Latest / Style Room: Fashion, beauty & personal style / The Joy of Finding a New Spice at the Grocer | Style Room
Transcript
- You know that moment when you’re standing in the fluorescent hum of the spice aisle, and your hand just stops? It’s not about what you need for dinner tonight. It’s about the tiny glass jar holding a promise of something you’ve never tasted. I want you to close your eyes for a second. Picture that aisle. The one usually tucked away in the back corner or squeezed between the baking supplies and the international foods section. It’s easy to walk past it on autopilot, right? We grab the same old salt, maybe the black pepper we always buy, and sometimes paprika if we’re feeling adventurous. But today, I want you to slow down. I want you to actually look. Because there is a specific kind of magic in discovering a new spice. It’s not just about flavor. It’s about possibility. When I was growing up in the Midwest, my kitchen was a place of comfort, but it wasn’t exactly a laboratory. My mom cooked with what worked. If it was in the pantry, it went in the pot. But as I moved to New York, then eventually here to Brooklyn, I started to see the spice rack differently. I realized it wasn’t just a collection of dried plants. It was a library of global history, of trade routes, of cultures that had been woven together through smell and taste. And every time I find a jar I don’t recognize, I feel like I’m holding a key to a room I haven’t visited yet. Let’s unpack that. Why does this matter? Why should a woman who has spent her entire day working, parenting, managing, worrying care about buying cardamom or sumac or za’atar? Because it’s a small rebellion against the mundane. It’s a way of saying, 'I am still curious. I am still open to wonder.' In a life that often feels dictated by lists and deadlines, picking out a new spice is an act of pure, unadulterated joy. It’s free. It takes ten seconds. And it changes everything. Let’s talk about the senses. Really talk about them. We live in a world that is so visual. Instagram, TikTok, fashion blogs—it’s all about how things look. But spices are primarily about smell and taste. They bypass the logical brain and go straight to the memory center. That’s why a whiff of cinnamon can instantly transport you to Christmas morning, or why the scent of cumin might remind you of a summer evening in Marrakech. When you pick up a jar of saffron, those threads aren’t just red fibers. They are labor-intensive, hand-picked stigmas from crocus flowers. You are holding the value of hours of human effort. When you crush it between your fingers and let that metallic, honey-like aroma rise, you are engaging with that history. This is what I mean when I say style isn’t just about clothes. It’s about how you engage with the world around you. Your kitchen is your studio. Your ingredients are your palette. If you only use the primary colors—salt, pepper, garlic powder—you’re playing it safe. But add turmeric, and suddenly you have gold. Add chili flakes, and you have fire. Add smoked paprika, and you have depth. It’s about texture, too. Think about the difference between pre-ground cumin and whole cumin seeds. Pre-ground is convenient, yes. But whole seeds have a life to them. You toast them in a dry pan until they pop and release their essential oils. The sound is a tiny crackle, a whisper. The smell fills the kitchen before the food even hits the pan. It’s an invitation. It tells your household, 'Something special is happening here.' It shifts the energy of the room. You’re not just heating up leftovers. You’re creating an experience. And that matters, especially on days when you feel like you’re just surviving rather than living. There’s a psychological concept called 'novelty seeking,' and it’s crucial for our mental health as we age. As we get older, routine becomes our friend because it’s efficient. But routine can also become a cage. When you stick to the same recipes, the same meals, the same flavors week after week, your brain stops paying attention. You go into a kind of culinary sleepwalking. Discovering a new spice wakes you up. It forces your brain to process new information. You have to learn how to use it. You have to figure out what pairs well with it. Maybe you try adding star anise to your apple pie, and it’s a disaster. Or maybe it’s a revelation. Either way, you are learning. You are adapting. This ties back to what we talked about in the episode on restoring that old bicycle. Remember how we said that patina adds character and purpose? Spices are similar. They bring character to the ordinary. They add layers to your daily existence. When I was an editorial assistant in NYC, I used to rush through lunch. I’d grab a sandwich and eat it at my desk while answering emails. I didn’t taste anything. I was just fueling the machine. But now, running my own consultancy, I make time for the ritual. I’ll go to the grocer, find a jar of ras el hanout—a North African blend that means 'top of the shop'—and come home to experiment. I might roast chickpeas with it. Or stir it into yogurt. It doesn’t have to be complicated. It just has to be new. That novelty sparks creativity. And creativity isn’t just for artists. It’s for everyone. It keeps us young. It keeps us engaged. So, the next time you’re at the store, don’t just grab the familiar. Pick up the unknown. Hold the jar. Read the label. Imagine the dish you could create. Feel the shift in your own spirit. That’s the power of a little jar of dust. Now, let’s get practical for a moment. In a culture obsessed with fast fashion and fast food, spices offer a lesson in sustainability and slowness. Most spices last for years. A jar of coriander won’t go bad in a month. It will stay potent for two, three, even five years if stored correctly. This is the opposite of the trend cycle. Trends change every six weeks. But cumin is eternal. By investing in quality spices, you’re reducing waste. You’re not throwing away half-used packets of seasoning mixes that contain fillers and preservatives. You’re buying pure, whole ingredients. This aligns with the values I hold dear in my work as a stylist. Authenticity over adherence to rules. Quality over quantity. When you cook with real spices, you control what goes into your body. No hidden sodium, no artificial colors. Just plant matter, ground and blended. It’s honest food. And honestly, it tastes better. But there’s another layer to this. Buying from specialty grocers or ethnic markets supports local businesses and communities. Often, the people selling these spices have a direct connection to where they were grown. There’s a story behind every batch. When you buy a jar of Aleppo pepper, you’re supporting farmers in Syria. When you choose fair-trade vanilla, you’re supporting growers in Madagascar. It’s a small transaction, but it has ripple effects. It connects you to the global economy in a tangible way. You’re not just a consumer; you’re a participant in a larger system. This mindfulness extends to your wardrobe, too. When you buy one good coat instead of three cheap ones, you’re making a statement. When you buy one good spice instead of ten generic ones, you’re doing the same. It’s about intentionality. It’s about choosing to invest in things that last, things that matter, things that bring genuine pleasure rather than fleeting satisfaction. Dress for the life you’re building, and cook for the life you’re savoring. I know what some of you are thinking. 'Gabriella, I’m not a chef. I burn toast. How am I supposed to use fenugreek?' And I hear you. The fear of messing up a meal is real. We’ve all had those moments where we added too much cayenne and ruined a perfectly good stew. Or bought a spice we didn’t understand and ended up tossing it in the trash. But here’s the thing: failure in the kitchen is part of the fun. It’s not a test. It’s an exploration. Start small. Don’t buy a whole pound of exotic spice. Buy the smallest jar available. Try it in one dish. If it doesn’t work, you’ve lost maybe fifty cents. If it works, you’ve gained a new favorite. I remember my first attempt with cardamom. I thought it tasted like soap. It took me weeks to realize I needed to grind the pods fresh, not use the pre-ground powder. Once I got it right, it changed my mornings. I started putting crushed cardamom in my oatmeal. Now, every time I smell it, I smile. It’s a happy memory attached to a simple habit. So, give yourself permission to be a beginner. Embrace the mess. The beauty of spices is that they are forgiving. A pinch of ginger can wake up a dull soup. A dash of nutmeg can elevate a simple potato mash. You don’t need a degree in culinary arts to play with them. You just need curiosity. And empathy—for yourself. Be kind when you make a mistake. Laugh it off. Order pizza if you have to. Then, tomorrow, try again. That resilience is what makes style, and life, interesting. It’s not about being perfect. It’s about being present. It’s about showing up with an open mind and a willing heart. Whether you’re trying on a vintage jacket or tasting a new spice, the goal is connection. Connection to the object, to the process, and to yourself. So, here is your challenge for this week. Not a diet plan, not a workout routine. A sensory challenge. Go to the grocer. Any grocer. Walk to the spice aisle. Put away your phone. Look at the jars. Which one calls to you? Is it the bright orange of turmeric? The deep brown of cloves? The greenish-grey of sumac? Pick one. Just one. Bring it home. Open it. Smell it. Taste a tiny bit on your tongue. Notice the texture. Then, use it. Add it to something you already love. Put a pinch of it in your coffee. Sprinkle it on your avocado toast. Mix it into your salad dressing. See how it changes the flavor profile. Pay attention. Did it add heat? Sweetness? Earthiness? Bitterness? This is your education. This is your joy. And when you find that perfect match, when you discover that a certain spice makes your Tuesday night pasta sing, you’ll feel a spark. That spark is yours. It’s a reminder that you have agency. You can change the taste of your day with a few grams of powder. You can transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. This is the essence of Style Room. It’s not about following rules. It’s about finding your own rhythm. It’s about curating a life that feels rich and full, even in the small moments. So, go find that jar. Hold it in your hand. Feel the weight of it. And let it remind you that there is always something new to discover. Always a new flavor waiting to be unlocked. Always a reason to smile. Thank you for listening. Thank you for letting me into your space. I hope you feel a little lighter, a little more curious, and a lot more ready to explore. Until next time, keep your senses sharp and your palate open. Take care of yourselves, beauties. Go find something delicious. I’ll see you in the next one.