Spices once sparked wars, paved trade routes, built fortunes. Even now, a whiff through the perforated plastic lid evokes distant lands, terrible plunder, sacks of gold.
Which might explain the spice-rack back bench. What modern kitchen lacks an ancient tin of paprika, aged nub of nutmeg or dust-crusted container of cumin? Few. The herb and spice stash — though faded to flavorless — serves up respect.
And commands restraint — even after resupply. Like the picture frame or flower girl, the herb sprinkle is tasked with enhancing — not upstaging — the main event.
So when a dish flouts the rules, it’s a thrill.
Consider pesto salad. Not salad garnished with a sprig of basil, thyme or parsley. But salad compiled from basil, thyme and parsley. Nothing but the good stuff, in abundance.