Aaron Isaacson is a strange man. It’s not just the bizarre waxed moustache, which juts out from above his lip like a kind of spice-sniffing antenna, nor the oversized bald head on which it is the most prominent feature. Even more odd is his ardor for spices, about which he rhapsodizes, with a kind of fanatical abandon, to everyone he meets.
“Spice is the magic of food,” he said. “If you can’t use them, you can’t cook, and if you can’t cook, you can’t eat.” He calls himself Mr. Recipe and is, by nearly all accounts, the city’s top spice importer. His business, strictly speaking, amounts to selling seasonings to the city’s top chefs. Read More