 For me, her ''¡Azúcar!'' meant sweetness with backbone, the comely, sweet girl who knows when to be strong and sexy (que tiene tumbao, "who has swing''), a deep sweet that comes from within -- all the qualities that plain white sugar is not, but that define the large family of unrefined loaf sugars Latin Americans love so much: piloncillo, panela, papelón, chancaca -- all of them the golden brown color of Celia's skin.
And like Celia, who had more flavor and depth than cloying sweetness, unrefined Latin brown sugars -- particularly the rustic, blistery blocks that look like fossils or meteorites -- offer sweetness with personality.
Their uses go far beyond the sweetening of a morning cup of coffee or a flan. Brown loaf sugar is the Latin cook's secret weapon, the one ingredient that gives our food, both savory and sweet, an elusive quality that keeps people guessing.
A Staple
In my kitchen, you will always find several types -- some are wine-like or spicy or deeply fruity, others taste like molasses. I use them to make syrups, drinks and desserts. More often I use them as spices to add depth, color and texture to foods as diverse as Caracan black beans, Colombian pot roast and Venezuelan chicken and rice.
For Latin cooks, it is crucial that sour, sweet, and salty play against each other fully and flexibly. Adding sugar to savory dishes is an archaic technique. Because of its rarity, sugar was ranked as a spice by medieval European cooks. When the Spanish colonies in the Americas began to produce abundant sugar in the 16th century, its use as a condiment waned in Europe, but not in the Americas. The proof is that brown sugar is still very much a part of Latin cooking, particularly in Venezuela, Colombia and Mexico.
The tastiest of the brown loaf sugars are still produced using technology long discarded by the big sugar companies. The unrefined sugar cane juice (guarapo) is boiled for reduction in a series of kettles over a fire of wood, coal or bagasse (milled sugar cane). The molten gold that emerges is beaten by hand until barely crystallized and poured into molds called panelas or papelones. When hard and cold, the sugar is wrapped in plantain leaves or corn husks.
Years ago, I spent days looking for artisanal papelón in western Venezuela. I found it at a secluded farm high in the Andes, not far from Mérida. I was drawn there by a column of smoke rising behind a sugar-cane field and the distinct smell of guarapo boiling over a wood fire. Under a palm-thatched roof, horses turned a rudimentary sugar mill (trapiche) that crushed the sugar cane to extract its juice. Sweaty, weathered workers tended burbling cauldrons nearby, and an old man seated on a tree stump unmolded dark, glistening cones of papelón.
The loaf sugars sold in Latin markets can look and taste very different from one another, like local variations of some cheeses. It is a good idea to try and compare several kinds. I find some light-colored Colombian brands as one-dimensional as U.S. brown sugar (which is really white sugar dyed with molasses). The authentic artisanal sugar jolts your palate with a deep molasses flavor that verges on a fruity acidity but is not bitter or harsh.
Substitutes
When I can't get the Latin stuff, I use dark, granulated Muscovado sugar from the Mauritius Islands in the Indian Ocean because I like its deep molasses flavor. For a lighter color and a less emphatic taste that reminds me of Cuban brown sugar (Azúcar parda), I use Demerara sugar, also from Mauritius.
I can see why one might be tempted to use granulated brown sugar. It is convenient and unthreatening, which can hardly be said of Latin loaf sugars packaged like mummy bundles. But try to see past their weird exterior and experiment. Their layers of flavor will seduce you.
Though some panela discs are pre-quartered, cooking with brown loaf sugar most likely involves the adventure of breaking it up and measuring it. Luckily, the amounts seldom have to be precise. For a cup measurement, simply grate the sugar on the fine side of a box grater and spoon it into a cup. If a weight is called for and you know the weight of the loaf, chop it with a cleaver or whack it with a mallet to approximate the correct fraction. Or buy a partidor de panela, an inexpensive guillotine-like contraption available in some Latin markets.
Depending on the recipe, you may be able to sidestep the problem by dissolving a whole cake of sugar in any given amount of boiling water and preparing a simple syrup that will keep well in the refrigerator for several weeks. At my restaurant, I always have on hand a a simple brown sugar-loaf syrup for cooking and a more complex, aromatic syrup we call melado de panela to serve with churros, ice cream and cheese.
However you use them, these extraordinary brown loaf sugars offer much more than plain sweetness. They are among the big stars of Latin cooking.
|
