Recipes are by definition very prescriptive, but for some reason not when it comes to chillies. But there's a lot more to them than being 'hot' or 'very hot'
Recipes can be incredibly vague where chillies are concerned. While instructions for other cooking staples are often very specific, things tend to get pretty general with chillies (and I include myself among the guilty on this count). Given that chilli is the most widely grown spice in the world – there are more than 200 Mexican varieties alone – being told that a dish needs "a pinch of dried chilli flakes" or "one red chilli, chopped" is all a bit vague. Should the chilli be large or small? Deseeded and chopped, or left whole? Should the dried flakes come from a fiery jalapeño or habanero, or from a more mellow ancho or urfa?
The main distinction for fresh chillies is whether they are red or green, the difference being one of ripeness. As with that other member of the capsicum family, the bell pepper, green chillies are unripe and not as sweet as when they turn red. The heat in a chilli comes from the presence of capsaicin, a flavourless, odourless compound that binds to pain receptors on the tongue, creating a sensation of burning. This increases as the green chillies ripen, but then loses its fire the riper, redder and sweeter they become. So, the hottest fresh chillies are those that are right at the turning point from green to red. Size is another factor: smaller varieties such as bird's eye, Thai and Scotch bonnets are among the hottest chillies out there.
The flavour and sweetness of chilli is intensified by the drying process, and it is with the dried varieties that the recipe writer's vocabulary really needs to be expanded from "hot" or "very hot" to adjectives we more commonly associate with wine. Once the flavour (rather than just the heat) of a chilli is assessed, degrees of smokiness or woodiness, notes of citrus or dried fruit, or hints of chocolate, tobacco, molasses and leather begin to emerge. For all its overuse as a word, "mellow" really is the only way to describe what a sprinkle of my favourite dark red urfa chilli flakes does to a plate of scrambled eggs, or the rich depth they bring to a marinade for meat. Ancho chilli flakes and the Turkish pul biber have a similar "mild heat, big aroma" impact; smoky, leathery dried chipotle, a staple of Mexican cooking, is another favourite.
All that said, and for all their subtlety and flavour range, chillies will, for some, always be about the heat. The Scoville scale, devised in 1912, assesses the number of times that extracts of chilli dissolved in alcohol can be diluted with sugar water before the capsaicin is no longer discernible to the palate. Put simply, the more heat units it scores, the more fiery the chilli. Bell peppers score nothing on this scale, jalapeño and cayenne around 3,000, tabasco peppers 60,000 and habaneros from 100,000-300,000. It's such statistics that tempt many to ascertain their manhood by eating impossibly hot chillies, and why there are all sorts of festivals, competitions and record attempts where chilli-heads (or should that be gastromasochists?) compete to breed and consume the hottest chilli.
Although different varieties of chilli have inherently different levels of heat, other factors play a role, too: the amount you use, for sure, but also whether a chilli is deseeded, its ripeness, and how long it's exposed to other ingredients during cooking. The only way reliably to gauge the heat of any particular chilli is to cut it in half, so exposing the core and membranes, and to dab the cut surface on your tongue.
*Sweet and smoky Mexican chicken*
Serves four.
*2 medium red peppers*
*3 small cinnamon sticks, freshly ground (or, failing that, 1½ tbsp ground cinnamon)*
*4 chipotle chillies, soaked in boiling water for 30 minutes, drained, seeds and stalks removed*
*3 cloves garlic, peeled and roughly chopped*
*2½ tbsp white-wine vinegar*
*2½ tsp soft brown sugar*
*75ml olive oil*
*Salt and black pepper*
*1.75kg whole chicken legs (ie with both drumsticks and thighs), skin-on*
*20g dark chocolate, finely grated *
*650g baby maris peer potatoes (or other roasting potato), peeled and halved*
*2 medium sweet potatoes, cut into 2cm x 6cm wedges*
*2 medium red onions, peeled and quartered*
*10g coriander leaves, roughly chopped*
Heat the oven to 200C/390F/gas mark 6. Put the peppers on a baking tray and roast for 30 minutes, until the skin has blackened. Transfer to a small bowl, cover with cling-film and set aside. Once cool enough to handle, peel the peppers, and discard the skins, seeds and stalks. Put the pepper flesh in the small bowl of a food processor, and add the cinnamon, chilli, garlic, vinegar, sugar, three tablespoons of the oil, a teaspoon and half of salt and three tablespoons of water. Blitz for a minute, until smooth, then transfer to a large bowl. Add the chicken legs and chocolate, and mix to coat.
Put both types of potato in a separate large bowl with the onions, the remaining oil, half a teaspoon of salt and a good grind of pepper. Mix well, combine with the chicken, then tip everything on to a large 30cm x 40cm baking tray. Arrange the chicken skin-side up and roast for about 50 minutes, until the chicken and vegetables are cooked and nicely coloured. Serve at once, with coriander sprinkled on top.
*Spicy turnip*
This is a heady condiment, a bit like a pickle, which keeps in the fridge for a few days. It's great with grilled meat or fish, or to add to sandwiches and salads. Serves six.
*20g dried ancho chilli, stalk removed and deseeded*
*½ tsp dried aleppo chilli flakes (or, if using very hot chilli flakes, just a pinch)*
*2 small cloves garlic, peeled and roughly chopped*
*½ tsp ground cumin*
*⅛ tsp ground cardamom*
*1 tsp caraway seeds, toasted*
*1½ tbsp olive oil*
*1½ tbsp sunflower oil*
*1½ tsp caster sugar*
*3 tbsp cider vinegar*
*2 tbsp lemon juice*
*1 tsp salt*
*5-6 small turnips, stalks removed but unpeeled*
*90g preserved lemon, halved, flesh and skin thinly sliced, seeds removed*
*15g coriander leaves, chopped*
Put the ancho chilli in a small bowl and add enough boiling water just to cover. Leave to soak for 30 minutes, until soft, then squeeze out some of the moisture from the chilli. Set aside two tablespoons of the soaking water and discard the rest.
Put the ancho chilli in the small bowl of a food processor, along with all the remaining ingredients up to and including a teaspoon of salt. Add the reserved chilli water, blitz to a rough paste, then transfer to a medium bowl and set aside.
Bring a medium pan of water to a boil, add the turnips and blanch for three minutes. Drain and refresh under cold water, pat dry and cut into 1cm-wide wedges. Stir these into the chilli paste, along with the preserved lemon. Cover and leave to marinate for at least an hour. Sprinkle with coriander and serve.
• Yotam Ottolenghi is chef/patron of Ottolenghi and Nopi in London. Reported by guardian.co.uk 7 hours ago.
Recipes can be incredibly vague where chillies are concerned. While instructions for other cooking staples are often very specific, things tend to get pretty general with chillies (and I include myself among the guilty on this count). Given that chilli is the most widely grown spice in the world – there are more than 200 Mexican varieties alone – being told that a dish needs "a pinch of dried chilli flakes" or "one red chilli, chopped" is all a bit vague. Should the chilli be large or small? Deseeded and chopped, or left whole? Should the dried flakes come from a fiery jalapeño or habanero, or from a more mellow ancho or urfa?
The main distinction for fresh chillies is whether they are red or green, the difference being one of ripeness. As with that other member of the capsicum family, the bell pepper, green chillies are unripe and not as sweet as when they turn red. The heat in a chilli comes from the presence of capsaicin, a flavourless, odourless compound that binds to pain receptors on the tongue, creating a sensation of burning. This increases as the green chillies ripen, but then loses its fire the riper, redder and sweeter they become. So, the hottest fresh chillies are those that are right at the turning point from green to red. Size is another factor: smaller varieties such as bird's eye, Thai and Scotch bonnets are among the hottest chillies out there.
The flavour and sweetness of chilli is intensified by the drying process, and it is with the dried varieties that the recipe writer's vocabulary really needs to be expanded from "hot" or "very hot" to adjectives we more commonly associate with wine. Once the flavour (rather than just the heat) of a chilli is assessed, degrees of smokiness or woodiness, notes of citrus or dried fruit, or hints of chocolate, tobacco, molasses and leather begin to emerge. For all its overuse as a word, "mellow" really is the only way to describe what a sprinkle of my favourite dark red urfa chilli flakes does to a plate of scrambled eggs, or the rich depth they bring to a marinade for meat. Ancho chilli flakes and the Turkish pul biber have a similar "mild heat, big aroma" impact; smoky, leathery dried chipotle, a staple of Mexican cooking, is another favourite.
All that said, and for all their subtlety and flavour range, chillies will, for some, always be about the heat. The Scoville scale, devised in 1912, assesses the number of times that extracts of chilli dissolved in alcohol can be diluted with sugar water before the capsaicin is no longer discernible to the palate. Put simply, the more heat units it scores, the more fiery the chilli. Bell peppers score nothing on this scale, jalapeño and cayenne around 3,000, tabasco peppers 60,000 and habaneros from 100,000-300,000. It's such statistics that tempt many to ascertain their manhood by eating impossibly hot chillies, and why there are all sorts of festivals, competitions and record attempts where chilli-heads (or should that be gastromasochists?) compete to breed and consume the hottest chilli.
Although different varieties of chilli have inherently different levels of heat, other factors play a role, too: the amount you use, for sure, but also whether a chilli is deseeded, its ripeness, and how long it's exposed to other ingredients during cooking. The only way reliably to gauge the heat of any particular chilli is to cut it in half, so exposing the core and membranes, and to dab the cut surface on your tongue.
*Sweet and smoky Mexican chicken*
Serves four.
*2 medium red peppers*
*3 small cinnamon sticks, freshly ground (or, failing that, 1½ tbsp ground cinnamon)*
*4 chipotle chillies, soaked in boiling water for 30 minutes, drained, seeds and stalks removed*
*3 cloves garlic, peeled and roughly chopped*
*2½ tbsp white-wine vinegar*
*2½ tsp soft brown sugar*
*75ml olive oil*
*Salt and black pepper*
*1.75kg whole chicken legs (ie with both drumsticks and thighs), skin-on*
*20g dark chocolate, finely grated *
*650g baby maris peer potatoes (or other roasting potato), peeled and halved*
*2 medium sweet potatoes, cut into 2cm x 6cm wedges*
*2 medium red onions, peeled and quartered*
*10g coriander leaves, roughly chopped*
Heat the oven to 200C/390F/gas mark 6. Put the peppers on a baking tray and roast for 30 minutes, until the skin has blackened. Transfer to a small bowl, cover with cling-film and set aside. Once cool enough to handle, peel the peppers, and discard the skins, seeds and stalks. Put the pepper flesh in the small bowl of a food processor, and add the cinnamon, chilli, garlic, vinegar, sugar, three tablespoons of the oil, a teaspoon and half of salt and three tablespoons of water. Blitz for a minute, until smooth, then transfer to a large bowl. Add the chicken legs and chocolate, and mix to coat.
Put both types of potato in a separate large bowl with the onions, the remaining oil, half a teaspoon of salt and a good grind of pepper. Mix well, combine with the chicken, then tip everything on to a large 30cm x 40cm baking tray. Arrange the chicken skin-side up and roast for about 50 minutes, until the chicken and vegetables are cooked and nicely coloured. Serve at once, with coriander sprinkled on top.
*Spicy turnip*
This is a heady condiment, a bit like a pickle, which keeps in the fridge for a few days. It's great with grilled meat or fish, or to add to sandwiches and salads. Serves six.
*20g dried ancho chilli, stalk removed and deseeded*
*½ tsp dried aleppo chilli flakes (or, if using very hot chilli flakes, just a pinch)*
*2 small cloves garlic, peeled and roughly chopped*
*½ tsp ground cumin*
*⅛ tsp ground cardamom*
*1 tsp caraway seeds, toasted*
*1½ tbsp olive oil*
*1½ tbsp sunflower oil*
*1½ tsp caster sugar*
*3 tbsp cider vinegar*
*2 tbsp lemon juice*
*1 tsp salt*
*5-6 small turnips, stalks removed but unpeeled*
*90g preserved lemon, halved, flesh and skin thinly sliced, seeds removed*
*15g coriander leaves, chopped*
Put the ancho chilli in a small bowl and add enough boiling water just to cover. Leave to soak for 30 minutes, until soft, then squeeze out some of the moisture from the chilli. Set aside two tablespoons of the soaking water and discard the rest.
Put the ancho chilli in the small bowl of a food processor, along with all the remaining ingredients up to and including a teaspoon of salt. Add the reserved chilli water, blitz to a rough paste, then transfer to a medium bowl and set aside.
Bring a medium pan of water to a boil, add the turnips and blanch for three minutes. Drain and refresh under cold water, pat dry and cut into 1cm-wide wedges. Stir these into the chilli paste, along with the preserved lemon. Cover and leave to marinate for at least an hour. Sprinkle with coriander and serve.
• Yotam Ottolenghi is chef/patron of Ottolenghi and Nopi in London. Reported by guardian.co.uk 7 hours ago.