Some two years ago, my mother had cuttings planted that she said bore pods of the most vivid red. Now she insisted we drop by the farm so she could show us. They were hard to miss: a long row of shrubs loaded with what looked from afar like ripe rambutan fruit. It was only when the caretaker mentioned that the pods contained seeds used to color food did it dawn on me that I was looking at annatto.
Locally known as achuete, the annatto plant is apparently quite common in the Philippines, although this was the first time I came across it. Its seeds impart the distinctive color to dishes like kare-kare (ox-tail stew), Bacolod-style chicken inasal, and the Filipino version of paella, where they take the place of the outrageously expensive saffron (albeit a poor substitute, it has to be said, because annatto does not have saffron’s distinctive fragrance). Fresh in their pod, though, the seeds exude a mildly peppery aroma. By the time they are harvested, they will have dried out and darkened within their pod.
Originally from South America, annatto likely reached the Philippines via the Acapulco-Manila galleon trade. Aside from coloring food, the seeds were also used by some native American tribes in ritual or decorative body painting, as a sunscreen, and to repel insects. One of our staff recalled that he used to rub the seeds into his hair as a kid. It sounded cooler than Lola Nena’s Bigen.
Like turmeric, annatto leaves stubborn stains, which is why I prefer to use the powdered form. As for flavor, I have now tasted annatto both fresh and dried, and can say there is none. Next up, some (not-quite familiar) recipes featuring this colorful spice straight out of the pod.
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