Caraway Pie

Caraway is unjustly neglected by American cooks. It’s really a sophisticated spice with a warm, sweet, resinous fragrance, and it’s far more versatile than people think.

We think of it mostly as a spice of Central Europe, where it is certainly a favorite. There it flavors rye bread (“seed rye”), dumplings and some cheeses, even certain liqueurs, such as kummel. The Germans and Czechs, in particular, often toss it into stews. Many cooks put some in cabbage and sauerkraut dishes because it’s believed to prevent gas.

Actually, caraway originated in the Mediterranean, probably in Turkey. This may partly explain Central Europe’s inability to distinguish between caraway and another Mediterranean import with a similar shape, cumin, though cumin’s hot, dusty, almost floral aroma has only a slight resemblance to caraway’s. All the Central European words for caraway, from German kummel to Czech kmin and Russian tmin, are forms of the word “cumin.”

Central Europe has been far more loyal to caraway than most of the Mediterranean. Caraway was one of the leading spices in the Middle East 1,000 years ago, but it hangs on there today mostly in North Africa. It also had a burst of popularity in England during the Elizabethan period, where, among other uses, it was one of the spices that was coated in sugar to make the candies called comfits.

Incidentally, botanists consider the caraway “seed” to be a fruit, because it’s a structure (technically known as a dry fruit or achene) enclosing the true seed from which a new plant grows. Let’s wait for the people who like to go around saying “Did you know the tomato is really a fruit?” to get started on this one.