But before we go there, we need to talk about “the wad.” So today, I want to share some ideas for preparing and serving honeycomb. Worse, they don’t seem to know what to do with it in the kitchen. Oddly, beekeepers often dismiss comb honey before they start, thinking it is somehow difficult, complicated, or too much trouble. Photo © Phillip Cairns, Honey in the kitchen All the cells are thin, the cappings are clean and white, and the cells are full. This beautiful comb honey was professionally produced and presented. When I want to sell honey in the comb, it disappears so fast it’s not worth setting up a table. ![]() On the rare occasion when I want some extracted honey for a recipe, I mash some cells with a fork. Centrifugal extractors not only mix the honey, but aerate it by flinging it through the air before it splats on the cylinder wall, accelerating oxidation and diminishing the flavor even more. A shortage of great comb honey is the sole reason I became a beekeeper, and I have never - not once in my entire beekeeping career - put a single frame of my honey into an extractor. Yes, I am a comb honey fanatic and make no apologies for it. Savoring honey cell-by-cell and comparing the flavors of cells with different colors is a one-of-a kind adventure, experienced by very few in our modern world where maximum production is the gold standard. The only way to taste the nuanced tang of day-to-day production is to leave the honey in the comb until you’re ready to eat it. Chances are it’s not the same honey that’s packed in the next super or even the next frame. It doesn’t have the same flavor as the honey harvested ten days later, or twenty. The contents were harvested in a relatively short period of time - perhaps only a day - and often the nectar came from a single species, or nearly so. ![]() Each individual cell is a unique flavor packet. If I want nondescript sweetness in a jar, why bother keeping bees? Cell by cellĬomb honey, on the other hand, is a magical experience. Extracted honey reminds me of vegetable soup from a can where the peas, carrots, and potatoes all taste alike except for their shape. Likewise, centrifugal extractors meld honey produced from a variety of flowers, grown in diverse soils, and at different points in the season, into a tedious syrup. This article first appeared in American Bee Journal, Volume 160 No 2, February 2020, pp.
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