CURRYING FLAVOR

by Steven Steinbock

Words intrigue me. Food sustains me. Words about food take me to the supernal heights.

The word “epicurean” has become synonymous with food, which is unfortunate. “Epicurean” has a long history that I won’t go into, but for more than two millennia it implied hedonistic gluttony. That’s also unfortunate, since the ancient Greek writer, Epicurus, taught of a spiritual quality in everyday material pleasures, a lesson I appreciate.

(Incidentally, for those of you attending a Passover Seder ten days from now, the meal will conclude with the search for the missing dessert matzah – a deserted dessert, as it were. The missing matzah is called the Afikoman, which comes from the Greek word epikomion, meaning “that which comes after” – i.e. dessert).

I’m not sure where Epicurus got his name. Epi- is Greek for “on” or “upon.” Koureios sounds a lot like “curious.” It also has a hint of “curry.” But it’s probably just a name. In any event, it’s all Greek.

Which brings up the curious topic of spices. Curry is a blend of various spices, usually turmeric, cumin, and coriander among other ingredients. The word curry comes from a Tamil word meaning “sauce.” While I was in Northern England prior to the 2005 Bouchercon, I was surprised at how many pubs included “Yorkshire Pudding Curry” on their menus. Another Tamil word – masala – is less common, but is perhaps a better term to describe spice-blends.

Allspice is not a blend. Allspice refers to the dried berries of a specific plant, the Pimenta dioica (which, despite the similar name, is not related to the Pimento in your martini olives).

In a strange concurrence, last month allspice came up on three separate occasions with three different people. In each case the person with whom I was speaking believed that allspice was a blend of spices (and in one of them, the person also assumed that curry was a single, specific spice). On one occasion, a man claimed to be mixing his own “allspice” by blending cinnamon, ginger, and clove. I didn’t have the heart to disavow him of the notion. On another occasion, I brought a bottle of whole allspice berries home from the store and met with the challenge, “you have a whole cabinet full of spices; what do you need ‘all-spice’ for?”

I have no clever stories about the origin of the name “allspice” like, as instance, I could provide for “grapefruit.” English settlers in the Caribbean simply came up with the name in the 1600s because they thought it smelled like so many other spices. Clever.

The expression “to curry favor” has nothing to do with spices. Curry in this case is derived from the Latin corrodium, meaning “to provide.” While I can’t prove the lineage, I’m guessing that words like “carry,” “courier,” and “car” may be related.

(“Carry” and “car” both derive from the Latin curritor, while “courier” comes from the Latin word for “runner,” curritor – which is also where we get the word current. The small raisin called a currant has nothing to do with either, but it does have a curious origin of its own).

I don’t mean to carry on, but it strikes me that the two meanings of curry give new meaning to the notion that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

Time for some curry.