I first noticed sumac on that trail in the hydro corridor near my house. It spread down each side of the path, arcing over the top in a canopy that reminded me of pathways from picture books or from the movies, where only dappled sunlight pierces the dense, umbrella-like foliage. With its long, glossy dark leaves and bright clusters of scarlet drupes, paired with the abiding humidity of Toronto’s summers, when you were walking the path you could almost pretend you were somewhere tropical. It felt lush. The sounds of the city disappeared and the sumac transported me somewhere magical. It was a special pathway for me, and I walked it frequently.
Later, as I began to extensively cook Middle Eastern food,sumac entered my life in a new way. It was the purplish hued spice that broughta pleasant tanginess to dishes like mussakhan and fattoush, as well as bringingits tart drumline to that Middle Eastern big band spice blend, za’atar. It isalmost lemony in its tartness, but with a pleasant earthiness that hummed inthe background. I began to use it in almost everything.
And it wasn’t until months later that I made the connection:the sumac I was using in my cooking was the same sumac as what studded thetrees in my tropical pathway.
The sumac that is used in the spice blend is one member of the sumac family (genus, rhus), rhus coriraria or more commonly called European Sumac. What most commonly grows across North America is a close cousin in the sumac family, rhus typhina or more commonly called Staghorn Sumac.
Both grow similar stacks of closely clustered, fuzzy red drupes and, as I began to learn about the Staghorn Sumac that grew around me, I began to learn that it also has a long culinary usage. It grows across most of eastern North America (map below) and Indigenous peoples across those territories have used it in various ways. The fuzzy red drupes and their tangy tartness have been used to make a drink not dissimilar to lemonade and drank for medicinal purposes, as sumac is high in Vitamin C and antioxidants, as well as having antifungal, anti inflammatory, and antiviral properties. The leaves are used as part of a blend of botanicals that included tobacco and were often smoked for ceremonial uses, and the roots and bark have been used as a dye.
As I began to search around, I found a few good sources that had successfully used Staghorn Sumac in place of European Sumac as a spice and I knew I had to try it.
August and September are the prime harvesting months for Staghorn Sumac (though you can continue to harvest as long as the drupes are looking fresh and red), as they are across the ocean around the Mediterranean where European Sumac flourishes. Then, according the book Mouneh: Preserving Foods for the Lebanese Pantry, the drupes are harvested and dried in the sun, once dried they’re put into a large burlap bag or a large mortar called a jurn and beaten with a wooden pestle to beat the ‘fuzz’ from the seeds, and then – using a sieve – the seeds are removed, leaving the ‘fuzz’ which is the part of the sumac that is used as a spice. This is done each year, making enough to last until the next harvest.
It’s best to harvest during a dry spell as the rain washes some of the flavor away, but we’ve had a wet summer and I chose a period of a few dry days strung together to harvest my sumac. I walked along my path, selecting the brightest, fullest looking clusters, clipping them just below the drupe clusters. Back at home, I put them into the dehydrator on a medium heat (135F) for 12 hours or until the drupes could be easily broken off from the main stems. A couple of the clusters looked like they had ‘worm poop’ in the inside, something I learned might be a possibility if the sumac is past its prime, so I only used the clusters without those to avoid that nastiness in my spices.
Once I had removed the individual drupes, I put them in my blender and gave them a gentle blend until the red ‘fuzz’ was removed from the seeds. The seeds are hard enough that they will stay whole even in a high-powered blender like a Vitamix. Then, I used a sieve to separate the ‘fuzz’ from the seeds and little bits of twigs, leaving the ‘fuzz’.
What’s left is a tangy, slightly sticky spice that is a local version of what I have only ever bought in the supermarket. It’s an ingredient that’s indigenous to this place, but also one that’s essential to Middle Eastern cuisine and peoples who now live here. It’s also a memory, for me, of that magical pathway that introduced me to sumac, a particular memory of place and of my time in Toronto.
Harvesting and drying my own sumac is part of embracing the processes and cultures behind the foods I eat and, through this process, I gained a newfound appreciation for the amount of time and work that goes into making a small amount of spice. I also gained an appreciation for both the Indigenous and Middle Eastern elders who passed down their knowledge of the plants around them, their techniques, and the uses they have, because I’m not that kind of person to randomly stick my tongue onto some fuzzy red plants to see if it tastes any good or if it makes me sick or not!
Through this passed down knowledge, and from learning from those willing to share their knowledge with me, I now have a jar of sumac, grown from a magical pathway a few hundred meters from my house, with which to cook delicious food with throughout the year. From a time perspective, it’s much easier and efficient to just buy sumac from the grocery store, but what harvesting your own sumac does is force you to pay attention to the places you’re in, to pay attention to the rhythm of the seasons, and to appreciate the processes and labor behind our food. It’s a small taste of a different economy of food that doesn’t rely on quickness, ease, and cost.
Put the berries through a food processor until the red powder is separated from the seed. Use a colander or strainer to separate the red powder from the seeds. Discard the seeds. A cup of berries will produce maybe 1 to 1 ½ teaspoons of sumac spice.
You can certainly BUY the sumac as a prepackaged spice if that is what you want to do, here is one example of a seller. However, it grows wild here and I’m surrounded by it. This summer weather has been so hot, humid and behind on rain that it is about the only wild edible that is available in my area, and I needed something to do. There are still plenty of fresh seed heads available the remainder of August, so if you are thinking about it, you might want to do it sooner than later.
This was the first batch I did and you can see little flecks of seed hull in there. I tasted a few and they were very bitter, so go easy. Put the grind from the spice grinder into a flour sifter, and then sift over a clean, dry bowl. Do yourself a favor and make sure it has a pour spout.
The key to harvesting it as a fresh spice is to get it when it is ripe, and bright red. I’ve processed it using two methods that are basically the same and got drastically different results. The typhina species (Staghorn) really would make the better of the two species for the spice, but the glabra (Smooth) is what is most abundant around here. I cut the seed heads when they were bright red, the fruits were fleshy and the stems were still green. I didn’t take photos of the processing method that time, but I used the exact same procedure as below. Sorry the photos are bad. I didn’t even realize that there was a smear on my lens until I was putting this together.
If you are working with the fresh sumac, you might want to just use a fine sieve and a spatula. I had problems with the powder getting stuck in the middle screen because it was sticky. I also had problems with the seeds from the dried sumac getting stuck in the middle screen, so if you want to go sieve and spatula either way, it is a viable option.
This is tedious work, make no mistake. I sat on the sofa with a large cutting board in my lap, with a glass bowl and a fork. I used the fork to pop the berries off the stems and into the bowl. When I was working with fresh berries, no matter how hard you tried, you got it on your hands. It was a wet and oily, very tart substance. It doesn’t get on your hands as much when you work with stems that were dried first.
Harvesting and drying my own sumac is part of embracing the processes and cultures behind the foods I eat and, through this process, I gained a newfound appreciation for the amount of time and work that goes into making a small amount of spice. I also gained an appreciation for both the Indigenous and Middle Eastern elders who passed down their knowledge of the plants around them, their techniques, and the uses they have, because I’m not that kind of person to randomly stick my tongue onto some fuzzy red plants to see if it tastes any good or if it makes me sick or not!
Once I had removed the individual drupes, I put them in my blender and gave them a gentle blend until the red ‘fuzz’ was removed from the seeds. The seeds are hard enough that they will stay whole even in a high-powered blender like a Vitamix. Then, I used a sieve to separate the ‘fuzz’ from the seeds and little bits of twigs, leaving the ‘fuzz’.
I first noticed sumac on that trail in the hydro corridor near my house. It spread down each side of the path, arcing over the top in a canopy that reminded me of pathways from picture books or from the movies, where only dappled sunlight pierces the dense, umbrella-like foliage. With its long, glossy dark leaves and bright clusters of scarlet drupes, paired with the abiding humidity of Toronto’s summers, when you were walking the path you could almost pretend you were somewhere tropical. It felt lush. The sounds of the city disappeared and the sumac transported me somewhere magical. It was a special pathway for me, and I walked it frequently.
As I began to search around, I found a few good sources that had successfully used Staghorn Sumac in place of European Sumac as a spice and I knew I had to try it.
It’s best to harvest during a dry spell as the rain washes some of the flavor away, but we’ve had a wet summer and I chose a period of a few dry days strung together to harvest my sumac. I walked along my path, selecting the brightest, fullest looking clusters, clipping them just below the drupe clusters. Back at home, I put them into the dehydrator on a medium heat (135F) for 12 hours or until the drupes could be easily broken off from the main stems. A couple of the clusters looked like they had ‘worm poop’ in the inside, something I learned might be a possibility if the sumac is past its prime, so I only used the clusters without those to avoid that nastiness in my spices.
The TANGY Spice That Makes Everything Taste Better
FAQ
What can I use instead of sumac spice?
What are the ingredients in sumac seasoning?
How do you get sumac?
Can you use sumac as a seasoning?
Do use sumac as a garnish as well as a seasoning. Sumac’s bright red color makes it an attractive addition to pale dishes. It can be used in the same way that paprika is used: to provide that final touch of bright color. Do feel free to add sumac to your food right at the table. This is actually a traditional use for the spice.
Can sumac berries be used as a spice?
Sumac berries can be used either whole or ground into a spice. The ingredient’s prevalence in Middle Eastern and Mediterranean cooking illustrates how versatile it really is. In the Mediterranean, sumac berries are traditionally dried and ground into a powder for seasoning or garnishing a number of dishes.
Where does sumac come from?
Sumac comes from the Arabic “summaq,” which means “dark red.” It is a crimson red, astringent spice popular in Middle Eastern cooking. It’s made from the berry fruit of the Rhus Coriaria shrub, which were originally grown in parts of the Mediterranean basin, then spread to Europe.
What does sumac taste like?
Sumac is a spice popular in Middle Eastern cooking. Sumac provides a rich red color but also a sour note similar to how a lemon adds a sour flavor. The Sumac spice comes from the plant sumac ( Rhus coriaria ). The name sumac literally means red.