Green Cardamom. - ingredient by Rachel Phipps
Welcome to ingredient, where once a month I take a deep dive into some of my favourite seasonal and store cupboard ingredients. This month I’m focusing on my favourite spice: Green Cardamom. Sultry, aromatic and uniquely perfumed, it’s the perfect place for infusing the scent of elsewhere into dinners, desserts and bakes.
Additionally, at the bottom of this post you’ll find my recipe for Cardamom Panna Cotta with Clementine Jelly which both serves as a primer on the thing of sheer beauty that is created when you infuse cardamom pods in milk or cream, and as the perfect make-ahead dessert as the entertaining season is finally upon us.
If you’re a paid subscriber, I’m still playing around with a cardamom-scented festive bake for you all, as well as another little something which has nothing to do with the festivities whatsoever. Stay tuned!
To receive these recipes, plus access all of the recipes from past newsletters as well as my Kitchen Cupboards interviews, you can upgrade your subscription here. And, if you fancy exploring the archives for more inspiration, last December I was showing a bit of love for the much maligned Brussels Sprout:
Brussels sprouts.
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December 8, 2022
Green Cardamom became my favourite spice the first time I made the Easy Holiday Trifle (pg 108) from Nigella Lawson’s Feast (which I’ll say again is in my mind one of the best cookbooks ever written - and a particularly good one for this time of year as it celebrates the food of festivals and celebrations from around the world) and which is my go-to dessert for big family gatherings either side of the big day. Yes the panettone layers are far superior to regular trifle sponge, the Greek yogurt whipped cream balances things out rather well and pistachios also happen to be my favourite nut, but it’s the fruit layer of dried apricots poached and plumped in a heady orange and cardamom syrup (which melds in the trifle with a generous dose of Grand Mariner sprinkled over the panettone layers) which makes it special. Nigella writes, “the cold coin look of all the plumped-up, poached apricots which, like… lentils, are there to signify the wish for a prosperous year ahead.”
I was a cardamom virgin when I embarked on this trifle for the first time, and the experience was that good it was enough to spark a lifelong obsession.
With a hard green pod encasing perfumed little black seeds (most recipes call for you to either add the pod whole, bashing it open with the flat edge of a knife, or to finely grind the seeds into a powder) cardamom is most often an infusion spice, with a big exception being in Scandinavian-style baking where it’s signature flavour is added in ground form. Green cardamom’s perfume deteriorates relatively quickly once the seeds are ground, which is why you rarely see ground cardamom for sale here and you’re encouraged to grind your own (I got very excited when I sourced a bag of cardamom seeds the other week because they’re a faff to extract from the pods on their way to the mortar and pestle!) - but it is commonly found ground in Scandinavia because they burn through it at a quick enough pace - just as vanilla is the base flavour to most American bakes, cardamom is one of the signature flavours in so many of the sweets you’ll find in bakeries in that part of the world.
As regular readers will know, in my downtime (when I’m not creating recipes to order for clients) I use cardamom the most in savoury, Asian-inspired dishes from India to Sri Lanka, where it adds perfume and a certain something to spice blends (2023 was the year I started toasting, grinding and mixing my own), infused sauces and creamy puddings, or perfumed rice, pretty much always in a starring role alongside another of the season’s hero ingredients which deserves a year-long reputation: the not so humble cinnamon stick.
Cinnamon.
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December 10, 2021
But, because I’m a cardamom evangelist in a family who are irritatingly indifferent to it’s deeply aromatic charms (even to the point where apparently my sneaking it into things is rather off-putting - there is a reason I’ve chosen it as a December ingredient, because this is the time of year I’m most likely to get away with liberal use!) I do sometimes however see where my family are coming from: cardamom has flavour notes that can be a bit much when you overdo it (though, I balk at the suggestion that I have been guilty of this in kitchens past!)
Over to Niki Segnit and her always informative The Flavour Thesaurus:
Open a jar of cardamom pods and you might be reminded of a vapour rub or sinus-clearing stick. Like bay leaves and rosemary, cardamom contains clear notes of camphor and eucalyptus. As a member of the ginger family, it also has a citrus, floral quality; depending on their country of origin, cardamoms are more likely to be stronger in eucalyptus or floral-citrus flavours. Whichever dominates, those fresh notes are good for cutting through fattiness, especially with ingredients that let the spice’s complexity of flavour shine - e.g. cream, chocolate, nuts or buttery rice.
Guatemala is the world’s largest grower of cardamom, but mostly otherwise it comes from places I just mentioned such as Sri Lanka and India - which accounts for why it is most used outside of December in my kitchen if the dish comes from said region. However, those of you familiar with Middle Eastern desserts will be sitting there with your hand in the air waiting for me to call on you so that you can explain it’s also commonly found in desserts found in that part of the world too, commonly alongside green cardamom’s good friends rose, saffron and pistachio. And, fans of this wonderful spice will know that it’s friendships also stretch further afield: when it is in season, I need reminding that things other than cardamom will also work with forced rhubarb (I have recipes for a cardamom-scented cordial and a compote), and sometimes it’s unique aroma is the perfect thing for adding that sense of je-ne-c'est-quoi somewhere totally unexpected such as in this pan full of prawns in tomatoes, orange a cardamom I adore from the original Honey & Co. cookbook.
I’ve got a little bowl of the seeds on the kitchen table next to me as I type and their heady aroma is doing more to make me feel like it’s almost time to relax for the year and cook Christmas dinner than the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree or any of my fancy winter scented candles ever manage.
I originally debuted this cardamom-infused panna cotta recipe, then topped with an electric pink forced rhubarb compote as a Valentine’s Day dessert for the Borough Market website in 2015, but as it is no longer online I felt that it deserved a second debut, this time topped with a zingy, seasonal clementine jelly (amped up of course with a shot of cognac because regular readers will also know that I can’t resist sneaking a bit of booze into almost all of my desert recipes from December 1st onwards!) I’ve purposely not included any sugar in the jelly layer so it’s almost electric tartness (because when was the last time anyone bit into a perfectly sweet clementine segment?) acts as the perfect foil for the creamy dessert.
It’s a really simple recipe - not one to be intimidated by if you’ve never used leaf gelatine before - because it is pretty tricky to get wrong: the only hard part is remembering to make the cardamom panna cotta the day before you want to top it with the jelly, and that at least 4 hours before you plan to serve them so everything sets nicely. But, it’s also a great make-ahead dessert because you can do this on day 1 and day 2, and serve them on day 3.
Serves: 4 generously, Preparation time: 30 minutes, Chilling time: at least 12 hours, Cooking time: 15 minutes
I always serve my panna cotta in glasses because I’m almost always serving them to guests, and I’m not brave enough to turn one out at the last minute. But, if you have the suitable moulds and enough gumption have at it: just set the jelly layer in the bottom and the panna cotta layer on top. Good luck!
If you want to leave out the cognac (feel free to use brandy instead) simply add in another 10ml of juice, but keep in mind the alcohol impacts how the gelatine sets so you’ll get a slightly firmer jelly: if it is the flavour rather than booziness that is an issue for you, however, use vodka instead.
(But if the idea of a make-ahead, creamy dessert in a glass appeals and you have children at the table, can I also point you in the direction of my Clementine Posset recipe and my Triple Chocolate Panna Cotta which are also bound to go down a storm?)
For the Cardamom Panna Cotta
For the Clementine Jelly
Combine the double cream, caster sugar, cardamom pods - bashed with the edge of the knife to split them and release the seeds - and paired pieces of clementine zest in a small saucepan. Set over a medium high heat and bring to a simmer, stirring until the sugar has dissolved. Remove from the heat and allow to infuse for 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, soak the gelatine sheets in a bowl of cold water.
Strain the mixture and return to the saucepan, heating the mixture again until it starts to agitate; you should be able to hold your (clean!) finger in it without burning yourself, but it should not be comfortable doing so.
Remove the pan from the heat. One sheet at a time, squeeze any excess water out of the now soft gelatine sheets and whisk them into the hot cream. Then strain the mixture again and stir in the milk. Divide between four glasses and chill for at least 8 hours, but preferably overnight.
To make the clementine layer, again warm the juice until just simmering, soaking the remaining gelatine sheet whilst you do so. Whisk the gelatine into the juice, then stir in the cognac. Allow the mixture to cool to room temperature before pouring into the glasses so not to melt the panna cotta.
Chill for a final 4 hours until the jelly has set before serving.
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