

Too late! I couldn’t hold it back. My mouth opened and a veritable Niagara Falls of saliva poured (not dripped, not leaked, but poured) out.

For what seemed like an eternity, but in retrospect was likely just a couple of minutes, I stood off to the side of the stall spitting out globs of saliva directly on the pavement. I was mortified. Passersby looked at me with mild interest before moving on. A child in a stroller stared for a moment, then started to giggle and clap his hands repeatedly in amusement. A bulldog with his own drool hanging out of his mouth like dangling shoelaces turned his head towards me as he and his owner walked by; I swear the bulldog was giving me looks of sympathy, “Hey lady, don't worry. It’s just too much drool. Happens to me all the time.”

Like any rational human being, I began to think the irrational. Was I poisoned? Was the plant somehow toxic? Maybe I was having an allergic reaction? But it was nothing so dramatic. I wasn’t poisoned. They didn’t need to rush me to the hospital. The sky did not fall and the earth did not split open.

When my saliva production finally returned to acceptable levels, I turned to the stall vendor and the owner, who had just returned in time to witness the scene.

“What ARE these things? This can’t possibly be normal!” I exclaimed.

The stall owner smiled at me sheepishly and said, “They’re called Szechuan buttons.”

“What do YOU think of them?, I asked. I was more amused than upset by now. I had bought many greens from him before, so we were familiar strangers and could laugh together at my experience.

He shrugged. “Umm, can’t tell you. I’ve never tried them.”

Later I learned that these Szechuan buttons, also known as electric daisies, are used as flavor enhancers for cocktails, salads, soups, and desserts. While they might tingle your fancy, I think I’m numb towards using them in any of my dishes; at least for the time being.

Have you ever had an unusual surprise food experience? What’s the most exotic dish you’ve ever tried?