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The Flavour Thesaurus by Niki Segnit

This ingenious lexicon of complementary tastes will free you from the tyranny of recipe book

Food columnist Niki Segnit pictured at Hardy's in London (Jon Enoch)
Food columnist Niki Segnit pictured at Hardy's in London (Jon Enoch)

Taste is an arbitrary thing. One man’s nirvana is another woman’s Hades. But if, like me, you agree that the lemony sharpness of goat’s cheese works well with ingredients such as beetroot, ­butternut squash or good bread and honey, and that lamb and apricots — as John Lanchester wrote — “seem to ­partake of a higher order of inevitability” than even bacon and eggs, then Niki Segnit’s ingenious The Flavour Thesaurus is the book for you.

The fact is, some flavour combinations just seem “righter” than others. Master these, and you are a cook liberated from clinging to the detailed instructions of a recipe book. Segnit has set about putting some of these combinations into an organised lexicon that — like most successfully original ideas — leaves you wondering why nobody has really attempted it before. She includes both seductive pairings and those that are unusually alarming, reminding us that some tastes, like rosewater, are languid and subtle while others, such as anchovy or the ferrous kick of beef, sharpen you up. They can all be transporting. It’s just a matter of choosing the right mate.

Segnit’s organising principle is to slot 99 ingredients into families that include sulphurous (brassicas, egg, truffle), floral fruity (vanilla, fig, ­coriander seed) and green and grassy (avocado, pea, anise). The highly complex tones of peanuts thus work with rich meats, sweet shellfish and sharp fruits — apple and lime, for example; while chicken (the bland “magnolia” of meats) balances with just about anything the
world over.

Counterintuitive combinations can work wonders. Think anchovy and roast lamb: the fish melts into the meat “and intensifies the flavour with a mouthwateringly rich, savoury saltiness” as terrific with the meat as those other more traditionally feisty tastes, garlic and rosemary. She recommends adding a few types of chocolate to your cheeseboard; forget apple, pear or walnut and go for the “revelatory” pairing of piquant cow’s milk cheese with bitter 85% Valrhona African. Or, since they share many flavour compounds, try substituting strawberries for tomatoes: according to Segnit, strawberry, avocado and mozzarella salad is a “no brainer”.

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A clear disciple of that “scholar cook” Elizabeth David, Segnit reminds us that watercress liquidised with soured cream and a pinch of salt makes a sauce “as refreshing as dandling your feet in the river on a hot afternoon”. In her wry hands, the smell of a pâté of chicken liver, garlic, brandy and thyme is like the belch of a galumphing gourmet giant. Citral, a key compound in lemon flavour, is often synthesised for use in cleaning fluids, and the flavour of cumin is regularly compared to dirty socks, yet she is right: the two make a heavenly marinade for fish or lamb.

With a supple blend of passion and precision, Segnit trawls the world’s cuisines from southeast Asia to Mexico and the Mughal empire, wading though recipe ­collections and restaurant menus. Larding the book with gleanings from literature and the chemist’s lab, and spicing it all with a dollop of personal ­prejudice, the result is an eclectic combination of dictionary, recipe book, travelogue and memoir.

Erudite and inspiring, practical and fun, it will make you salivate, laugh, take issue and feel vindicated. Your synapses will fire in a whole new way as you trail your hand through your garden herbs. Importantly, it will also make you long to get back into the kitchen to sample one of the broadbrush recipes: try the saffron cake that marries the militant, tobaccoey bitter- ness of saffron with the sweetness of ground almonds
and sponge.

Segnit does for flavour what Lucca Turin achieved for scent in Perfumes: The A-Z Guide, but her book should come with a warning: open these pages at peril of being late for your next appointment. If you care about these things — or even just want to care — you’ll need at least three copies: one each for the kitchen, bathroom and bedside table. The Flavour Thesaurus is a deceptively simple little masterpiece, set to take its place by McGee on Food and Cooking as a household Bible.