The windowsill of my apartment is lined with mortars and pestles I've collected from Turkey, Iran, Thailand, and New York City (where I live).
They're not just decorative—they're my favorite kitchen tool. The mortar and pestle works faster than a knife to crush nuts, pound garlic into a paste, smash ginger or chiles to infuse flavor, or grind whole spices into powders. I’ve used one in every kitchen I’ve worked in. I love them because, instead of plugging in a spice grinder or a food processor, I get to do a little manual labor. I love having complete control over consistency. I love seeing every stage of an ingredient as it breaks down without lifting a lid or turning off a machine to peek.
When I’m feeling a little sick, I bruise mint leaves with a knob of ginger and coarse sugar for tea. Trimmed, smashed lemongrass is also another natural, herbal tea, which I love to experiment with. You could also bruise chamomile for a version of the store-bought bagged stuff.
But there's a right and a wrong way to use a mortar and pestle. Don’t slam your pestle down and wind it all around—rock and smash your ingredients in the mortar instead. To rock, go around the pestle with the mortar to gather any ingredients that have climbed up the sides, then push them into the middle and bear down.
When buying your first mortar and pestle, look for a minimum of six inches in diameter and around three inches deep—this is a good, all-purpose size you can do a lot with—and look for a smooth interior and a pestle that won't get ingredients stuck inside it. Stone is the easiest to wash and the best starter material—wood can be tricky since it needs to be washed and dried immediately.
Different countries have different versions of the mortar and pestle, and it’s been fun to discover them. Here are six of my favorites, and the foods I use them for.
The Newbie
The most recent mortar and pestle I purchased was in April 2015, in Turkey. It’s rather small, and it’s one of the only ones I have made out of stone—the others are all metal and wood. It’s a little under six inches in diameter with a short, knob-like pestle. The stone has rough crevices similar to a Mexican molcajete, and those large craters make it tough to use frequently. I pick it up for grinding bigger items like dried corn or bigger nuts—anything smaller would get trapped in the crevices.
The Tiny One
The smallest mortar and pestle I own was given to me by my aunt in 2016. She brought it back from Iran, but it’s so tiny that I’ll never use it. It’s cute and resembles a bell—both in looks and how it makes noises when you go around the rim. You could use one this small to grind very delicate spices, like saffron threads or a sugar cubes.
The Long-Lost Kruk
This is such a special one, because I spent so much time looking for it. Almost two years ago, after a tumultuous winter, I spontaneously went to Thailand for three weeks and fell in love with the food. After watching vendors make papaya salad on the streets—and eating it constantly during my trip—I was determined to find the vessel to make it in. The Thai version of a mortal and pestle is a kruk: a deep, wooden mortar with a long pestle. After searching high and low for it, I found the perfect reddish-brown-hued one. It’s my exception to the unitasker rule—I love how it’s dedicated to something, and when I crave papaya salad, it’s there for me.
Stolen Brass
In October 2014, I was looking for a prop while adapting recipes for a story about chermoula, a green herby condiment typically used for fish in North Africa and certain Arab countries. I was at SOS Chefs, one of my favorite spice shops in NYC, and my eyes landed on this brass mortar and pestle behind the counter. I asked the owner, Atef Boulaabi, if it was for sale. She said “No, it’s very expensive.” It was $70 and originally from either Tunisia or Algeria, and I bought it to use at the shoot. It was the one thing I took with me when I left that job. I don’t use it often, but I love it so much.
My Mother’s Mortar and Pestle
I’m almost as mad at my mom for throwing away my blankie as I am at her for throwing away her mortar and pestle. It was beautiful, brass, round, had a skinny pestle, and was used only for saffron. But she made it up to me four years ago when she let me have her marble mortar and pestle. It only has one purpose: saffron water. In Iran, you take saffron threads, grind them into a powder, and bloom them in hot water—or sometimes orange blossom or rosewater—to extend the hue. With an ingredient so expensive, you want to make the most of it, whether for stews, rice, or braises. I’ll never use it for anything else but saffron because it doesn’t feel right.
A Labor of Love
More than three years ago, I saw a Japanese suribachi in the cookbook In the Green Kitchen and wanted one. It had a beautiful wooden pestle with a hole at the top to hang it, and the mortar combines two materials: ceramic exterior and wooden interior. The wood has tiny, tiny ridges that are so satisfying to smash garlic against, and it’s also great for smashing softer spices like coriander or fennel seeds. However, it’s terrible to clean and you truly have to love it if you’re going to own one. When smashing up spices, you have to use a pastry brush to get them out and then wash and dry it immediately so the wood doesn’t warp. It’s truly a labor of love, but really satisfying and a beautiful display piece. I loved it so much that I bought BA food director Carla Lalli Music one, just because I thought she'd enjoy using it.
