My mind reels when I consider the term “spice trade.” There is so much history in it: maritime, commercial, enslaved; financial hope for small growers; graft, usury, death. All for spices; for tiny herbs that mostly were used to mask putrid food, and also to satisfy the nobility’s quest for the novel, the strange.
Our car just smelled wonderful on the ride home. It’s in the Eastern Market of Detroit. Spices, why yes. Tea too. Sauces. Many dried lovelies, including Israeli couscous, beans galore, and my absolute favorite: farro. Definitely not local fare, but it fills the bill for the novel, the strange.
And it is Detroit, after all. I just want to say two words to you: Soul Food. Can there be anything better than THAT?