What do cashews taste like?

Answer 1

it is like a bitter taste, more of an instiguated taste. I would recomend it if you like meat, but i prefer normal chicken

Answer 2

Nuts.

Answer 3

Maybe you're an aging speed freak, too paranoid and out-of-touch to score the hard stuff anymore. Maybe you're a khaki preppy looking for an alternative to espresso. Maybe you're the hippie type, optimistically attracted to a multicultural lift. Or maybe you just like to salivate.

However you kick it, betel is the ticket.

According to the earnest Encyclopedia Britannica, this exotic stimulant drug is chewed habitually by some 10 percent of the world's population, almost entirely in southern Asia and the Pacific. That puts it right up there with the big guys like alcohol, tobacco and caffeine. But in America, chances are, you'll be the only person on the block who's chewing.

And what if you want to read up on the subject? First-hand accounts of betel chewing in English are virtually nonexistent. At the library, you'll find occasional reference to it in anthropology texts, but only as a quaint Asian social custom, never as a testimonial. If you dig through a couple of decades of British medical journals, you might come across a molecular diagram or two. Even an acknowledged scholar of drug literature, like book dealer and archivist Michael Horowitz of Flashback Books in Petaluma, CA, will disappoint you: "I know of no books or pamphlets on the subject."

Lucky for you, I've done my homework.

I was introduced to betel chewing six years ago in a bookshop in San Francisco's Mission district. My instructor was a cynical young bohemian type, prematurely returned from a visit to India. Dysentery had cut short his trip, and he was back looking skinnier and more world-weary than ever - with a newly acquired masticatory habit. I was intrigued by the decorative red can he pulled out of his coat, and frankly impressed by the practiced cool with which he packed a handful of powdery nuggets into his cheek. The words "betel nut" rang a bell for me; somewhere I had heard that betel was chewed by Indonesian truck drivers to keep themselves alert on long hauls. If it's good enough for Indonesian truckers, I thought, it's good enough for me.

And it was.

Regarding betel terminology: it is misleading to say that betel is "chewed;" more properly, it is sucked. Like chewing tobacco, betel is inserted "between the cheek and gum" and left there to soak, sometimes for hours. Furthermore, the generic term "betel nut" is technically a misnomer. What betel chewers put in their mouths is primarily areca nut, sometimes wrapped in betel leaf, with mineral lime usually added as a catalyst. These three ingredients are often supplemented by additions of spices, candy, or tobacco, but don't be deceived by cosmetics: it's the nut-leaf-lime mixture that delivers the magic.

Now let's do a little natural science.

Areca nut is the seed of the tall, slender areca palm (areca catechu), native to the fringes of the Indian and west Pacific Oceans. With its husk off, the nut is a little smaller than a walnut. It is solid throughout, has a marbleized grain, and is as hard as a knot in a pine board. Its active principle is the alkaloid arecoline. In pharmacological terms, arecoline stimulates the parasympathetic nervous system, resulting in a contraction of the pupils and an increased secretion of tears and saliva. (The latter is especially encouraged by areca, as is evident from this description of an early 20th-century experiment in which a horse was injected with pure arecoline: "...the saliva gushes forth from the animal's mouth in a solid stream." [Erich Hesse, Narcotics and Drug Addiction])

The areca's sister in crime, betel leaf, comes from a tree-climbing vine (piper betle) of the pepper family. The shiny green leaf is heart-shaped, and about the size of the palm of your hand. Its essential oil contains a phenol (betel-phenol) similar to the aromatic eugenol found in the oil of cloves. Betel-phenol probably contributes stimulant properties of its own, but scant information is available on its pharmacology.

Like the coca-chewers of the Andes, betel users somehow discovered that the addition of lime helps to extract the vital essence of the plants into the saliva (and from there, of course, through the mucous membranes of the mouth and straight into the bloodstream). The catalytic lime is either powder (calcium oxide) or paste (calcium hydroxide). In either case, it is typically made from kiln-baked seashells.

How these three substances were ever married together as one drug is a question whose answer is lost in prehistory. Archeological evidence from Thailand, Indonesia and the Philippines suggests that they have been used in tandem for four thousand years or more.

If you look for betel in America, you'll probably find it in one of three different forms: fresh betel quid, betel mukwas, and pan masala. (Presumably there are other varieties in Asia, but for the present study, let's concern ourselves only with what's available at the local Indian spice shop.) The traditional form, betel quid, consists of chopped areca nut, lime paste, and various spices, folded up neatly inside a betel leaf. The quid resembles a Greek dolma, only bigger, and it makes for an awkward fit inside your cheek. Size notwithstanding, a fresh quid is betel in its most charming and potent form. Although it is no doubt the preferred method of betel consumption in Asia, the fresh stuff is not often available in the US.

Anyone who's ever dined at an Indian restaurant is familiar with mukwas: the bowl of anise-flavored seeds and candy placed by the door as an after-dinner treat. Betel mukwas is just what you would expect: mukwas mixed with chopped areca nuts. It is a pleasant dessert chew, but a little too sweet for regular consumption. Like the fresh quids, betel mukwas is made by hand, and is only rarely seen at the local market.

Most commonly, those of us outside Asia must make do with canned, processed areca - the instant coffee of betel chewing. Known as "pan masala" (betel mix) in India, this form of betel consists of pebbly little bits of areca nut dusted with powdered betel leaf and lime, and usually flavored strongly with menthol. Commercially manufactured pan masala is readily available at Asian food shops, where numerous brands are sold in brightly-colored tins, or packaged like condoms in belts of single-serving foil packets. Pan masala lacks a lot of the charm and a little of the punch of the fresh stuff, but it still does the trick.

What is it like to chew betel? Enthusiasts recognize three delightful aspects of the experience: the exhilarating lift; the mysterious flavor; and the cleansing, compelling salivation.

In the rare instances where scholarly literature mentions its subjective effects, the news about betel is uniformly good: "It imparts the... repeatedly described sensation of well-being, good humor, excitation, and comfort...The consciousness, of course, remains unimpaired, and the chewer's capacity for work is in no respect affected." (Hesse). "It creates a feeling of energy, appeases hunger and assuages pain." (Henry Brownrigg, Betel Cutters from the Samuel Eilenberg Collection).

These authors don't lie: betel makes you feel strong. Your chest feels broader, your inhalations deeper, your back straighter; and an almost electric invigoration seems to run through your bones. This is a good, healthful, and positive sensation.

On the other hand, some first-time users claim to experience no stimulant effect whatsoever; but they are probably expecting too much. Betel is not an amphetamine, after all. It is a complex of dilute plant alkaloids absorbed slowly through the mucous membranes of the mouth. The result is subtle and "natural," and offers none of that teeth-clenching, palm-sweating, eye-bugging overstimulation so familiar to users of stronger drugs. Betel is less jarring than espresso, and it never leaves you feeling "jangled."

How long-lasting is this lift? Because the feeling is a relatively subtle one, and because it wears off so gently, there is never a distinguishable moment of now-I'm-up/now I'm not. But it would be fair to estimate that betel has a duration comparable to that of caffeine. A morning chew will usually have worn off by mid-afternoon.

Betel, or specifically areca, is an acquired taste; but for those who have acquired it, the flavor is darkly fascinating. Behind the spices, candy, or menthol, the primary essence always comes through. It is spicy, though not hot-spicy like cinnamon or ginger. It is tannic, but without sourness. It is sweet, though in no way is it sugary. It is a little reminiscent of chocolate, and a little reminiscent of dirt. But these contradictions all fall miserably short. One betel novice, yet to be won over by the habit, says sneeringly that it reminds her of chewing incense. Above all, the flavor of betel is exotic; and maybe it's best left at that.

The most unusual (and visible) aspect of betel chewing is its effect on the salivary glands. You don't just salivate, you pour; and the saliva emerges from your mouth tinted a deep brick red. It is not at all uncommon to spit four fluid ounces of "betel juice" in a single session. And spit it you must; swallowing is not recommended, since it may cause an undesirable sensation of heartburn.

Perverse as it may sound, betel-drooling is quite pleasurable indeed. There is an almost orgasmic satisfaction to be found in the experience of saliva-ducts open to full throttle. Delicious above all is the aftermath: when the chew is finished, your mouth is left astonishingly fresh and sweet. You feel uniquely cleansed, drained, and purified.

Despite its charm for the initiated, however, this saliva-rush is probably the greatest obstacle to betel's acceptance in the West. Salivation is just too "primitive" for the sanitized First World. Travelers to India are frequently shocked by the red splotches that cover the streets and sidewalks; clearly this secretory excess strikes many Westerners as not just unaesthetic, but downright filthy. But how do those sidewalks really differ from our own, studded as they are with flattened gray globs of chewing gum? At least betel spit doesn't stick to the sole of your shoe.

No discussion of an exotic drug would be complete without some consideration of its potential dangers. In the case of betel, the most commonly-voiced concern is a cosmetic one: the issue of teeth blackening. The few Americans who have ever heard of betel ask almost invariably, "Oh, isn't that the stuff that turns your teeth black?" From all available evidence, the reassuring answer is that it won't happen to you - as long as you remember to brush your teeth once or twice a day. Apparently, the concern about teeth-blackening stems from the fact that Western-style dental hygiene is looked upon as a silly pretension in certain betel-chewing cultures of Southeast Asia. In these cultures, not surprisingly, older people's teeth do stink and turn black. Whether this is the result of betel build-up or just general decay is hardly relevant to an American with a toothbrush.

Then there's the more serious accusation brought to bear by the US Food & Drug Administration: that betel contains "a poisonous or deleterious substance [arecoline]" and that habitual chewing may be linked to oral carcinoma. Despite its authoritative tone, the FDA does not provide any medical data to support its allegations, and an examination of the available literature indicates that no conclusive studies have been carried out. Hardly half-a-dozen articles on betel chewing, areca, or the alkaloid arecoline have been listed in the Index Medicus during the past 15 years, and none offers compelling cause-and-effect evidence of a connection between betel chewing and cancer.

Some medical authorities even contradict the FDA. Dr. B.G. Burton-Bradley wrote in The Lancet that "Betel chewing is practised daily by no less than 200 million people, the vast majority of whom do not have oral carcinoma;" German pharmacologist Hesse stated that, "Chronic excesses [of betel] do not cause any permanent health disorders;" and Sushruta, the "father of Indian medicine," went so far as to claim in the first century AD that betel "acts as a general safeguard against disease."

And what about dependence? Sad to say, almost every source makes mention of the addictive nature of betel. If a persistent craving defines an addiction, then even personal experience confirms this. But as addictions go, betel is not a very cruel one. Nowhere will you find a description of physical withdrawal symptoms, and it appears that as soon as the user's supply is cut off, his urge for betel simply dwindles away. The contrast to a popular American addiction is telling: often I go months without chewing betel, but I never go a morning without caffeine.

The romantic soul's attraction to things exotic may be as irrational as the suspicion of the xenophobe; in either case, the mysterious unknown exerts its influence. But given the choice, it is surely more noble to be pulled than pushed. Happily for us travelers who have never visited Asia geographically, it is possible to experience it a little - from the inside out. Betel will thrill through you like the breezes of the Indian ocean.

I rarely see the fellow who introduced me to betel chewing; it's been years, in fact. But the last time we crossed paths, a funny thing happened. On a crowded bus, separated by ten rows of seats and an aisle full of noisy passengers, we smiled at each other. His cheek was bulging a little. Knowing I would understand, he held up a bright red can; and I, acknowledging the gesture, held up a blue and yellow can - two different brands on the same bus.

Answer 4

Walnuts have a buttery taste. They are not salty but not sweet either.

Answer 5

A pistachio's taste depends if it's roasted or not and the seasoning also adds to the flavor. If it's roasted and salted the shell tastes salty and the nus tastes.....well it's like a peanut

Answer 6

walnuts have a dry after taste, they also have a crunchy and lumpy texture. :) byee