The Spice of Life
The older they get, the more my parents amaze me. I especially admire their ability to constantly reinvent themselves. Why, they can go seamlessly from perfect couple to match-made-in-hell at the drop of a hat. Part of me thinks the fact that they've made it through 49 years of marriage is a testament to the deep love they share for one another. The other part thinks it's just taken them a while to figure out how to do the other one in.

The fact is that my parents are at that point in life where time is measured by the distance between doctor's appointments. I suppose it's inevitable if you live long enough. But my parents' kitchen counter became littered with prescription bottles perhaps earlier than it should have. My Dad, you see, had emergency quintuple bypass surgery 18 years ago at the tender age of 60. Making matters worse, he suffered a stroke during the procedure. It was a long and difficult recuperation, and my Mom was tireless and unwavering in her commitment to nurse him back to health.

Once he recovered though, they were left with two different outlooks on his very existence: He felt he'd cheated death and wanted to live it up; she felt he was alive because of her efforts. She decided there was no way those arteries would be clogging up again. Not on her watch.

Mom is a martyr of the worst variety - she's a martyr's martyr. The only way to win an argument with her is to leave the room. Dad, on the other hand, remains carefree and just wants to enjoy. No small feat, considering that his hen was picked dry decades ago. And could you guess what the main bone of contention between them is? If you guessed food, you guessed right.

A short while back, I had the misfortune of coming between them over a slab of prime rib. Not a pretty situation. We were out to dinner together with my siblings, both of whom agree with me that Dad ought to be free to eat what he wants. They ran interference at one end of the table, while I chatted up Dad about the menu at the other. When his entrée arrived, her eyes shot like daggers onto the hunk of meat - a gaze so scorching it could have melted the thick side-layer of fat right off. He knew he was in trouble.

After a family intervention took place at the table, he was allowed to eat it. But since then, everything's gone back to the way it was; to her, his food ought to be fat free, sodium free and boiled to death. His only salvation is when I'm there to serve as advocate; I'm not afraid of taking the flak. Otherwise, the only guilt-free joy he has within her watchful eyeshot is the liberal sprinkling of his much beloved, trusty old friend: black pepper.

Like my Dad, I too, love pepper. We're both aficionados of its pungent zestiness; we agree that sneezing is for wimps. And wherever I go on my travels, I know that nothing makes him happier than being brought an offering of souvenir peppercorns.

Black pepper is the dried, unripe berry that comes from several species of a vinous plant called "Piper nigrum," an herbaceous annual in the buttercup family. White pepper, which is milder, starts out the same as black, but it's allowed to ripen further until the black outer shell falls off. Green peppercorns are the unripe berries, sold either dehydrated and freeze-dried or packed in liquid, whereas pink peppercorns are not part of the piper nigrum family at all; they're the dried berry of a tropical rose found on a French island called "Reunion."

Pepper is the most widely traded spice in the world, accounting for more than 25 percent of the global industry. It's produced, however, by only a handful of countries located within 15 degrees of the equator. India is the largest producer and also home to the two most prized peppercorn varieties, Malabar and Tellicherry, both considered top quality because of their size and maturity. Sri Lanka, Malaysia, Indonesia and Viet Nam are also significant producers, but it's Brazil's relatively new cultivated variety - 38,000 tons of which is exported annually - that has become the most commonly available grocery store variety in the United States.

For the past 4,000 years, pepper has been the King of Spices, used in trade and exchange like money, and even, in some cases, ransom. In 408 A.D., Alaric I the Visigoth demanded it as a substantial part of Rome's deliverance. He and the other Goths ended up sacking the Eternal City anyhow, but not before scoring a heap of gold, silver, silk, leather - and a whopping 3,000 pounds of black pepper.

And it was pepper that served as the wind in the sails of early European explorers, setting in motion the race to find sea routes to the east. In the 1300s and 1400s, pepper was the major trade product between India and Europe, with the Italian port cities of Genoa and Venice dominating the market, monopolizing overland trade routes and keeping prices high. Both the Portuguese and the Spanish wanted part of the action. The Spaniards, of course, hired Columbus who mistakenly bumped into several new worlds along the way, not the least of which was the Americas.

Eventually, by the late 18th century, the United States' pepper trade with the East Indies began to flourish, richly rewarding financiers. The most successful was Elias Haskett Derby, our country's very first millionaire. Derby made his fortune by importing black pepper to the United States, but he wasn't so popular with the sailors who enabled his fortune to amass. Those who managed to survive the 24,000-mile voyage, which took from two to three years to and fro, yielded next to nothing. On the bright side though, the wealth he accumulated was ultimately used for a higher calling: that of higher education. Derby left his fortune behind as an endowment to Yale University.

And speaking of fortunes, if I had a nickel for every time I've written, read and typed the words "freshly ground" as a preamble to black pepper, I'd have my own. Personally, I'm offended by restaurants that leave a shaker of speckled powder on the table rather than a grinder of fresh peppercorns. Like coffee, pepper deteriorates after being ground, lasting only a few months. Whole peppercorns, on the other hand, if stored in an airtight container away from light and dampness, will last indefinitely.

As you might imagine, black pepper is not without medicinal qualities: it's known to wake up the taste buds and alert the stomach to increase hydrochloric acid secretion, thereby improving digestion. It's also noted for its impressive antioxidant and antibacterial effects. But perhaps of most interest to my mother would be the fact that the outer layer of the peppercorn stimulates the breakdown of fat cells, which can actually help keep Dad slim, while giving him energy to burn. He needs it.

In the spirit of family harmony, I've come up with a healthy, pepper-laden tribute to my Dad. I figure I'm too old to be the product of divorce; I'd really rather not have to decide

who gets custody of me. I JIM'S PEPPERED SALMON

WITH GINGER SLAW For my Dad-

4 tablespoons soy sauce

2 garlic cloves, minced

4 teaspoons fresh lemon juice, plus 1 tablespoon

2 teaspoons sugar

4 six-ounce center-cut salmon filets, skinned

1 pound shredded cabbage 4 green onions, sliced 1 tablespoon fresh ginger, minced

2 tablespoons mayonnaise

8 teaspoons coarsely-ground black pepper (more for seasoning)

4 tablespoons olive oil

In a bowl, combine soy, garlic, 4 teaspoons lemon juice and sugar; pour into a large, sealable plastic bag. Add salmon and marinate in refrigerator for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, combine ginger, mayonnaise, 1 tablespoon lemon juice and pepper (to taste) in a small bowl. Place cabbage and green onions in a large bowl; add dressing, toss well and set aside. Remove salmon from bag (discard marinade), pat dry and press 2 teaspoons pepper onto each filet. In a large, heavy skillet, heat oil over moderately high heat until hot but not smoking; sauté salmon 2 minutes per side. Drain on paper towels and serve with slaw. Serves 4.