DISH
Caper Confidential
with Maribeth Maloney
When I was a young lawyer, I learned early on that there was one thing even more wretched than billable hours: the quasi-business/social event. Ugh. That meant being trapped at some venue with a bunch of scotched-up suits droning on about case law while leering at the female associates. But I shouldn't complain, because it was while enduring one of those evenings that I had my first encounter with capers.

To be exact, they were caper berries, not the smaller, more familiar variety, and they were served alongside a salmon mousse terrine. I found them to be rather intimidating; they looked like a stemmed cross between a pickle and an olive,, and while I love pickles, I'm not an olive fan. I studied them for a while and then decided just to go for it. If I hated them, at least I'd have a reason to flee to the ladies' room, which was where I would've preferred being anyhow. To my delight, they were fantastic, with a piquant tartness and a burst of mustardy lemon in the aftertaste. I was hooked.

Since then, I've been tossing them into and onto almost anything, from tuna salad to cheese-less pizza to my all-time favorite, on top of smoked salmon with a bagel. But considering the inhospitable circumstances under which capers grow, it's amazing that anyone ever bothered to take notice of them as something edible, much less delicious. Just the same, I'm thankful they did.

Capers are the unopened floral buds of Capparis spinosa, a wild shrub that's found throughout the Mediterranean, parts of Asia and Africa. They date back to the 13th century B.C. and were mentioned as a flavoring for olive oil on tablets discovered in Crete. The bushes grow like weeds in dry, rocky areas through cracks and fissures in walls, ruins and even tombstones. Sages of ancient time likened them to the Jewish people because of their ability to not only survive, but thrive, under the bleakest of conditions.

Given the space, the caper bush will grow up to five feet high and has an extensive root system which serves to prevent soil erosion and conserve water. Their thumbnail-shaped leaves are armed at the base with small, prickly hooks that discourage grazing animals but also make them painfully difficult to harvest. The buds spring from long stalks which, if not picked, will eventually explode into fragile white flowers with violet pistils, bearing resemblance to butterflies at rest. Left to mature, the flowers fall off, and oval-shaped, seed-filled fruits - caper berries - grow at the end of newly formed stalks. The berries are typical tapas fare in Spain and they've even caught on in this country as a trendy martini garnish, one with more zing appeal than the standard olive.

Not unlike other ancient foods, capers are believed to have some curious medicinal qualities. They're said to be a cure for anything from gastrointestinal infections to rheumatism. The buds are a rich source of "aldose-reductose" inhibitors which aid in the prevention of cataracts, as well as "flavinoid rutin," which improves capillary function. They're also praised as being an effective astringent, diuretic and expectorant, not to mention their alleged ability to relieve flatulence.

The best capers come from Italy, Spain and the south of France, the latter being home to the smallest and most expensive variety, "nonpareilles," which are picked early and characterized by their intense flavor. Many, including myself, prefer the flavor of the largest size called "gruesas," the Spanish word for "bulky," that are harvested just before the buds bloom. There are four other size categories in between that serve as the grading standard for the commercial industry: "surfines," which are slightly larger than nonpareilles, followed by "capucines," "capotes" and "fines." And if the measure of what constitutes a delicacy is the level of painstaking labor involved in bringing it to the market, capers are well qualified. They're picked by hand, with an experienced gatherer having to spend nearly two hours to collect just two pounds, amounting to approximately 9,000 buds of the smaller varieties.

All capers are cured in either salt or brine and then packed in salt or vinegar. The most common method of processing involves allowing them to ferment, or "pickle," for two months in a salt-and-water bath, after which they're rinsed, sized and packed with vinegar (sometimes with wine) in jars. Spain supplies the vast amount of the world's brine-cured capers, harvesting an average 1,700 tons annually and exporting approximately 1,500 tons.

The other major producer is Italy, with an annual yield of over 500 tons, most coming from the island of Pantelleria, located off the southwestern tip of Sicily. In 1993, the Italian government gave the island a Denonominazione de Origine Controllata (DOC) to guarantee the origin and quality of capers labeled "Pantelleria." Among the reasons they're regarded so highly is their exposure to the sun and the volcanic terrain on which they grow, in addition to the unique fact that they're sea salt cured as opposed to pickled.

By whichever method capers are cured, the process preserves them so that they travel well and have made their way into the traditional recipes of countries to which they're not native. In Hungary, capers are featured in the zesty cheese known as "Liptauer." In Indonesia, they're used to season rice and cheese soufflés, and in Germany, they star in a sauce for meatballs in the celebrated dish "Knigsberger Klopse." But there's no doubt that capers reach their fullest potential when in the capable hands of the countries from which they hail.

The Spanish take a bold, straightup approach, pouring them right from bottle to bowl and mixing them with

olive oil, lemon and salt, creating an earthy dip for toasted bread. In France they're a constant in sauces for meats and fish, including the exquisitely sublime "Raie au Beurre Noir," skate fish with black butter-caper sauce. But nowhere are capers handled with more punch and flair than in Italy.

With Salsa Verde and Eggplant Caponata to Calamari Ripieni and Vitello Tonnato, the Italians have created a veritable shrine to the immense versatility of the diminutive bud. The show-stopping crowdpleaser featuring capers has got to be the dish that's the most scandalous: Spaghetti alla Puttanesca, the Neapolitan bad girl of pastas.

Puttanesca translates literally to "in the style of the whore." While there's no agreement on the actual story behind the dish's creation, there are four sordid possibilities. One claims it was made by the "professionals" in brothels to lure men in from the street. I would have suggested Chanel No. 5, but then again, no one asked. The other tales are based on the speediness and ease involved in whipping it up; either the "talent" gobbled it themselves between servicing clients or they offered it as a bizarre sort of freebie to men waiting on line. The final account is the craftiest and salutes married women as the innovators: they needed something quick to slap on the table to get out and see their own lovers.

Whatever the origins of the dish may be it's not only a caper classic, but one that elevates the zesty little buds to the level of a sinfully good quickie.

I SPAGHETTI ALLA PUTTANESCA Making this too quickly might cause suspicion-
+ 1 (28 ounce) can diced tomatoes
+ 1 pound spaghetti
+ Salt
+ 2 tablespoons olive oil
+ 2 garlic cloves, minced
+ 1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
+ 8 anchovy filets, minced
+ 3 tablespoons capers, rinsed and drained
+ 1/2 cup black olives, coarsely-chopped
+ 1/4 cup flat-leaf parsley, minced
+ Freshly-ground black pepper

Drain tomatoes, reserving 1/2 cup of the juice. Cook spaghetti in a large pot of salted water. Meanwhile, heat oil in a large sauté pan over medium heat, add garlic, red pepper flakes and anchovies; cook, stirring constantly, until garlic is fragrant but not browned. Stir in tomatoes and simmer until slightly thickened, about 8 minutes. When spaghetti is al dente, drain and return to pot; add 1/4 cup of the reserved juice and toss to combine. Stir capers, olives and parsley into sauce, pour over spaghetti and toss. Add more juice to moisten, if necessary, and season with pepper. Serves 4.