Spice Mélange

Lift the lid on a jar of cloves and the room changes. Before the lid is back on, the smell has crossed the kitchen and gone back a few thousand years. Every spice keeps a story, and some of them have kept it a very long time.

The story begins in the mists of early time, where the Tigris and the Euphrates carried the first civilizations and the Indian subcontinent rang with its old tales. There, spices were more than something tossed in a pot. They were medicines that could heal, cover for the smell of decay, and offerings carried up to the gods. Cinnamon, ginger, and the gold of turmeric held court in medicine chests and on altars alike.

As empires grew hungry and grew wide, spices became the quiet players in stories of power and diplomacy. The pharaohs, chasing forever, carried them into their tombs. The Greeks and Romans, who knew a good thing when they tasted it, poured them into banquets, potions, and love charms.

Then came an age when men went to sea not for gold, not for land, but for a smell. This was the Age of Exploration, when maps were redrawn by the pull of spice more than the weight of the sword. Rough sailors under the Iberian sun, led by a bold Vasco da Gama, rode out storms and hard water to find a sea road to India’s riches, and broke the hold of the desert caravans.

Rivalry hung in the air like smoke. The Netherlands, a quiet corner of Europe, became the dark horse of the story. Its East India Company, more empire than enterprise, wrote its reach and its appetite across oceans and continents.

Today the story has changed its clothes but kept its heart. Every pinch in our kitchens has a backstory of nations and navigators, emperors and entrepreneurs. The roads carry trucks now instead of camels, yet India and Indonesia still call, and we still follow the smell.

Now pull open the spice drawer. Every jar in it came a long way to get here, and each one is ready to tell you how.

Fifty histories from the spice rack

Open the spice drawer and take a pinch of anything: the salt, or the brown dust at the bottom of the cinnamon jar. Between two fingers it weighs almost nothing. Yet ships were rigged for it, cities ransomed with it, islands emptied over it, people bought and sold so it could be cheap. Every jar on the shelf is a door we keep closed. Here is the whole rack, fifty of them, each opened a little, the old dates still on the hinges.

50 jars on the rack

Seeds

Peppers and berries

Pods, buds and flowers

Barks and roots

Leaves

Fruits, sours and resins

Salt and sugar

Seeds

Ajwain

Small ridged fruits of Trachyspermum ammi, an annual herb of the carrot family thought to have arisen in the eastern Mediterranean, possibly Egypt

Crush a few seeds and you smell thyme, because ajwain carries the same compound, thymol, that once made it worth shipping to Germany by the ton.

  1. antiquity

    Eastern Mediterranean to India

    Ajwain is thought to have arisen in the eastern Mediterranean, possibly Egypt, and spread to India by way of the Near East. No firm date for that journey survives.

    epubs.icar.org.in
  2. 1911 to 1914

    Bombay, India, and Germany

    Before 1914 the bulk of India's ajwain seed went to Germany, over 90 percent of exports in 1911 to 1912, nearly all shipped from Bombay. German stills turned it into thymol.

    journal.iisc.ac.in
  3. 1910s

    United States

    Thymol, the compound behind ajwain's thyme-like bite, was used in the United States in the 1910s to treat hookworm. A kitchen seed had become a dose.

    en.wikipedia.org
  4. 1918

    Bangalore, India

    With wartime exports to Germany stopped, chemists at the Indian Institute of Science in Bangalore ran semi-commercial trials distilling thymol from ajwain, in charges of up to 1,500 pounds of seed.

    journal.iisc.ac.in
  5. 2019 to 2020

    Rajasthan and Gujarat, India

    India grew 27,920 tonnes of ajwain on 37,810 hectares in 2019 to 2020, and sells it to the Gulf, Southeast Asia and the United States.

    epubs.icar.org.in
  6. today

    India, Afghanistan and Ethiopia

    Cooks fry ajwain in ghee for parathas and naans. In Afghanistan it is sprinkled over bread and biscuits, and in Ethiopia it is called netch azmud, white cumin. One seed, many breads.

    en.wikipedia.org