Grey doesn't normally sound like an appetising colour. But there was something eye-catching about the tub of grey gelato, flecked with black specks, that sat in the middle of all the regular bright or creamy coloured varieties at Il Laboratorio del Gelato, a New York gelato place that's famous for its offbeat flavours. Strawberry pink, pineapple yellow, pistachio green, even blueberry purple are all expected in an ice-cream place, but what could this elegant grey, with suave black undertones be?
I asked for a taste and the moment I put it in my mouth I got an explosion of flavour that was both familiar, yet not, like seeing an aunt who's suddenly become glamorous and sexy and ready to go out partying. There was an earthy, intensely nutty base flavour, but also bitter, toasty overtones, with a lingering taste like a really good cup of coffee. I thought I was familiar with black sesame, which was what the flavour was, but I had never realised it could develop in such a fascinating way.
Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised because I've always been drawn to black sesame rather than the more common white kind. Sesame sweets, like til laddus are a common enough snack, or temple offering in South India, and sometimes in shops you find them side by side with equivalents made from black sesame. It was probably the unexpected look of the latter that attracted me, but there was always something about the taste too, not dissimilar from the nutty sweetness of white sesame, but with a bitter edge, a slightly wicked overtone that made them seem like the vamp to their simpler sister.
Sesame, whether black, white, or a range of brownish shades inbetween, brings us some very ancient flavours. There is a mention of it in the Enuma Elish, the creation-myth of Babylon where the gods are reported to have eaten bread and drunk sesame wine before picking Marduk to become the chief of the gods in their fight against the demonic forces of chaos. Once Marduk won he established the world and humans to live in it, and sesame was always part of their lives, usually with some ritual significance. From its probable origin in the Middle East it moved across the world, particularly to India where it was established so early that the subcontinent developed its own distinctive strains.
K.T.Achaya notes that in the Rig Veda, the most ancient Vedic text, sesame is not mentioned as til, as it is in the later Atharva Veda. But the Rig Veda does use terms like palala which meant ‘a confection of sesame seeds and jaggery’, identical to what is still made today, most notably in this season, during Makar Sankranti. This shift in the traditional solar calendar is celebrated across India and sesame is part of most celebrations. Most often it is made into a sweet with jaggery (chikki, laddus, revdi), but it also cooked with rice, made into small sweets strung in necklaces, and in many places is given with some variation of the phrase: "Til-gul ghya, god god bola" (Eat this sesame sweet, and speak sweetly).
The reason usually given for eating sesame in winter is that it is 'warming'. I have never understood the logic behind these 'heating/cooling' systems, but with sesame I can see one obvious link — it is a source for oil, which is heated for use. Sesame is, in fact, perhaps the oldest widespread source of edible oil - its name in most languages derives from an original which means 'oil plant'. It grows fast (compared to olives, the other ancient oil source), is easily harvested and crushed, the oil tastes good, lasts well and, as modern medicine has proven, is healthy. No wonder we value sesame when winter is at its height.
As it has spread across the world, some uses of sesame have remained the same, like using it in sweets, or sprinkling it on breads, where its nutty crunch gives a nice contrast. Yet some uses remain quite distinct — in the Middle East it is ground into tahini, their ubiquitous wet paste, but in India we usually grind it dry in spice powders and podis (the major Middle Eastern use of dry ground sesame is halvah, which is not our sweet paste, but a crumbly nutty sweet). But the bigger shift happens in China, Korea and Japan, where sesame takes forms like gomasio, sesame-salt seasoning, goma dofu, tofu-like cakes made of sesame and starch, or sesame shochu, a spirit, perhaps like what those Babylonian gods drank.
Many of the uses in the East involve toasting sesame seeds to bring out smoky, darker flavours (one set of compounds that develops when sesame is toasted is also found in coffee). The sesame oil that results is intensely nutty and smoky tasting, and is not used as a cooking medium, but added at the end of cooking as flavouring. The biggest change comes when black seeds are toasted, since this accentuates all their bitter, richer flavours, to the extent that it is almost too strong tasting to eat on its own. The seeds are ground with nuts, sunflower seeds, some sugar, salt and vinegar, to create an oddly addictive concoction that, as with many Far Eastern flavours, seems to stimulate all the tastes together — sweet, salty, sour, bitter, umami and a lingering note that is only sesame.
It was a paste like this which was used in the gelato I ate in New York. I have tried making it again here and it's not easy. One of the problems with black sesame is that, unlike with the white seeds, you can't see the colour change as you toast, so it's all too easy to burn them quite inedibly. I'm still trying to find the best balance to make a paste that can be used in all kinds of dishes, like ice creams, cakes, a sauce for noodles and other ways, all coloured that same elegant grey-black. Till I manage that, I sustain myself with black til laddus, chikki and papad that all offer a uniquely healthy and tasty way to get the ancient benefits of sesame.
(Vikram Doctor ET13J0112)
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