The New Yorker:

There is nothing “plain” about vanilla when your extract is home-brewed.

By Ina Garten

Of all the ingredients in my pantry, my jar of vanilla is my most treasured. It’s not the ordinary kind of vanilla that you can find at any grocery store; I’m talking about pure vanilla extract and real vanilla beans. I’ve always wondered why the flavor is called “plain vanilla,” which implies an absence—it’s not chocolate or strawberry or caramel. But trust me when I say there is nothing “plain” about really good vanilla.

Vanilla pods are harvested from a variety of orchid plants that grow in the tropics. Much of what you think of as vanilla flavoring is, sadly, imitation, made from chemicals that try to mimic the flavor of the real thing. But good vanilla extract is one of those deep, complex flavors that infuses everything you cook with it. It’s oddly both bitter and sweet; add it to a chocolate cake and the chocolate tastes better, but you’re not quite sure why; in a crème anglaise, it balances the sharpness of the Cognac, and in a crème brûlée, its bitter edge cuts the richness of the cream and the sweetness of the caramelized sugar. I have a friend who even put a whole vanilla bean into each packet of her fish en papillote (fish in parchment paper) so that the flavor permeated the fillets. When each dinner guest unfolded their packet, the scent of vanilla and fresh herbs wafted into the air. Heaven!

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