Why True Vanilla Is Worth the Splurge
Behind every fragrant pod are centuries of craft and a spectrum of flavor—from floral and fruity to smoky and rich—that no imitation can match.
This piece originally appeared in SAVEUR’s Fall/Winter 2025 issue. See more stories from Issue 205.
Vanilla is a pantry staple, yet few realize each bean tells a centuries-old tale. Cultivated in places as geographically scattered as Madagascar, Mexico, and the United States (an emerging player), the plant requires a precise balance of temperature, humidity, and shade to thrive. Those environmental demands may limit yields, but they result in a remarkable diversity of flavors, ranging from floral to piquant to smoky.
Most “vanilla” today is, in fact, imitation vanillin, cheap and lacking depth. True vanilla, like wine or coffee, reflects its terroir. The vanilla orchid, native to the lush forests of Mexico and Central America, has deep Indigenous roots. The Totonacs likely first planted it for use in perfume and medicine, and the Aztecs later added the ingredient to cacahuatl, the chile-laced ancestor of hot chocolate.
In the 1500s, Spanish colonizers brought vanilla to Europe, where its flavor—especially in hot chocolate—quickly gained popularity. By the 1700s, the French, British, and Dutch had established vanilla plantations in their colonies. Queen Elizabeth I championed it, and Thomas Jefferson included it in his handwritten ice cream recipe, housed at the Library of Congress.Vanilla’s global appeal still shapes how the spice is grown and sold today. The two main types—Bourbon (Vanilla planifolia) and Tahitian (Vanilla tahitensis)—are classified by species and origin. The Mexican variety, though also from Bourbon-producing planifolia, is prized for its clove and nutmeg notes that balance heat and acidity. Tahitian and Hawaiian vanillas are fruity and floral, ideal for cold desserts, while creamy Ugandan and smoky Indonesian beans stand out for their heat resistance and single-origin cachet. And that’s just skimming the surface.
Mexico led the market for centuries, thanks to its native melipona bee, which evolved to pollinate the plant. But in the 1840s, a scientific breakthrough in hand-pollination by Edmond Albius, a 12-year-old enslaved boy in Île Bourbon (now French-owned Réunion), enabled large-scale production off the eastern coast of Africa, broadening the crop’s geographic reach—and flavor possibilities.
Vanilla is still grown on Réunion today, but Madagascar is now the world’s top producer, known for its bold, caramelly Bourbon beans. The crop there is increasingly threatened by the climate crisis, with rising temperatures, erratic rainfall, and cyclones endangering both the plants and the livelihoods of small-scale farmers. Now more than ever—as the market fills with “pseudo-varietal” products made using beans engineered to mimic origin-specific flavors—it’s crucial to know your source, and to choose high-quality, ethically cultivated vanilla from generations-old communities.
Choose Your Fighter
Beans are pure vanilla, cured and bursting with fragrant seeds. New York City pastry chef Lauren Schofield keeps a stash of them for whenever she wants their flavor to “stand out on its own.” Scrape the seeds into custards and ice creams, and steep the pods in syrups or crème anglaise.
This is your everyday workhorse. Made by soaking beans in alcohol or plant-based glycerin, it takes well to dishes from cakes to curries. Cookbook author Samantha Seneviratne uses the liquid in “most everything” she bakes. “It’s beautiful on its own and enhances other flavors,” she says. Her tip? Always double what the recipe calls for.
A blend of extract, seeds, and thickener, vanilla paste is a convenient alternative to whole beans. Executive pastry chef Sofia Tejeda of Winnetu Oceanside Resort in Edgartown, Massachusetts, prefers this scoopable format, noting the visible seeds signal “superior quality.”
Powder from dehydrated pods is the only truly dry vanilla, making it ideal for adding to spice rubs and baking mixes. Swirl it into salted butter for topping roasted winter squash or sweet potatoes for a riff on Mexican camote enmielado.
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