San Francisco Magazine
January 2010
Among citrus fruits, bergamot is an oddity. Though its presence is common—bergamot is found in many perfumes, and it’s an essential ingredient in Earl Grey tea—it’s rare to find the fruit in its natural form. Only in the last few years has fresh bergamot become available, and this, it turns out, is the fruit’s most exciting incarnation.
The rind gives bergamot its familiar, elegant aroma. When zested, it smells like grapefruit layered with notes of white pepper and dust, reminiscent of the musty formality of a stately home. But the most thrilling part of fresh bergamot is the juice—it is bracingly, ferociously sour, similar to that of the Seville orange. In fact, the flavor is so intense that if you use a juicer, it’s important to press the fruit gently, without squeezing the rind too much, or the juice will be excessively bitter.
The origin of bergamot is somewhat murky, but its main growing area is Calabria, Italy, where it has flourished for hundreds of years and plays a central role in the region’s economy and identity. Almost all of crop there is processed into essential oil, which is used to make both perfumes and tea. Although bergamot grows in other parts of the world, the Calabrian trees—some of which have been imported to California—produce the best fruit.
Locally grown bergamot is not easy to come by, but I recently bought a delicious version from De Santis Farm at the Marin Farmers’ Market. Rosa De Santis and her husband, Matteo, moved to California from the East Coast in 1982. A third-generation farmer from Italy, Matteo fell in love with California on a visit in the early 1970s. He traveled here so frequently that Rosa finally told him he needed to make a decision about where he wanted to live. “California,” he said. “Then I won’t have to shovel snow.”
The couple bought a 70-acre farm east of Fresno, where they started growing grapes, followed closely by citrus, almonds, and avocados. They planted many of the citrus varieties they knew from Italy, including bergamot trees six years ago. Because it takes three to five years for the trees to bear fruit, they are just now start-ing to produce enough to bring to market.
“No one knows what it is, or what to do with it,” laughs Rosa when I ask about customer response to bergamot. She tells patrons what she learned from her grandmother in Italy: She boils the fruit—either cut pieces, or just the rind—for 10 to 15 minutes and strains the liquid to make bergamot tea. The grated zest and juice can be used to flavor baked goods, like cakes and cookies. In most recipes, the zest makes an intriguing replacement for other citrus.
Bergamot is terrific in both alcoholic and nonalcoholic drinks. Try mixing a little bit of juice, some steeped Earl Grey tea, sugar, and vodka for a lively cocktail. To dress up a more traditional drink, infuse the peel into gin or vodka, then use that to make a martini. For a grown-up lemonade, combine a little bergamot and lemon juice with sugar and sparkling water.
But as Pim Techamuanvivit, author of The Foodie Handbook and the blog Chez Pim, points out, bergamot is not an exact substitute for any other citrus. “It is extremely sour, so its juice can’t be reduced, like other varieties’ can,” she says. Techamuanvivit, who has started making a line of confitures, found that bergamot is too bitter to make a pleasant marmalade on its own—but it is won-derful blended with other fruit, where it serves almost as a seasoning or an accent note (similar to the way in which perfumers use it).
Techamuanvivit uses bergamot to make fruit syrups and sodas, and sometimes she adds a little juice to enliven simple vinaigrettes. She also stirs the zest into cold soba noodles with ponzu sauce. But it’s her made-leines, which use both the juice and the zest, that are revelatory. Sweet, buttery, and light, the tender crumb is laced with the distinctive, penetrating aroma of ber-gamot that’s both familiar and strange, like the fruit itself.
