Leave the Peel on When You Use a Garlic Press

Not peeling garlic takes this gadget from unnecessary to unparalleled.

A good cook is an open-minded, curious cook. But when I saw my friend take out his garlic press, my face puckered into a judgemental scowl. I was throwing some serious shade.

"Don't worry, don't worry," my friend said. "I know how to use it properly."

Poor thing. He thought I was doubting his garlic press skills. Dude didn't realize that I was hating on the mere presence—the idea! the existence!—of the press itself.

What my friend did next wiped the judgemental expression from my face.

First, he opened the press and inserted an unpeeled clove of garlic.

Photo by Chelsea Kyle, food styling by Katherine Sacks

Then he closed the press and squeezed on the handle, extracting golden, fragrant minced garlic.

Photo by Chelsea Kyle, food styling by Katherine Sacks

"What's your problem?" my friend asked. My expression had gone from shady to incredulous.

"The peel!" I said. "Where's the peel?"

My friend opened the press. The peel, of course, was inside, emptied of garlic but barely torn. None of it, not even a speck, had gotten mixed up with the minced garlic on the cutting board.

Photo by Chelsea Kyle, food styling by Katherine Sacks

That's when my feelings about the garlic press changed. Prior to this moment, I'd seen the press as a clunky and unnecessary tool. If I was going to spend the time to peel a clove of garlic, I may as well take the extra 30 seconds to run my knife over it, right?

But now that I knew that you didn't have to peel the garlic? This was a game changer. Not to mention a time saver. Visions of garlic mojo—not to mention Epi's Food Editor Rhoda's garlic oil—raced through my head. Mince 8 cloves of garlic? Make it 20. I don't care. I have a garlic press!

Actually, no I don't.

I pointed to my friend's press. "Can I borrow that?"

That was weeks ago. I still haven't returned it.