Yes, the beloved mortar and pestle is back on the blog! And that’s not accidental. This kitchen tool, which is disappearing from our kitchens, deserves to shine through my writings once again.
Let’s be honest: we’ve all surrendered to the food processor. Me first! In a blink, our Haitian epis is “blended,” and we move on to the next thing. Is that practical? Absolutely.
But this begs the question : what will be of our good old wooden pestle?
Is its fate to be reduced to becoming a decorative object that reminds us of times past or, to be buried in a cupboard where it will gather dust never to come out again?
A few months ago, an Instagram post stopped me dead in my tracks. The author claimed that, without electricity, it was impossible for residents of a rural town of Haiti to prepare their sòs pwa and eat well.
Impossible? Really?! How do you think our grandmothers cooked?
With a wooden mortar and pestle of course!
That’s when it hit me. In my first pilon article, I had done this tool an injustice. I had limited it to epis.
But the pestle does far more. It is the heartbeat of Haitian cuisine.
In addition to its “epis” melody, it has, throughout my childhood, been the maestro of the pureed beans of our sòs pwa, the giraumon of our soup joumou, and the vegetables of our touffé.
A bigger version with a long-handled pestle has also transformed roasted coffee beans into powder for years. Lucie, an “abitan” from my neighborhood would tell you a lot if she were alive today. She religiously ground her coffee powder…with none other than a pestle.
Today, I keep fond memories of days spent watching our cook at work, her movements steady, the pestle rising and falling, jerky but precise.
Each ingredient composed its own symphony under the blows of the pestle: the rhythmic pounding of roasted coffee, the soft murmur of a mirliton or a boiled pumpkin, or the fragrant harmony of onions, garlic, pepper and piman bouk… True culinary symphonies!
So, yes, the blender may be quick. But it has no rhythm. No soul. It will never replace the flavor and authenticity of our pestle, let alone match its cadence.
Each pounding of the pestle reveals a little of our history, our traditions, our know-how; a rhythm that keeps Haitian gastronomy alive.
But this rhythm is fading. Fast. And we’re the ones who can choose to preserve it.
So… back to our pestles?
