In the Tropics, Cooking With Razzle-Dazzle HERE'S something we learned from years of traveling in the tropics: Big flavor doesn't require big effort. Sure, if you want delicate, nuanced shadings of flavor, then the labor-intensive creations of classic European cuisines are probably for you. But if you want deep, explosive flavor without much work, look to the hot-weather regions of the world. Because the ways flavors are developed in these two regions are diametrically opposed. Most French-derived cooking employs what might be called the architectural model of building flavors, in which many individual flavors are combined to create a single new taste. So to make a classic French sauce, for example, you spend hours simmering bones to create a stock, then devote more time to reducing that stock, then infuse new flavors into it. Then you might deglaze a pan with that mixture, perhaps reduce it once more, and finish it with a big hunk of butter. The result of all this labor is a kind of flavor pyramid, with a single, well-blended, subtle, intricate representation of flavor resting on a huge foundation. Lovely, yes, but do you really want to do all this? Well, maybe in the dead of winter, when spending all day by the stove seems like a good idea. But it's nearly summer. So consider instead the way flavors are deployed in warm-weather cooking. We like to call this the geographic model of flavor, in which each taste is laid out individually rather than combined with others. Think about a Latin salsa. Making it couldn't be easier: chop up some tomatoes along with chiles and onions, add a little cumin and a handful of cilantro, squeeze in a couple of limes, and you're done. Then take a bite. Instead of a long, smooth ride on a single flavor, you experience waves of taste - the tart-sweet of the tomatoes, the pungency of the lime, the earthy spiciness of the cumin, the heat of the chiles, the aromatics of the cilantro - coming at you in quick succession. When it's properly done, each of these competing flavors underscores and balances the others. This dynamic is found not just in Latin American salsas, but also in India's chutneys, Southeast Asian sambals and even the fresh relishes of the American South. Grilling, the cooking method of choice in most tropical cuisines, adds another element to the geographic flavor profile. Since cooking over a live fire gives food a distinctive element of smoky, charred taste, it further mediates against any attempt to introduce subtle, blended flavors. Spices, too, are part of the equation. Most of them originated in the tropics, so even everyday cooks there are experts at integrating them into their cooking. Also, in most of these countries protein is not traditionally at the center of the plate, and the dominant starches rely on spices for liveliness. So we are big fans of coating food with spices before it goes onto the grill, an approach we prefer to marinating. However dynamic, though, spices can't do it all. They lack the flavors and texture of marinade ingredients: the spark of ginger; the fresh licorice taste of basil; the gentling sweetness of hoisin; the familiar burn of fresh chiles. To bring these into play, we came up with what we call "razzle-dazzles." This concept was actually developed in Costa Rica. We often spend time there with a group of friends, and one of the primary activities is cooking. But the selection of ingredients is limited. We buy shrimp at the weekly market when we can, or cadge fish from a local fisherman, or just go with the super-thin pork chops from the nearest bodega. Whatever we find, we're not looking to do anything fancy to it. With the temperature high and the ocean temptingly close, we don't want to spend lots of time on dinner. But we do want to put some real flavor in it. So we started putting together easy combinations of fresh ingredients that could be tossed with already-grilled food. We're talking about the handful of fresh-chopped herbs, the squeeze of lemon, the glug of fish sauce, the dollop of chile-garlic sauce. The key is to add these ingredients at the last minute, rather than combining them in advance, as you would with a marinade. Because when you marinate something, you basically let the meat or fish soak in a combination of high-flavor ingredients, then toss out the marinade and grill the main ingredient - which all too often tastes as if it has been soaked in Italian dressing. Think how different it is to simply grill the main item, put it in a bowl, then add the same ingredients you would have used for a marinade and give it all a good toss. You get them in all their flavorful glory, as opposed to discarding them. The method of tossing is important here, too. Of course, you can mix everything together with a spoon or a pair of tongs (or your hands), but we prefer to toss it, in the kind of rolling flip that chefs use to toss food in a sauté pan over a burner's flames. It is really the best way to mix up everything without crushing anything. And it has a bit of showpersonship to it, which somehow makes everything taste better. After all, a little visual razzle-dazzle doesn't hurt, either.