(Note: This article was originally featured in Ari’s Best Foods of 2011, but the honeymoon is not over. Rozendal is an exceptional product.)

These are truly one of the best new things I’ve tasted in a long time. I think that I first tried the Rozendal vinegars three years ago at a food show. Their exceptional flavor caught my attention right off, but I think the fact they’re flavored made me doubt myself. I tried them again the next year and was still impressed but… again, I held back and failed to act on my instinct. We have a lot of good vinegars and I let my purist streak get in the way of getting them. Finally, this summer I tasted them for yet a third time with everyone at the Deli and Mail Order, and I was still impressed. I finally gave in. The third time was definitely the charm. I’m glad I finally got going—these are some pretty exceptional bottles of vinegar.

They’re made by the Amman family in Stellenbosch, on the southwest coast of South Africa. Long a grape grower and wine producer, Kurt Amman took the family farm organic in 1994. He went even further by going biodynamic back in 2001. Nothing about these vinegars—the method of conversion from wine, the decision not to pasteurize (to protect the positive acetobacters), many years of patient maturation, the careful selection of herbs and flowers for the infusion into the vinegar—is taken lightly. All of which has been translated into a truly spectacular and unique set of vinegars, so good I really could drink these by the shot glass.

The vinegars start with natural conversion of the Amman’s already well-made and nicely matured biodynamic wines. The move to vinegar is a process that alone takes many months. The natural conversion protects the flavors of the wine and also the natural health benefits of the vinegar. The herbs are then added to the vinegar and the infusions are allowed to mature another four or five years. The total maturation is about 12 years, all done in oak barrels. The results, as I said, are superb! Imagine maybe a depth and character of a great balsamic; the complexity, the soft, round, sweetness, the long lingering finish are all there in force. They’ve got big, slightly tingly, subtly sweet, fantastic flavors with great complexity and very, very long, very lovely finishes.

The Fynbos Vinegar is infused with an array of the region’s herbs and flower—South African honeybush, buchu, wild olive, wild rosemary, and rose geranium. The flavor is truly phenomenal. I’m worried now that I’ve started sipping I might drink the whole bottle. Like sipping a super long aged bourbon, there’s a loveliness, a long lingering sweetness, vanilla undertones from the oak, a succulence and smoothness that’s hard to explain. The hibiscus vinegar is equally excellent. It’s got elderflower, rosehip and again, vanilla.

Rozendal Vinegars are available at the Zingerman’s Deli.

I’ve loved Piquillo peppers for so long now that I start to assume that everyone else knows them as intimately as I do. Other than when the local peppers are in season at the market, I usually go through a jar or two a week.

If you don’t know Piquillos personally, they’re a small triangularly shaped pepper that grows up in the Basque Country in Spain. The best of them are still roasted over smoldering beech wood. The blackened skins are then carefully rubbed off by hand, and the peppers packed with no additives of any sort—the liquid that forms in the jars is just the juice from the recently roasted peppers. Piquillos are so highly prized that only farms near three dozen or so villages qualify to get the official denomination of origin that certifies authenticity. This is no small thing—over the last ten years, Piquillos have probably become the most often misrepresented pepper in the world. There are actually subpar “Piquillos” now being processed in almost every part of the globe. But the best ones still come from those same small villages in the northeastern part of Spain. They have a smoky, slightly spicy, delicious, unique flavor that goes great on pretty much everything you can think of putting a roasted pepper on.

What we have here is a new way to experience Piquillo peppers, and a pretty amazingly good one at that. Piquillo pepper jelly. Not surprisingly, this stuff is as delicious as the peppers are on their own. A bright bold red color that reminds me of raspberry jam, you can do with this stuff anything you’d do with any pepper jelly. Personally, I’ve been putting it on toast that’s topped with a good Spanish olive oil. It’s also a great thing to use to deglaze your pan after sautéing fresh scallops, or to accompany roast pork, lamb or duck. Hmmm . . . better still, I’m going to try using it to deglaze a pan after I sauté up some fresh pork liver. For lunch, I’m thinking almond butter and Piquillo pepper jelly sandwiches would be pretty superb. And of course, for one of the easiest and all time best hors d’oeuvres put it atop some of that hand made cream cheese from the Creamery.

This post is part of a series of Ari’s Best Foods of 2011.

It’s been about two years now that we’ve been bringing these amazing nuts in from the West Coast. In that time they’ve given me a whole new take on hazelnuts. While I’d always liked them just fine, outside of what I’d had in northern Italy, I can’t say that I’d ever come across any that drew me in the way so many other foods have over the years. All that’s changed. Now that I’m hooked up with Freddy Guys, I almost never go without hazelnuts. I keep them in my house to toss on salads or to add to rice or pasta dishes. And I pretty frequently take them in my bag when I travel—they’re a great way to get protein and great flavor all in one, easily transportable form.

Freddy Guys is a family run farm. Fritz and Barb Foulke are growing an old variety called Barcelona that was brought first to New Jersey, where it didn’t do very well, before eventually being loaded on wagons and hauled out west. The climate in Oregon is, apparently, very similar to that of the Piedmont in northern Italy, which is pretty much the world headquarters for hazelnuts. All the Freddy Guys nuts are roasted to order; when we get them they’re literally only about a week or so out of the small Italian roasting machine that the Foulke’s have on the farm. They’re really as simple as can be, and all the better for it. No salt, no oil, no nothing; just great nuts shelled and given a light roast. They’re really good and they go with most anything—chop and put ‘em onto fresh cut fruit, gelato, cake or cookies. Accessorize salads and pastas; or if you’re getting into more complex cooking, they’d be great in a Catalan picada, ground up along with fresh garlic, and really good olive oil.

This post is part of a series of Ari’s Best Foods of 2011.

A specialty of southern Spain that’s been ever more present on my kitchen counter over the last couple months. I haven’t been back to the area for a long time now, but I’m speculating that these tortas are to the people of Seville what mandelbread is to Eastern European Jews. A really great little sweet you could eat almost every day, something most everyone made at home, that could carry you through a long afternoon or be a light, sweet ending to a good meal.

Made in the town of Castilleja de la Cuesta, they’re lightly-leavened, crisp flatbreads made with a generous dose of olive oil, then sprinkled with a bit of coarse sugar and, in the case of our most recent arrival, also brushed with a bit of orange syrup. Unlike some of the other “models” on the market, these are completely hand done. Each torta is a bit different from the next, which you’ll see when you unwrap the waxed paper in which they arrive. I’m particularly partial to the slightly dark edges that you get on a few of them. Not too sweet, great with tea or coffee, with cheese, or for a snack. I have a feeling they could be a big hit with kids and parents alike—sweet enough to get you excited, not so sweet as to put you off. Again, all are made completely by hand and all are really quite excellent!

This post is part of a series of Ari’s Best Foods of 2011.

I’ve written so much about these two of late that I’m wary of overdoing it. I’ve literally eaten couscous or harissa almost every week for the last two years, and I’ve yet to tire of either. To the contrary, the more I eat them the more I want to eat them. Both are easy to use and easy to like. They’re great together—a bowl of hot couscous and a spoonful of harissa to mix into it is fast food at its best.

Both the couscous and the harissa come to us from the Mahjoub family’s farm, about an hour outside of Tunis, in the small town of Tebourba. The family itself is fantastic. They are truly passionate about all things Tunisian, intent on spreading the word about their country’s special history. All the family’s products are organic.

They grow the wheat for the couscous on the farm, mill it, make the resulting semolina flour into couscous, rolling each small round by hand, then dry it all slowly and naturally in the sun. M’hamsa, actually means “by hand.” When you cook it your whole kitchen will smell like wheat. It’s also incredibly easy to do, so easy that I was skeptical when we first started stocking it four years ago. But sure enough, all you do is use 1½ parts water for 1 part couscous. Salt the water lightly, bring it to a boil, the add the couscous. Stir, cover, turn off the heat altogether, and just let the couscous steam in the pot for about 12 minutes. It should come out light, almost fluffy once you move it around a bit with a fork. Couscous is, of course, basically a form of Berber pasta. It fits well with their nomadic lifestyle, allowing them to transport and eat wheat regularly throughout the year. If you love pasta (as I do) you’ll pretty likely love the couscous. It can be a main course, a side dish, or a salad. Top it with anything from a simple tomato sauce to meat, fish, and vegetables. You can add it as well to soups or stews. Cooked with milk, cinnamon and a bit of sugar you have a porridge to take the place of rice pudding.

The harissa is excellent on pretty much anything you can imagine. It’s made from three different chiles, tomatoes, and garlic—all organic, all sun-dried—ground to a paste and then blended with the Mahjoub’s organic extra virgin olive oil, a touch of caraway, some sea salt. I like it a lot on eggs, on sandwiches, added to tomato sauces, mixed with mayonnaise for a dipping sauce, mixed with yogurt and then tossed with chickpeas and baked. It’s great in cream cheese—you can serve it that way for a snack, hors d’oeuvres, or on a toasted bagel. Toss it in really good, just-cooked pasta (couscous or one of our other artisan offerings), serve it next to broiled fish, roasted meat of any sort, or just add a spoonful to a vegetable soup. All, truly, are terrific.

If opposites often attract, it would make sense that the harissa would be a natural partner for the couscous. The latter is mellow, nutty, wheaty, a beautiful golden color, with a soft flavor that can support most any sauce. The harissa by contrast, is forward, fast paced, spicy, wildly intriguing, a deep, bold red and intense flavor that will never, ever go unnoticed. The harissa is so exceptionally good that I’d put it on pretty much any list of “bests” you asked me to put together. If you know anyone who loves spicy food, stick a jar of this in their stocking. And if you know anyone who likes to cook, give them a jar of the couscous. If you really like them, give them one of each. They will, I promise, thank you for many years to come. And for what it’s worth, that promise is not speculation—I’ve given both as gifts dozens of times and I think that everyone I’ve given them too has quickly confessed to being as addicted to the two as I am.

P.S. if you’re wary of the spiciness of the harissa, take home a jar of the Mahjoub’s sun-dried tomato paste instead. Basically it inverts the ratio of chiles and tomatoes. With the sun-dried tomato taking top billing, the heat is very secondary. You can use it in all the same ways and it is always super fantastically good.

P.P.S. the Mahjoubs also make spectacular sun-dried (truly dried in the sun which almost no one else does any more) tomatoes, incredible Tunisian tomato sauces, orange marmalade, preserved lemons (aged six months in salt brine barrels out in the sun) and amazing naturally cured (for over a year) olives. All are outstanding.

This post is part of a series of Ari’s Best Foods of 2011.

As a history major I have to admit to being moderately biased toward this oil—you’d be hard pressed to find any product that’s a whole lot more rooted in family and national history than this. The family—formally known as the House of Alvarez de Toledo— has been a fixture in Spanish history for something like ten centuries. Best I can tell quality and care have been a part of most everything they seem to have done for hundreds of years now, and this oil is no exception.

The Valdueza oil is very well made. No defects, long finish, good complexity. It’s made from a unique blend of four different varietals that grow on the farm. Hojiblanca and Picual are standard varietals from southern Spain and are not uncommon out west either. The former brings a soft, warm, nutty butteriness; the latter offers hints of artichoke, green asparagus, a bit of earthiness and a touch of black pepper in the finish. Arbequina arrived in the region only recently, planted for its good yields and round soft flavor. In Extremadura, at least on the family farm, it tastes a bit different from what I’ve experienced in Catalonia (where it typically comes from): less appley, more olivey. Most interesting to me, though, is the oil from the Morisca olives, which are unique to the area, offering a fair bit of pepper and interesting fruit, almost apricot in a way, with a touch of green grass and green tomato in there too.

For those of you who follow these things (and there are many!), I’d put the flavor profile of the finished oil in about the middle of the range—less green than the Tuscans, less earthy than most southern Spanish Picuals. This past autumn the weather was very dry—not great for yields, but generally, in my experience, very good for the flavor of the oil. As is true of all these high end, well made oils, there’s a complexity and an elegance (and a commensurate higher cost) that will likely mean you’ll want to use it for finishing—at the table drizzled on great greens from the market, on top of a bit of roasted meat or vegetables. During my visit a few years ago we had lunch at the family hunting house where they served us an entire meal in which the oil was featured in every dish. The highlight for me was the potatoes, tossed with a lot of the oil and a bit of salt, then roasted at high heat ‘til they had a bit of a golden brown crust and a whole lot of flavor. The more I eat this oil, the more I like it, and I should add that with its distinctive pale blue label and elegant bottle, the Valdueza oil makes a pretty marvelous gift too.

This post is part of a series of Ari’s Best Foods of 2011.