Not-so-simple Addition

Some readers know from last winter that I like to hybridize Hippeastrum, a flowering bulb I grow as a houseplant. One might ask why I indulge in this hobby; hybridizing is nit-picky, time-consuming and patience-testing. Hippeastrum are fairly easy to hybridize, but, partly because of the ease with which they can be led to mingle with each other, most commercially available plants are complex hybrids. (A hybrid is a cross between one species and another species. A complex hybrid is a cross between one species and a hybrid, or a cross between two hybrids.) In complex hybrids, the expression of recessive traits can really surprise a hybridizer.

Four years ago I made a cross that I felt sure would result in red flowers, some with a doubled petal count. The seedlings are blooming for the first time now: pink and orange, single flowers.  I don't know why this happened. 

That's one of the main reasons I like to raise my own hybrids. I know enough about genetics that I'm usually not too surprised. When I am, though, I learn. A lot. About Hippeastrum, about genetics, about my expectations and about the nature of surprise itself. There's also something to learn, here, about addition, the mathematical task so often billed as "simple" but so rarely actually so. Add one thing to another and you get--often enough--a whole very different from the sum of its parts. That is one of the greatest joys of hybridizing

And cooking. Here, too, I know enough that I'm not usually surprised. But, every once in a while, I add one ingredient to another and get something totally unexpected.

Last week I wanted to put together a type of achaar (pickle) made with mixed vegetables, spices,* oil and lemon juice. There are traditional combinations of vegetables, but sometimes I improvise. (It's the hybridizer in me.) I've been doing this for a while, and I know that some combinations make for a good surprise, some, a less-satisfying culinary experience. This time, I used carrots and red bell pepper to balance the green chili pepper, and cucumber to augment the cauliflower. All went as predicted, on that level of "hybridizing."

I was almost done with the project when I realized I didn't have lemon. I can improvise, but I cannot get my mind around achaar without fresh lemon juice. I had a meyer lemon, a sweeter-than-your-typical-lemon hybrid between your-typical-lemon and some kind of orange. My trepidation--achaar needs sourness--was outweighed by my disinclination to schlep to the store in arctic weather. I added the meyer lemon to my complex-hybrid of a pickle.

I can't really describe what this change did to the taste of the pickle, but whatever happened was good. Very good. Next time, I'm going to use meyer lemon again and see if the same thing happens. It might--or might not. You never can tell, with complex hybrids.

I'll leave you with two things:

(1) A complex-hybrid of a song, which some might call "third-wave ska." Ska originated in Jamaica, its first wave already a complex hybrid of both music genres and cultures. It spread to the UK in its so-called second wave (two-tone), a further hybridization of sounds and cultures. Third wave ska exhibits the genre's most dominant trait, a guitar chop on the upbeat, crossed again with different genres, languages and cultures--sometimes with surprising results.

(2) A thought that this complex-hybrid-surprise business happens everywhere, all the time, and not just with genes, sounds and flavors. Ever notice how our personalities change slightly, depending on who we're interacting with or the setting we're interacting in? Different interactions--different additions of people and places--elicit different aspects of our personality. While we can sometimes predict these changes, sometimes there's a real surprise. You just never know--but, sometimes the surprise is quite wonderful.

Let me know what happens if you add (1) and (2) together as an exercise of "simple" addition.

* dry-roasted and ground brown mustard, cumin, fenugreek, cardamom seeds, plus turmeric, cayenne pepper, ginger, asafoetida and salt. Ask me for the recipe if you're curious.