Making beautiful science

In about 50 days I'm giving birth to a PhD thesis. I just want to have a beautiful baby. Wish me luck...

Orchids in the mist: the Denver orchid show

Odontocidium Sunlight

It never fails. The weather outside has to be absolutely horrid, otherwise it would be a break with tradition, it seems. On the day CJ and I drove to Tagawa Gardens for the 2010 Denver Orchid Society Spring Show, the interstate was shrouded in fog. The Rockies had completely disappeared, but we felt them as a solid presence somewhere beyond the grey banks to the west.

Cattlianthe Madam Kallaloo

I'm always sort of disappointed when the displays incorporate intricate carnivorous plants and gorgeous bromeliads, because these plants have no place at an orchid show, however beautiful and interesting they may be. Worse is when they incorporate props, like fiber optic UFOs and (shudder) garden gnomes. Aren't orchids amazing enough? Just let them be, people. Thankfully, the Denver Orchid Society has too much good taste for that kind of thing. The well-constructed displays were fleshed out with lush, appropriate backdrop foliage; this fit the 'Orchid Oasis' theme for the show very well. Orchids from the genus Masdevallia and complex intergeneric hybrids from the Oncidiinae subtribe featured heavily in this season's show. For those of you who have absolutely no idea what the hell all that Latin means, here are some pictures of lovely orchids to enjoy!

Phalaenopsis cornu-cervi

Large, round, flat and near-ubiquitous, those pink and white hybrid moth orchids can be found in the house plant section of almost any grocery store these days. Coming face-to-face with their wild relatives is therefore always exciting, especially when they look entirely different. Feast your eyes on a lime-flowered version of Phalaenopsis cornu-cervi (above). The species name of this Southeast Asian moth orchid means deer-antlered, and it has curiously flattened inflorescences. With care, it can flower several times a year, unlike the store-bought hybrids, which generally flower only once a year. I also appreciate the fact that it has a starry shape, and not the flat, rounded shape we've come to expect from Phalaenopsis orchids.

Dendrobium garrettii

This adorable Dendrobium from Thailand bears minute flowers on leafless pseudobulbs that resemble a stack of green grapes. I think this would be a gorgeous addition to a cool little terrarium. The genus Dendrobium with its infinite variety: it's easy to see why it's my favourite orchid genus.

Masdevallia pteroglossa

When it comes to Masdevallia, virtually the whole genus is composed of miniature species. Masdevallia pteroglossa, from the cool cloud forests of Colombia, is a pixie among dwarves: the entire plant above would easily fit inside a coffee mug. The species name means wing-tongue, which refers to the dimunitive lip, which is only visible as a small red structure in the centre of the triangular flower.

Cochlioda rosea 'Laramie' HCC/AOS

This lovely specimen plant above was awarded a CCM (Certificate of Cultural Merit) by the American Orchid Society. This coveted award is only bestowed on exceptionally well-grown plants. It commends the patient and skilled grower able to bring out the full potential of an orchid. This Cochlioda, a member of the Oncidiinae subtribe, had a total of 16 inflorescences on it, bearing 102 buds and 320 open flowers! The judges described the hot pink petals as having the texture of "diamond dust". Cochlioda rosea is native to the rain forests of Peru and Ecuador, where it must be an awe-inspiring sight.

Dendrobium harveyanum

With more variations than you can shake a large stick at, the genus Dendrobium surprised us once again with the fuzzy-as-a-bumble-bee Dendrobium harveyanum. I loved the crystalline texture, the deeply fringed petals and the sweet scent. It appears dusted with pollen, but (as is typical for all orchids) the pollen is actually carried as sticky masses behind the anther cap, the small circular structure in the centre of the flower. This orchid is native to places in Southeast Asia with a monsoonal climate, and needs a dry winter rest in order for the flowers to develop in early spring.

Dendrobium Spring Doll 'Sweetheart' HCC/AOS

The absolutely enormous orchid above was awarded Best Flower and Best Grown Plant. Dendrobium Spring Doll 'Sweetheart' is one of the so-called soft cane Dendrobium hybrids, and was originally bred by the Hawaiian firm H & R Nurseries. Soft canes have Dendrobium nobile and related species in their pedigree. Like Dendrobium harveyanum, soft canes need less water during their winter rest. This induces masses of flowers right before the growing season. I would recommend soft canes as good beginner's orchids, as they thrive on benign neglect.

Tolumnia Jairak Rainbow

Tolumnia is an interesting genus, also part of the Oncidiinae subtribe. They are found on the islands of the Caribbean, where they grow as twig epiphytes constantly soaked by rainstorms and dried by the tropical sun. This requirement for rapid wet-dry cycles tends to make them slightly tricky to grow well. However, this example of the hybrid Tolumnia Jairak Rainbow was a carnival of a plant: several inflorescences bearing gaudy coral pink blossoms stained with carmine, like a gaggle of calypso dancers ready for a street parade.

Masdevallia caesia

At every orchid show, there has to be one favourite. Dendrobium species tended to be the attention whores of orchid shows past. This time around, I became obsessed with a rather bizarre Masdevallia from southwestern Colombia: Masdevallia caesia. It has blue-grey leaves. It grows upside-down. It needs cool to cold growing conditions, like you'd find where the South American rain forests meet the Andes and the trees are constantly bathed in clouds. It has flowers that can be 23 cm long (and you thought all Masdevallia were small). The flowers have an unpleasant smell, and are pollinated by flies attracted to the furry red lip, which resembles decaying meat. It's exactly the sort of plant that sends those suffering from orchid fever into pure delirium.

For more photos of my orchid show exploits, please visit my Flickr photostream.

Pimp my petals: the Denver orchid show

There was snow along the highway as we headed for Echter's Garden Center in Arvada. The Denver Orchid Society Fall Show promised to inject some tropical colour into a rather dull October afternoon. The theme was 'Orchids of the World', and I was pleasantly surprised by the diverse amount of species on display. The usual suspects were of course chosen as class winners in their respective alliances: an electric blue Dendrobium victoria-reginae, a denizen of mossy oak forests in the Philippines;


a vibrant Ascocenda Su Fun Beauty, its petals the colour of overripe persimmons;


and Paphiopedilum Magic Lantern 'Memoria Elizabeth Sulzman', holding its pouch as if the plant itself had just blown it from pink bubblegum. Feed me, Seymour, indeed.


Many strange and unusual specimens were on show, to the delight of jaded orchid enthusiasts bored by saucer-sized vandas and over-hybridized cattleyas. This South American Zootrophion below is a prime example of the bizarre orchids on display. Its small cage-like flowers don't open fully, and are covered in tubercules. What sort of minute insect is brave enough to crawl inside these to pollinate them?


Cleisocentron merrillianum is an astonishing little beast from Borneo: its slate grey flowers had many visitors to the show fiddling with the macro settings on their cameras.


Easily overlooked, Eria coronaria had its flowers hidden away in lush green foliage. This fragrant species has a wide distribution and can be found from the Vietnamese coast all the way to the foothills of the Himalayas.


This sinuous monopodial with subtle chartreuse coloured blooms is called Christensonia vietnamica. It originates in Vietnam - as should be obvious from its name - but curiously was unknown to science until as recently as 1993! It was a real treat to see a newly discovered species thriving in cultivation.


As usual my favourite thing on show is a dendrobium - usually a crystalline white Formosae-type with little black hairs on the canes, or a candy coloured jewel from New Guinea. This time Dendrobium bracteosum won me over: masses of waxy flowers emerging from papery bracts on the pendulous canes. This New Guinea native positively froths over with blossoms, each dotted with a rather impudent splash of tangerine on the lip.


Although I've been awfully good since living in the States, this time around I just couldn't help myself. The lure of the sale tables was just too strong, and I bought my first (non-grocery store Phalaenopsis) orchid since moving to Colorado in 2007. I managed to get a totally sweet deal on a Psychopsis Mendenhall 'Hildos' from Oak Hill Gardens. The clone I obtained, 'Hildos, has been awarded a First Class Certificate, the highest award bestowed by the American Orchid Society. So I got a great looking plant from awesome genetic stock for less than the price of a steak dinner. Below is a photograph of a similar orchid that was on show: Psychopsis Mendenhall 'Lace' x Psychopsis Mem. Bill Carter 'Mendenhall'. Are you jealous yet?



I have many more images from the 2009 Denver Fall Show and previous orchid shows available in glorious Technicolor™ on Flickr. Check it out.

Ambergris: perhaps you'd rather not know

I combed the beaches of St. Francis Bay with my aunt one afternoon, now a lifetime ago. The weather was nasty; it had been raining for most of the day. We didn't mind, of course, since we knew that stormy weather brings the secrets of the sea ashore. That was the day my aunt found the giant eggcase of a paper nautilus, wedged between the rocks. The perfectly white, rippled object was the most gorgeous and delicate thing I had ever seen. I believe that was the first moment my impressionable young mind was filled with a sense of awe at the mysterious creatures that live in the liquid parts of the planet.

Some things that wash ashore are less obviously beautiful: broken jellyfish, reduced to lumps of snot; kelp fronds; dead gannets; ambergris. Ambergris? Yes, ambergris, the stuff of myth and poetry. Sounds romantic, but what exactly is it? Read on, although the story isn't for the squeamish. Sometimes, when something is so... biological in origin, it is perhaps better to live in ignorance.

The sperm whale is the largest predator to have ever existed. It dives to almost three kilometres below the surface of the ocean in order to do battle with giant and colossal squid in the inky depths. Although sperm whales also feed on fish, they are particularly fond of cuttlefish and squid. The problem with a diet high in cephalopods is that those sharp squid beaks are not exactly digestible. So in a process analogous to how a pearl is formed in an oyster through constant irritation, the whale encases these beaks and other indigestible matter in fatty secretions from its digestive system. These lumps are then easily excreted by the whale, without fear of internal nicks and scrapes.

Many people refer to ambergris as "whale vomit", although Hal Whitehead, a whale scientist of Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia, is of the opinion that ambergris is more likely excreted via the faecal route. Not to worry; I won't go into much more detail concerning cetacean scatology. The interesting part of the ambergris story concerns what certain land living bipedal primates elect to do when they find the stuff washed up on the shores of the world. Tar-black and viscous, freshly expelled ambergris is strikingly foul-smelling. However, a counterintuitive thing happens when these lumps drift around in the ocean, exposed to sunlight, oxygen and salt water. As ambergris oxidizes, it begins to cure and harden. Well-aged ambergris has a waxy texture and is marbled grey in colour. In fact, the word ambergris is derived from the French ambre gris, meaning grey amber.

The smell of ambergris fortunately also changes with ageing. People try in vain to describe its depth and complexity, but fail. In the end, ambergris smells like ambergris and there's nothing quite like it. It is sweet, but dangerous. It has earthy notes, like tobacco, mulch or mossy pine forests combined with marine notes like sea spray and ocean breezes. But it also exudes something that belies its animal origin: musk, leather and something altogether mammalian. Like the flowers of jasmine, it retains a definite faecal undertone. The elaborate chemistry of ambergris consists of countless compounds, and is particularly abundant in steroid lipids. The most important of these is a molecule called ambrein, pictured here. Ambrein is oxidized during the ageing process, to form several related pungent compounds with names that make them sound rather like the heroines of forgotten Victorian bodice-rippers: ambrox, ambroxide, coronal, ambrinol... It's the combination of all these molecules together which is responsible for the complex fragrance of ambergris.

Gross as its origins are, ambergris has been a highly valued commodity for centuries. Reknowned in China before the year 1000, it was known as lung sien hiang, meaning "dragon’s spittle fragrance," because it was thought to be the saliva of sleeping sea dragons drooling into the ocean. During the Renaissance, small lumps of ambergris were moulded into decorative jewelry. It was ceremonially burned, like incense. It has since found particular use in the perfume industry as a fixative. It retains other fragrance ingredients, preventing their rapid evaporation and allowing the scent to linger on the skin. One classic method for preparing an ambergris extract used "1½ oz. of ambergris, 30 grains musk and 20 grains civet reduced to powder in loaf sugar," to which was added the juice of 1 unripe lime. This was poured into 3 pints of pure spirit alcohol and placed in a stoppered jar. The jar was incubated in "the constant heat of horse manure for 21 days," and the resultant clear, amber-coloured liquid decanted as Tincture of Ambergris. Perfumiers today rely on more scientific methods of extraction, or have switched to using synthetic alternatives. However, real ambergris is purportedly still an important component of such famous fragrances as Chanel No. 5 and Drakkar Noir.

The quality of ambergris depends on how long it has been floating around the ocean. Just like wine it mellows with age, and increases in value. Standard grade ambergris trades at almost $20 per gram. Considering that ambergris is sometimes found as giant lumps weighing hundreds of kilograms, finding ambergris on the beach can be quite lucrative. Since ambergris resembles a smelly, shapeless lump of sea detritus and not the delicate eggcase of a paper nautilus, most people ignore it witout realizing its value. Pieces of the fragrant flotsam are often sold for tens to hundreds of thousands of dollars to so-called "ambergris brokers". The trade in ambergris seems slightly shady: deals occur behind closed doors in hotel rooms in places like Dubai and Abu Dhabi, and purchases are always made in cash. Just a few people control the world ambergris market, and I suppose they would like it to remain that way.

Through the ages, ambergris has not solely been used for perfume. Its animalistic allure had much further reach. In fact, it formed a vital part of the traditional pharmacopeia of many cultures around the world. It was lauded as a restorative balm. Arab doctors prescribed it as heart and brain medicine. Perhaps not surprisingly, the sensual scent of ambergris was highly in demand as an aphrodisiac. Legend has it that Madame du Barry washed herself with it to make herself irresistible to Louis XV of France. Oddly enough, ambergris has been - and in some cultures still is - used as a spice for food and wine. Beluga caviar? White truffles? How gauche. Surely shavings of first grade ambergris on your eggs benedict must be an unparalleled epicurean billionaire's treat! Personally, I'm sure I could never stomach it. If it disagreed with the whale, it is certain to disagree with me.

Picture credits: paper nautilus © mrpbps; sperm whale © Brian J. Skerry; ambergris © composite from various sources; Chanel No. 5 © Andy Warhol, 1985; vintage perfume bottles © meeralee.

Wine me, dine me, finger lime me

These gorgeous things are becoming my new obsession. They are called finger limes and may well be the sexiest citrus fruit ever. I mean, just look at them! Their exquisitely elongated form echoes the shape of the banana and cucumber, those pedestrian fruit more traditionally associated with the erotic arts. However, when the skin of the finger lime is ruptured, all these sap-filled vesicles come bursting forth, an aromatic explosion of lime-tastic goodness. Am I crazy, or does that sound like a near-perfect description of culinary orgasm?


As you can tell from the scientific name, Citrus australasica, the finger lime is native to Australia. It's a thorny tree almost 10 m in height, endemic to subtropical rainforests from northern New South Wales to southern Queensland. The genetic diversity latent in finger limes is evidenced by the huge number of varieties known. The peel colour is very variable and ranges from yellow to green, burgundy and almost black. Beat that, banana skins! The pulp also varies from palest pearl to deepest ruby, with each colour having a unique flavour all its own.


Finger limes are making real headway into the fancy restaurants and boutique grocers of the world, but I'm yet to find one of these tangy beauties anywhere near where I live. In the meantime, a boy can dream, can't he? They can be used in any dish that calls for conventional limes, and are particularly suited to seafood dishes or those with a Southeast Asian influence. With those zesty vesicles shimmering like salmon roe, it's no wonder they've been called 'rainforest caviar'. Imagine some of these added to your favourite after-work drink: instant jungle-style sophistication. Finger limes are especially prized in the world of molecular gastronomy. Ferran Adrià, chef of the fabled elBulli restaurant on the Spanish Costa Brava, was apparently moved to tears by his first experience with finger limes.

That's okay: many people cry after their first time.

Citrus pr0n credits: top © El Aderezo; middle © Stuart Cohen; bottom © D.T. Pearson.

What was that?

In the dark of the forest, something stirs...

Image: 'Checkerboard Forest' © Keith Alexander

Whale fall: an assignment of sorts

There is much to do in fleshspace. I have enrolled in a creative science writing course this semester. One of our first assignments has been to write some poetry with scientific subject matter. So here is my first attempt, inspired by the creatures that call whale falls (sunken whale corpses) home. I haven't done this in a good while, so please be gentle in your comments. Constructive criticism is more than welcome, of course.

WHALE FALL

stirred by this beautiful benthic
metropolis of meat
the glaucous eye of the sleeper shark
trails a parasitic tear
- a lacrimous crustacean

the opaque unseeing eye of
the shark surveys this sunken Atlantis
a city slick with sleek silver things
slimy hagfish; one leucistic octopus
probing the blubber with tentative tentacles

the floral fimbriae of Osedax bloom
from brood sacs embedded in bone
and the fractured skull of this
clam-encrusted carcass currently
serves as headquarters for the grenadier

a curiously noble gesture, then, when the
Leviathan leaves the light for the last time
and descends to these darkest depths
and its cold cetacean body becomes real estate
for blind things made of teeth

Image credit: © 2005 MBARI

How to buy an orchid at the grocery store

It's winter in the northern hemisphere and Phalaenopsis orchids are literally everywhere. The elegant moth orchid can now be found not only near the register at most garden centres, but also at your local greengrocer, favourite supermarket, and the houseplant section of many large department stores. The single best place to buy an orchid is, of course, from a local orchid nursery. Such orchids are fresh and raised under expert care. Plus, it's always a good idea to support the local hobbyists: they are often talented breeders in their own right, and make exciting and exclusive new crosses available to the community. However, sometimes those sexy Phalaenopsis at the store can be so tempting that you almost don't realize you've got one propped between the corn flakes and fat-free yoghurt, until you're unpacking your trolley at the conveyor belt.

I am not a total orchid snob; those store-bought plants can be rewarding. Indeed, most of them originate from giant nurseries in such places as Taiwan and Florida, where they are bred to be appealing and raised to be vigorous. Problems arise when the plants are delivered to the point of sale - supermarkets are not the best of growing environments, and store attendants tend to give the orchids the same treatment as conventional houseplants. How often have neighbours complained of the mysterious and untimely demise of their latest acquisition, mere weeks after purchase! Well, fret no more, folks! The Electric Orchid Hunter is happy to provide some essential buying tips you should know before succumbing to orchid fever in the produce aisle.

1. Buy your orchids as fresh as possible. The ideal would be to get them as soon as they are unpacked, but it is seldom possible to gauge in advance when the next delivery will arrive in the store. The dry supermarket atmosphere can severely shorten the life span of the flowers, and cause unopened buds to abort. Flowers should be waxy, not papery, and buds should be swollen and unwrinkled.
2. Check for any instore damage. This includes cracked leaves, snapped aerial roots, bruised flower spikes and torn petals. 
3. Make sure the plant is in prime health. Leaves should be mid to dark green, not yellow, firm and slightly succulent. Look in between the leaves at the crown of the plant - if this is damaged in any way, a Phalaenopsis will usually be unable to recover and will eventually just fade away. Most commercially grown orchids are sold in clear plastic pots to allow the green aerial roots to grow into the medium. These are sometimes slipped inside more aesthetically pleasing clay pots - take out the plastic pot and inspect the roots for healthy growing tips.
4. Consider the type and condition of the growing medium. Don't buy anything slick with algae or with little ferns sprouting in it. Avoid plants struggling in mushy medium that has completely broken down - you don't want to have to repot your purchase as soon as you get it home. Consider what you're comfortable with: are these orchids planted in bark, or sphagnum moss? Moss holds onto moisture for longer, but bark can be more forgiving of mistakes. Remember that orchid roots need air in addition to water.
5. Look for a bargain. Sometimes resellers will discount Phalaenopsis once the flowers are spent. It's pretty much a lucky dip at this stage; you won't know whether you've got a large white or a dainty pink candy stripe until you get it to flower again. If the leaves have some red pigmentation at the bases or underneath, that's sometimes an indication of darker-coloured flowers. Unfortunately, commercial varieties are almost never shipped with name tags, and if they are, these rarely provide a clue to the colours you can expect. Bargain bin anonymous orchids might be worthwhile if the plants are still vigorous. Avoid orchids that are marked down because they are obviously on the brink of death.
6. Go for quality, not quantity. A plant with flowers of good shape and substance and with bold colours will be more rewarding at subsequent flowerings than one that has a few more blooms but the flowers of which are insipid or of poor shape. Perhaps I am an orchid snob, after all.

Let's prevent further disillusionment and unwitting cruelty to houseplants. Two final pieces of easy advice that will help you on the road to success with your new moth orchid:

• If you're unsure of whether your orchid is getting sufficient light, that means you should move it to a brighter location. 
• If you're unsure of whether to water it, that means you should wait another day before you do so. 
  

Photography credits: potted Phalaenopsis by Thomas Tamayo; dead Phalaenopsis by Kristin; helathy Phalaenopsis roots by Andrea K. Please visit the photostreams of these Flickr users for more flights of photographic fancy.

Introducing (E&E)² zen: electric orchids

Get your daily dose of links and images exploring our world by subscribing to the RSS feed at my new tumblelog electric orchids. Easily digestible tidbits perfect for tea time or a lunch break!

Naturally, this blog will still be the place to read those really in-depth features you've come to expect. Think of (E&E)² as the main digital garden, and electric orchids as a sunny windowsill!

The Orchidhunter at the Denver orchid show

I made my way to Arvada on a rainy, colourless Saturday morning. The grey day held tropical promise, though: the Fall Show of the Denver Orchid Society. Traditionally held at the Denver Botanic Gardens, the show was moved to Echter's Garden Center this time around because of construction. But what a show! I'd love to share some of my photographs with you.

The theme for this season's show was Picture Perfect Orchids. The organizers and exhibitors put in a lot of effort to get their displays looking great, with artful use of picture frames and actual orchid art, from local artists to prints of famous works by Martin Johnson Heade.

I must admit that I was disappointed by the small amount of species orchids on display. To be fair, Colorado orchid growers face particular challenges - such as the altitude and the climate- that growers in warmer, wetter areas need never worry about. The abundance of beautiful hybrid orchids shown more than made up for this; and the species that were on display were of exceptional quality and were kinds not often seen. The substance and colours of the flowers and the immaculate condition and vigor of the plants proves that Colorado growers can beat the odds and compete with the best.

A table of breathtaking Vandas caught my eye immediately. This Vanda Robert's Delight 'Garnet' won a red 2nd place ribbon. It's obvious why. Those flowers are as big as my hands!

This is one of the most beautiful examples of Vanda Rothschildiana I've ever seen. The coloration is just superb. It's a classic old hybrid between the Indian Vanda coerulea and Euanthe sanderiana from the Philippines. This rightly received a blue 1st place ribbon and the award for Best Flowers in its class.

Shows are a great place to see some of the bizarre things found in the orchid family. Bulbophyllums excel at being weird. This is Bulbophyllum Jersey, a lovely cross between B. lobii and B. echinolabium which marries the best features of both parents.

Resembling a hard-boiled quail egg nestling on a patterned saucer, Paphiopedilum (wenshanense X godefroyae) was a joy to behold. It received a 1st prize ribbon, as well as the award for best flower in its class.

The best Cattleya was this delightful miniature: Sophrocattleya Mini Purple 'Candy Tuft'. Good shape, waxy substance, perfect symmetry, heady fragrance... I could clearly understand why the judges chose this as recipient of the Ed Horton Memorial Award for best flower in the Cattleya alliance. May I have a division of it, please?

This was one of my favourite things on show: Cycnoches chlorochilon. Also known as the green-lipped swan orchid, this species has a subtle, understated elegance. It is usually found in hot South American forests, from Panama to Venezuela. Not only do the flowers smell kind of like banana popsicles, but Cycnoches are also some of the few orchids to have separate male and female flowers, which are totally different in appearance. These are male flowers: if you look closely, some dislodged pollen is visible, stuck to the right petal of the middle flower.

I had a most enjoyable afternoon, inspecting the myriad of blossoms on display, and talking to some of the growers. I took way too many photographs to showcase them all here. If I've whetted your appetite for more, please visit my Flickr photo set for the rest of them and some pictures from orchid shows past. If you'd like to find out more about the Denver Orchid Society, visit their web page, or go to one of their monthly meetings.

Horticultural ardour: the allure of vanilla

It had been venerated by the Totonaca and Aztecs of Mexico for centuries before European explorers introduced it to the Old World sometime during the 16th century. Thereafter, many perished on long ocean journeys undertaken to obtain it. It is one of the world's most expensive spices, even today. So how did something as extraordinary as vanilla become a byword for the ordinary? If we want the simple, unadorned variety of something, we ask for the 'vanilla kind'. Vanilla is not so vanilla. How can the orchid spice be considered boring or commonplace? Its very name is derived from the diminutive of the word 'vagina'. I'd like those connotations to be reinstated, thank you very much. Warm, wet, sensual, exotic, erotic, heady, mysterious, sultry, complex, alluring vanilla, how you fill me with desire…

Our mistress vanilla is no cheap harlot. For a start, the very act of cultivating it constitutes a labour of love; it is agriculture of the most intensive kind. Vanilla is the only orchid cultivated on a large scale for a purpose other than decorating hotel lobbies and winning ribbons for pretty petals at flower shows. The favoured species for production is the original Vanilla planifolia from Mexico, although V. pompona from Tahiti and others are also sometimes used. It is a vining orchid genus, attaining lengths in excess of 35 m. They are typically grown supported on trees, poles or latticework, such that the flowers are within easy reach. This is essential. Almost all orchids require very specific insect pollinators in order to reproduce, and vanilla is no exception. In the wild, it seduces a rare and localized bee species, which obviously cannot be relied on for global commercial purposes. Every vanilla pod is the result of hand pollination by a plantation worker using care, diligence and a small wooden tool. New flowers open on the inflorescences at dawn, wilting by dusk. Open blooms have to be sought out in the humid plantation and pollinated every day. Quite a different exercise to just watching the corn grow. Pregnant with promise, the green bean-like seed pods are harvested about nine months after pollination, at the moment of perfect maturity just before splitting open. This is just the beginning: at this point the beautiful vanilla fragrance is entirely absent. The laborious task of curing follows.

Now for a brief chemistry interlude. The primary chemical found in vanilla extract is the phenolic compound vanillin. Notice how closely its molecular structure resembles that of adrenaline. Neurologist Alan Hirsch of the Smell & Taste Treatment and Research Foundation found that vanilla induces sexual arousal: the smell alone can significantly increase blood flow to the penis. So much for Viagra, then. Synthetic vanillin can be easily synthesized from oil of cloves, lignin (a waste product from the paper industry), or more often from petrochemical precursors produced from creosote. Yummo. That's not all, folks: biotechnological advances have enabled bacteria to make it from rice bran, and Japanese scientists have recently extracted it from cow dung. These products are inferior, I feel, and certainly less romantic than obtaining vanilla from orchids and hard labour under a tropical sun. The truth is that the full, complex vanilla flavour is not only due to the presence of vanillin, but also hundreds of other, related chemical compounds. Natural vanilla's perfect balance of these molecules keeps it in high demand. Erm, where were we? Oh yes: the curing process.

In the fabled Bourbon method, the freshly harvested vanilla pods are briefly blanched in hot water to stop the ripening process. For several weeks, the pods are laid out on woolen blankets in the morning sun, wrapped up by midday and stored in airtight containers overnight. During this fevered process, enzymes are at work, liberating vanillin and friends trapped in loveless β-glycosidic linkages with sugar molecules. Maximum aroma is achieved after several months of drying and careful storage. The pods, now brown, become frosted with a white coating of fragrant phenolics. The labour of love is finally complete and the pods (now called vanilla 'beans' to the chagrin of botanists everywhere) are graded, packaged, and shipped to vendors worldwide.

As with all luxury items, the demand for natural vanilla exceeds supply. Finding good quality vanilla is sometimes difficult, especially when looking for vanilla extract - the flavouring agent produced by percolating macerated vanilla beans in alcohol. Artificial impostors abound - true vanilla extract is not clear, not dark and murky, but rather a golden amber colour. Although vanilla beans themselves cannot be faked, they do vary in quality. When choosing vanilla, opt for the longest beans you can find. They should have an oily glisten or the tell-tale frosting of vanillin crystals, and should definitely be devoid of mildew. Vanilla is now cultivated all over the world, from Mexico to Indonesia, with Madagascar and the other islands of the Indian Ocean being the biggest producers today. Local climate and cultivation methods have a definite influence on flavour development, same as any good wine. It's called terroir, and is not to be sniffed at.

Perhaps vanilla gained its reputation for mediocrity from its near-ubiquity. It is found in everything these days: cheesecake, Chanel No. 5, pound cake, aromatherapy oil, crème brûlée, fabric softener, glühwein, Kit-Kats, cough syrup, butterscotch pudding, cream soda, Yankee scented candles... oh, and ice cream, natch. We should not forget how precious it can be, how complex its composition and lengthy its production. Let vanilla regain its luxury status. After all, it's damn sexy.


Photography credits: vanilla flower © Brock; hand pollination © Helen Graham; grading table © Jonathan Talbot; vanilla pods © Kendiala; crème brûlée © Markii. Please visit these tremendous Flickr users for more deviant deliciousness.