May 21, 2007
a black sesame day, indeed
Last Thursday was my friend Carol's birthday. In addition to being a fellow appreciator of Japanese candy, Carol is a big fan of kurogoma (black sesame), so I decided to surprise her with some kurogoma cupcakes. Luckily, it's easy to make almost anything kurogoma-flavored by adding a few tablespoons of black neri-goma -- a tar-like paste of pure toasted black sesame seeds -- and some roughly-crushed whole black sesame seeds.
It's not every day you get to make something that looks like it belongs in a cement mixer....
I was pondering a kurogoma buttercream frosting, but went with a matcha cream cheese frosting instead. It was a good choice: the green tea flavor contrasted with the kurogoma and the tang of the cream cheese tempered the cupcake sweetness. Also, the green made them kind of half-leprechaun, just like Carol. These were yummy! Unfortunately, I forgot to bring my camera to the birthday dinner, so I don't have any pictures of Carol enjoying the cupcakes, but maybe she'll leave a comment testifying to how they made all her kurogoma dreams come true...
Kurogoma Cupcakes
Makes about 24 cupcakesIf you don't have access to neri-goma, omit the paste, increase the amount of whole sesame seeds to half a cup and use a food processor to grind them to the consistency of wet sand. It won't quite be the same, but it will still be kurogoma-licious.
1 1/2 sticks (170 g) salted butter
1 1/2 cups (340 g) sugar
3 tablespoons black sesame paste
1/4 cup (35 g) black sesame seeds
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
2 1/2 cups (310 g) flour, sifted
1 1/4 cups milk
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C). Toast the sesame seeds in a dry pan over medium heat, stirring or tossing them constantly, until they are fragrant, about two minutes. (If you buy already-toasted sesame seeds, iri-goma, you can skip the previous step.) Crush the seeds with a suribachi or spice grinder until they are the texture of damp sand and set aside.
Cream the butter and sugar in a large bowl. Add the sesame paste and seeds, eggs and vanilla and beat until combined. Gradually beat in the dry ingredients, then the milk, and beat for a couple minutes.
Fill cupcake tin and bake for 16-18 minutes, or until a skewer inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool completely before frosting.
Matcha-Cream Cheese Frosting
Makes enough for about 24 cupcakes 1 8-oz (200 g) package cream cheese, softened
1/2 stick (55 g) butter, softened
2 tablespoons whipping cream
1 cup (125 g) sifted confectioners' sugar
2 teaspoons matcha
Beat together the cream cheese, butter and whipping cream until creamy. Add the sugar and matcha and beat until glossy and smooth.
Link | Comment (16) | Categories: Ingredients | Recipes | Sweets
May 2, 2007
a simple sunday dinner
While browsing the Japanese-language cookbooks at my local bookstore in search of some Sunday-dinner inspiration, I found a book about flavoring salt and sugar with various ingredients, with beautiful pictures of sparkling pink and green granules sprinkled over their accompanying dishes. A few minutes later, while flipping through a tofu cookbook, I spotted a recipe for silken tōfu topped with enoki, garnished with a pinch of matcha salt. Remembering that I had made something similar before from a recipe out of the trusty Washoku by Elizabeth Andoh, and also remembering I already had a recipe for matcha salt, my Sunday dinner seemed set -- and I didn't even have to buy a new cookbook.
The last couple times I made this mushroom-topped tofu recipe, the weather was cold and I used a mixture off dark, meaty mushroom varieties like maitake and shiitake, but because I wanted something more delicate in flavor and pale enough to set off the bright green salt, this time I used only a bunch of thin white enoki. The flavor of the mushroom sauce ended up light enough to let the grassy matcha taste come through.
When preparing tofu simply, Otokomae is my favorite brand to use, both for its dense but silky texture and its unquestionably kakkoii packaging. In addition to the usual blocks, Otokomae is also sold in individual packs of three, kind of like pudding cups or juice boxes. They don't require draining and one is the perfect size for a lunchtime serving or a dinner side dish.
Tōfu no enoki an kake (Tōfu topped with enoki mushrooms)
Adapted from Washoku by Elizabeth Andoh
Makes 2 servings
1 block silken tōfu (kinugoshi-dōfu), drained and pressed*
2 teaspoons vegetable oil
10 oz/300 g enoki mushrooms, ends trimmed
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons sake
2/3 cup dashi
1 teaspoon light-colored soy sauce
1/4 teaspoon soy sauce
1 teaspoon mirin
1 1/2 teaspoons cornstarch mixed with 1 1/2 teaspoons cold water
Matcha salt, to garnish
Cut the tōfu in half and place each block in a shallow bowl. Heat the oil in a skillet and cook the mushrooms over high heat for about one minute, or until lightly browned. Add the salt and sake and cook for one minute more. Add the stock, soy sauces and mirin and cook for two minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the cornstarch-water mixture and stir for about one minute, or until the sauce has thickened slightly. Top each tōfu block with the mushroom sauce and a sprinkling of matcha salt. Serve immediately with chopsticks or a spoon.
Matcha salt
1 teaspoon coarse salt
1/4 teaspoon matcha
Mix the salt and matcha in a small dish or jar. In Japan, this is often served as a dip for fried foods like tempura. You can also mix matcha with sugar and sprinkle it on yogurt, cakes or cookies.
*This entry describes how to press the water out of tōfu.
Link | Comment (2) | Categories: Recipes | Soy | Spring
April 4, 2007
shin-shōga (young ginger)
It's early April, the sakura are in full bloom, and spring is in the air. Except that it's raining right now and an icy wind is blowing all the blossoms off the trees. Oh well, at least I have my shin-shōga. Shōga is your average piece of ginger, brown-skinned and sharp, and shin-shōga is its younger, springtime version, pale, thin-skinned and mild. It's this ginger, sliced and pickled, that is mounded up next to the green plastic leaf in your box of lunchtime sushi.
But pickles are only the beginning for shin-shōga. Because it has the fresh astringency of ginger without the bite, you can use it raw, and it is especially tasty when julienned and added to salads. When cooked, it loses its bright crunch, but the delicate fragrance wafting up from any dish you've added it to makes up for it. With soups and rice, you can toss in the shin-shōga right at the end of cooking and let it soften a bit in the residual heat. That's what I do when making this early-spring rice, a mix of young ginger, fresh crab and thin green onions.
Some notes about ingredients: Young ginger is a popular ingredient in other Asian cuisines, so you should be able to find it at Asian supermarkets from spring through early summer. I buy my cooked crab meat in the sashimi section of my local grocery store, where I sometimes want to cry when I see how beautiful and cheap everything is. Imitation crab meat is not a suitable substitute. Finally, the green onions in Japan are typically much thinner than in the U.S., about half the diameter; look for the thinnest you can find or just use one thick one.
Kani to shin-shōga gohan (Crab and young ginger rice)
Makes 2 servings
1 cup Japanese rice, washed and drained
2-inch (5-cm) piece of young ginger
3.5 oz (100 g) cooked crab meat
2 thin green onions
Cook the rice in a rice cooker or on the stovetop as usual. (See the directions for cooking Japanese rice here.) When the rice is almost cooked, peel the ginger, cut in half crosswise, and julienne. Thinly slice the green onion. When the rice is cooked, add the ginger, crab and green onion to the cooker or pot and stir to mix everything in. For best flavor, serve immediately.
Link | Comment (2) | Categories: Ingredients | Recipes | Rice | Spring
March 7, 2007
bitter greens for the bitter cold
My favorite supermarket discovery this winter was daikon greens, the leafy tops of the giant white Japanese radish, sold with immature daikon still attached. They are sturdy and bitter, with a faintly spicy radish flavor, a welcome change from the usual vegetable suspects like komatsuna, spinach and mizuna, which are quite watery and mild. Usually, after thoroughly washing the daikon greens, I roughly chop them up and briefly blanch them in boiling water, adding the white radish nubs first and waiting about a minute before adding the leafy parts.
As with all vegetables I parboil, after draining I don't cool them by rinsing them or putting them in ice water. Instead, I use the traditional Japanese method of fanning them for a minute or two with an uchiwa (paper fan), which keeps them from becoming water-logged and flavorless. I use one of those promotional uchiwa handed out on the streets of Japan during the summer alongside the promotional tissue packets. (If only all advertisements doubled as kitchen and/or beauty aids....)
To season the greens, I normally just pour on a little soy sauce and sprinkle on some toasted white sesame seeds for a quick and lazy ohitashi. They'd also be delicious tossed with a miso-sesame dressing. But my very favorite way to eat daikon greens is to wilt them, raw, with a little salt, then mix them with freshly-cooked rice, where they cook in the residual heat. It's a method I picked up from Japanese Cooking: A Simple Art
Nameshi (Rice with greens)
Adapted from Japanese Cooking: A Simple Art by Shizuo Tsuji
Makes 2 servings
1 cup Japanese rice, washed
1 cup daikon greens or other bitter leafy vegetable, washed
1/2 teaspoon salt
Cook the rice as usual. (See the directions for cooking Japanese rice here.) While the rice is cooking, chop the greens into 1-inch pieces, including the immature radishes if attached. Put into a bowl and sprinkle with the salt. Rub the chopped leaves with your hands, squeezing them and dispersing the salt until they are slightly wilted. Drain any accumulated liquid.
When the rice is cooked, add the wilted greens and radish pieces, then lightly stir the rice until the greens are evenly incorporated. Replace the lid and let sit for a couple minutes before serving.
Link | Comment (2) | Categories: Ingredients | Recipes | Rice | Vegetables | Winter
February 23, 2007
mastering the art of food kanji
For at least the last year, it's been a goal of mine to master enough cooking-related kanji and vocabulary to be able to follow recipes written in Japanese. With a few exceptions, most English-language Japanese cookbooks focus on time-tested, classic recipes -- excellent for mastering the basic techniques of Japanese cooking, but not so helpful when you want to whip up one of those crazy, modern-meets-ye-olde-Japan dishes you can find at any good izakaya. (My favorite dish at the best izakaya in my town, for example, is a kabocha-stuffed eggroll served with a dipping salt spiked with cinnamon and sugar. It's like a crispy pumpkin-filled savory churro.)
The only solution is to delve into one of the many Japanese-language recipe magazines crowding the bookstore shelves. With this in mind, a year ago (a year ago!) I bought 15分でごはん! (15-minute meals), a collection of quick recipes published by a popular food magazine called オレンジページ (Orange Page). Once upon a time, I set out to make some kind of lotus root-ground pork dish because the instructions looked easy (the picture of the finished dish actually looks completely vile), but never did. Yesterday I decided if I was ever going to conquer a recipe, it should at least be something I would want to eat. So I flipped through the now rather dusty and dented magazine once more and picked out 白身魚の梅あえのっけ丼 (white-fleshed fish with plum dressing over rice). After about an hour with my dictionary and with the aid of the step-by-step pictures, I had a list of ingredients and the instructions pretty much figured out. Minus the rice-cooking time, it all came together in the promised 15 minutes, and nearly as easily as if I had been cooking from a recipe in English.
The resulting dish was simple and light, the flesh of the kanpachi turning buttery beneath its dressing, brightened by the bits of tart umeboshi. This would be a perfect summer meal, much like my beloved maguro no tataki don, but with a hot bowl of wakame soup, it worked equally well as a mild winter night's dinner.
A note on ingredients: The original recipe suggests using tai (sea bream) or other white-fleshed fish; I instead went with the less expensive kanpachi (amberjack), an oilier, less delicate fish. I think this would work equally well with hamachi, maguro and even salmon. Use whatever you like to eat as sashimi.
Kanpachi no ume-aenokke don (Kanpachi with ume dressing over rice)
Makes 2 servings
2 cups (400 g) cooked rice
3.5 oz (100 g) sashimi-quality kanpachi (or substitute the fish of your choice)
daikon, 1 1/2 inch (4 cm) piece
1/5 bundle of mizuna, rinsed and dried
1 large or 2 small umeboshi
1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
1/4 teaspoon salt
pepper to taste
Peel the daikon and cut into matchstick-sized pieces. Cut the mizuna into 1-inch (3-cm) lengths. Remove the seed from the umeboshi and dice the flesh. With a very sharp knife, slice the fish into 1/2-inch (1-cm) width pieces.
In a bowl, mix the olive oil, salt and diced umeboshi. Add the daikon, mizuna and fish, then toss together using chopsticks, distributing the dressing evenly. Taste for seasoning and add more salt if necessary. Scoop the rice into a bowl and top with the fish and vegetable mixture, making sure each serving gets a good amount of umeboshi. Sprinkle with pepper and serve.
Link | Comment (4) | Categories: Firsts | Recipes | Rice
January 15, 2007
buri is good
It's wintertime and buri is king. Buri is yellowtail, that pink-edged sushi staple also known as hamachi. But buri is a grown-up hamachi that has eaten too much over the holidays and is now cloaked in a warm layer of yummy fat that it swears to god it is going to shed once the weather warms up and it can make it to the gym. For now, buri is buttery. Raw, it nearly melts in your mouth. Cooked, it is meaty and flavorful, especially when coated in a dark miso marinade and grilled, which is how I eat it about once a week during the winter.
Hatchō miso, favored by those in the central part of Japan, is so dark it is almost black. Hearty, salty and strong, this is not the sweet, pale stuff most often served at Japanese restaurants abroad. I remember my first bowl of miso-shiru (miso soup) here in the heartland of Japan. I felt like I had been punched in the tongue. But, you know, in a good way.
Another dark-food favorite of mine is kuro-zu, brown rice vinegar, which is the good-boy vinegar to Hatchō's bad-boy miso. Extremely mild and supposedly extra-nutritious, kuro-zu is hyped here as a healthy drink and all-around tonic for what ails you. I like to sprinkle it on raw vegetables. If you can't find it, about half the amount of regular rice vinegar is a suitable substitute.
And finally, if you don't have any buri nearby, you can try this recipe with salmon, black cod, swordfish or other meaty, oily fish.
Buri no Hatchō yaki (Miso-marinated grilled buri)
Makes 2 servings
2 buri fillets
1 tablespoon dark miso, preferably Hatchō miso
1 1/2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon kuro-zu (brown rice vinegar) or 1 1/2 teaspoons rice vinegar
1 1/2 teaspoons mirin
Chopped green onions or pickled ginger shoot, for garnish
Make marinade: In a shallow container, stir together the miso and soy sauce until smooth, then add the vinegar and mirin. Taste for seasoning and add more soy sauce or mirin as needed. Put the fillets in the marinade and coat completely. Cover the container and put in the refrigerator for 30 minutes. (Or, if you live in an unheated Japanese apartment, just leave it on the counter while you assemble the rest of your meal.)
Grill the fillets on a grill or in the broiler for 6-10 minutes, flipping halfway through cooking. Test for doneness by pressing the fish with a finger or chopsticks. It should be firm with some give, like a medium steak.
Link | Comment (1) | Categories: Ingredients | Recipes | Winter
December 8, 2006
persimmon tart
This is the week you have to stop denying autumn is over. Wrapped up in a new wool coat, you ride your bike in the frosty morning, snow-dusted mountains on the horizon, burrowing your chin deeper in your scarf. The leaves have fallen. Your scary fume-spewing kerosene heater is out.
But it's okay. This autumn was a good one. Especially that persimmon tart.
Kaki flood the markets in autumn, especially in this part of Japan, which is famous for its persimmons. (It's even rumored that perhaps the name of my town, Ogaki, once meant "big persimmon." Which I think is far cooler than the present meaning: "big gate." Boooring.) The kaki sold raw is almost exclusively amagaki, the rounder, more flat fruit which are eaten while they are still firm; in the U.S., they are often labeled as "Fuyu persimmons." The longer, more pointed kaki, shibugaki -- which are terribly astringent until they soften completely -- are typically dried and sold later in winter, especially around New Year's. The best part about this kaki glut is that it makes it possible to buy one persimmon for less than 100 yen (about $1), something you can't say for apples. Thus, when the tart-baking urge struck, it was kaki I reached for.
A simple tart, it is nothing more than thinly-sliced fruit, sugar, butter and a sprinkling of spices in a basic crust. When baked, the persimmon pieces soften and meld together to become, after cooling, something gently chewy, kind of like a Japanese yōkan or a very soft Fruit Roll-Up. With some vanilla ice cream or whipped cream, it will be so good you might, like me, be forced to make another one a few days later. Or, if the amagaki season has already ended, daydream about it through at least a couple cold bicycle commutes.
Kaki no taruto (Persimmon tart)
Makes 6-8 servingsFor dough:
1 stick (115 g) cold unsalted butter
1 1/4 cups (155 g) all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 to 4 tablespoons ice water
For filling:
3 persimmons, peeled, seeded and sliced 1/8-inch thick
1/4 cup sugar
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ginger
1/2 stick (55 g) cold butter, sliced thin
Vanilla ice cream or sweetened whipped cream
Make dough: Blend together flour, butter, and salt in a bowl with your fingertips until most of mixture resembles coarse meal, with the biggest lumps about pea-sized. Drizzle 2 tablespoons ice water evenly over and gently stir with a fork until incorporated.
When you squeeze a small handful of the dough, it should hold together without crumbling. If it doesn't, add more ice water, 1 tablespoon at a time, stirring after each addition until incorporated (keep testing). Don't overwork the mixture or add too much water, or your dough will be tough.
Form dough: Divide the dough into 4 portions. With heel of your hand, smear each portion once across your work surface in a forward motion to help distribute fat. Gather dough together with a pastry scraper and form it into a disk. Chill, wrapped in plastic wrap, until firm, at least 1 hour.
When you are ready to assemble the tart, preheat the oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C). On a lightly floured surface roll out dough into a 13-inch round and fit it into a 10-inch tart tin, trimming the excess. Arrange the persimmon slices decoratively on the pastry shell, overlapping them. Mix the nutmeg and ginger with the sugar and sprinkle on top of the fruit. Top with butter slices and bake for 45 minutes or until the crust is golden and the persimmon slices are lightly browned. Serve with ice cream or whipped cream.
Link | Comment (2) | Categories: Autumn | Recipes | Sweets
November 10, 2006
gomoku takikomi gohan
The supermarket shelves in Japan are stocked with instant gomoku takikomi gohan (five-ingredient-boiled-together rice), but little do the Japanese housewives know it's so easy to make from scratch! Actually, they probably know, so I don't know what the problem is.
Besides being an easy, one-pot meal, this dish just reeks of autumn. Literally. Every time I open my rice cooker after making it, the steamy scent just makes me think, Autumn. Mushrooms. Crunching leaves. Gobō. Mmm...
The orginal recipe I followed (from the half-Japanese, half-English Recipes of Japanese Cooking) calls for chicken thighs as one of the five ingredients, but I have successfully made a vegetarian version with abura-age (deep-fried tofu). And even if you have an aversion to konnyaku, that gelatinous, flavorless devil's tongue jelly, it is an essential part of the dish, providing occasional chewy mouthfuls that liven things up.
Gomoku takikomi-gohan (5-Ingredients Mixed Rice)
Makes 3 servings
1 1/2 cups Japanese rice, washed and drained
3 oz/80 g chicken thighs
2-inch piece of carrot
1/3 gobō
2 dried shiitake mushrooms
1 package konnyaku strips
1 cup dashi or chicken broth
1 1/2 teaspoons sugar
2 tablespoons, plus 1 teaspoon sake
1 1/2 tablespoons soy sauce, preferably usukuchi shōyu (light soy sauce)
1/2 teaspoon salt
mitsuba or other leafy green herb, for garnish
Put the chicken in a bowl, sprinkle with 1 teaspoon sake and let stand while you prepare the other ingredients.
Put the mushrooms in a small bowl and cover with 1 cup water to soften. Cut the carrot into matchstick-sized pieces. Scrape the gobō with the back of a knife under running water to clean it, then cut into thin shavings. Rinse if desired. Drain the mushrooms, reserving 1/2 cup of the soaking water, then remove the stems and cut into strips.
Pour the stock and reserved mushroom-soaking water in a medium-size pot and add the mushrooms, carrots, gobō, konnyaku and chicken (with sake and accumulated juices). When it begins to simmer, add the sugar and sake and continue cooking for 1 or 2 minutes. Add the soy sauce and salt and simmer for another minute.
Drain the ingredients into a sieve over a bowl, keeping the solids and liquids separate. Put the washed rice in a rice cooker or pot and add the solid ingredients. Measure the strained liquid; add water or pour off some of the liquid so it measures 1 1/2 cups. (Use slightly more liquid if you are cooking in a pot rather than a rice cooker.) Pour the liquid into the rice cooker or pot and cook as usual. (See these instructions for cooking Japanese rice on the stove.)
When the rice has finished cooking, stir to distribute the ingredients. Garnish each serving with a few mitsuba or other herb leaves.
Link | Comment (1) | Categories: Autumn | Recipes | Rice
October 18, 2006
kinako frosting
So in my continued quest to flavor every possible dessert in my life with kinako, I came up with a kinako frosting this weekend to top these banana cupcakes. The kinako seems to temper the tanginess of the cream cheese a bit, which makes for a more mellow, not-overly sweet frosting. I'm thinking of using it to top some kabocha cupcakes in the near future.
Kinako-Cream Cheese Frosting
Makes enough for approximately 1 dozen cupcakes
3 oz/85 g cream cheese, at room temperature
3 tablespoons butter, at room temperature
2 tablespoons whipping cream
1/3 cup confectioners sugar
1/4 cup kinako, plus 1 tablespoon for sprinkling
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
Beat together the cream cheese, butter and whipping cream until smooth. Add the confectioners sugar, kinako and vanilla and beat on low speed until combined, then beat on high speed until fluffy.
After spreading or piping the frosting, put 1 tablespoon kinako in a sieve and sprinkle over your cake or cupcakes.
Link | Comment (3) | Categories: Recipes | Soy | Sweets | Western Food
October 16, 2006
okayu
A year ago, while suffering through a bout of the flu, my first illness in Japan, I wondered what on earth I was supposed to eat. Pho and tom yum gai, my usual cold remedies, were nowhere to be found -- and simple chicken soup seemed to only be available in unappealing cubes. Luckily, a more informed friend gave me a boil-and-serve package of okayu, rice porridge. Mixed with kimchee, it sustained me for the next four sinus-clogged days and has continued to be the only substantial thing I eat when the Japanese cold season knocks me flat. (Which is often. Now, in fact. I credit it to the irritating habit Japanese people have of not staying home sick ever, unless they are on their deathbeds, maybe, but until then breathing their germy-germs all over me.)
When you are sick, there is nothing simpler than popping a foil bag of okayu in boiling water for a few minutes, but making it from scratch is nearly as easy -- just cook the washed rice grains with three times as much water as usual. Making it with leftover rice is even easier and probably the most common method. In Washoku, Elizabeth Andoh credits the association of okayu and breakfast to the overworked Japanese salaryman. Most wives end up with an uneaten portion of rice from the night before, prepared for husbands who didn't return home until long after dinnertime, so they often use it to make okayu. Topped with an umeboshi, some chopped herbs or cooked greens, it makes a savory and comforting breakfast for two.
When I ate okayu for the first time during that first Japanese flu, I suddenly remembered I used to eat the Thai version of okayu every Sunday afternoon with my dad when I was small. Using the leftover portions of rice lurking in the fridge, he would boil up a big pot of what I called Soupy Rice. Sprinkled with tiny dried, salted shrimp and chunks of pickled cabbage from a can, it was an addictive mix of the bland and the aggressively salty. I was especially partial to the pickled cabbage, excessive consumption of which, my mom seemed convinced, would strike me down with a heart attack at the tender age of seven. Thus I was always left wanting more.
This remembered obsession is undoubtedly why I thought of topping my okayu with a big helping of kimchee, plus an extra serving on the side. With no mom for thousands of miles around, I usually end up eating about four times as much kimchee as what you see in the picture. I have a theory based on absolutely nothing but my penchant for pickled cabbage products that the super-helping of chili and garlic keeps the germs at bay. At the very least, I'm keeping all the people at bay and thereby breaking the cycle of illness. I like to consider it a sort of public service.
Leftover Rice Okayu
Serves 2
1 cup cooked rice
2 cups water or stock
1/8 teaspoon salt
toppings (kimchee, umeboshi, chopped fresh herbs, nori, etc.)
In a pot, heat rice and one cup water or stock over low heat, stirring to break up any lumps. Cook for about 5 minutes, stirring frequently, until the water looks starchy and the grains begin to lose their shape. Add the salt and remaining water and simmer for 2 more minutes, or until the desired consistency.
Serve in big bowls, topped with whatever you like. Eat with a spoon and chopsticks.
Link | Comment (8) | Categories: Recipes | Rice
October 5, 2006
mentaiko
You're looking at two membrane sacks stuffed with salted, chili-seasoned eggs from a fish called suketōdara, or Alaska pollack, or mentai. Hungry yet?
This is what mentaiko ("mentai babies") looks like when you buy it in the supermarket. It's a common onigiri (rice ball) filling in Japan and occasionally pops up in things like bi bim bap or pizza, but one of the most popular and, in my opinion, most delicious ways to eat mentaiko is on pasta, typically in a butter- or cream-based sauce.
This may seem strange. When I told a friend in the U.S. about the "fish egg pasta" popular in Japan, she thought I meant some kind of fish-flavored egg noodles, maybe a variation of squid ink noodles. When I told her I actually meant pasta topped with fish eggs, I think she may have briefly considered never emailing me again. But mentaiko, and especially mentaiko pasta, deserve a try. The salting and chili-seasoning process produces something a little spicy and not very fishy, with a flavor all its own. Heck, I'll even go so far as to say mentaiko is my favorite of all the fish roes! You heard it here first, people.
I've eaten mentaiko pasta in restaurants and at the home of a mentaiko-obsessed friend, and it seemed time for me to try making it myself. I used the recipe in Harumi's Japanese Cooking
It took less than ten minutes to put the sauce together -- squeezing the mentaiko out of the membranes was strangely gratifying -- and the finished dish was nearly as good as and several pounds lighter than the incredible cream-based version served at one of the cafes in my town. Next time I'll look for darker red mentaiko, as the usually-shocking-pink sauce is part of the allure for me. And I might throw in some mushrooms as well. Perhaps there's a mentaiko pizza in my future?
Some notes on ingredients: If you can't get mentaiko, make a nice eggplant parmesan or something; there are no substitutes. See the notes about shiso here. Kombu cha powder is a hard one. Harumi recommends using a strong fish stock as a substitution, but maybe you could mix kelp powder (available at health food stores) with some matcha powder. Or just throw in some parmesan cheese. The kombu cha is just there to add umami anyway.
Mentaiko Pasta
Adapted from Harumi's Japanese Cooking
Serves 2
6 oz/170 g uncooked thin pasta (such as spaghettini)
3 oz/85 g mentaiko
2 tablespoons butter
1/2 teaspoon kombu cha (kelp tea) powder
2 small sheets of nori, cut into matchstick-sized pieces (about 2 tablespoons)
3 shiso leaves, finely shredded
chopped green onion or chives, to garnish
soy sauce, if needed
Boil the pasta in salted water according to package directions. While it is cooking, soften the butter for 10-20 seconds in the microwave, then beat until creamy. Remove the roe from the membrane and mix into the butter. Add the kombu cha powder and stir until smooth. It will resemble buttercream frosting at this point, but resist the urge to eat it straight from a spoon.
When the pasta is al dente, drain and immediately mix with the butter mixture, tossing to coat the pasta evenly. Taste for seasoning and, if necessary, add a little soy sauce. Divide onto two plates and top with the shiso, nori and a sprinkling of green onions or chives.
Link | Categories: Ingredients | Noodles | Recipes | Weird | Western Food
July 24, 2006
melon sorbet
Melons are big in Japan. Not really size-wise, more in popularity. And price. And sometimes weirdness. Take, for example, this:
It's not just on The Simpsons....
While (sadly) not usually square, melons in Japan are reliably delicious, sweet and juicy and full of flavor, which is more than can be said for 90% of the melons sold in the U.S. So even though I wasn't sure I wanted to adulterate my beautiful, perfect, expensive melon, I decided to go for it and came up with this sorbet, using this recipe and this overview of sorbet-making. It's sweet, cool, melon-y and takes up less room in my teeny tiny refrigerator than a real melon would. It's the taste of summer, frozen!
Melon Sorbet
Makes 8 servings
about 1 pound (500 grams) diced melon
3 Tbs lemon juice
2 Tbs sake
1 cup sugar, or to taste
Process the melon in a food processor or blender until smooth. Add the remaining ingredients and process for 30 seconds. Taste for sweetness. The mixture should be hovering on the edge of too sweet; frozen desserts seem less sweet than they actually are. Process in more sugar as needed, then pour the mixture into a lidded container. Chill in the refrigerator for one hour.
Put mixture into your ice cream maker and process according to the manufacturer's instructions. (If you don't have an ice cream maker, there are instructions for freeze-and-stir sorbet-making in the sorbet overview I linked to above.) Transfer to a lidded container and freeze for at least 3 hours before serving.
Link | Comment (3) | Categories: Recipes | Summer | Sweets
July 4, 2006
kinako ice cream
As much as I'd like to believe the health benefits of kinako are retained when it is eaten in ice cream form, I have a feeling the whole milk, heavy cream and egg beat the soy into submission. I suppose you could try making this recipe with soymilk. But I like my ice cream deliciously detrimental to my health.
Kinako in ice cream form does, however, retain its nutty flavor and general yumminess. If you like peanut butter, you'll like this.
Kinako Ice Cream
Makes 4 servings
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup whole milk
1/3 cup kinako (toasted soybean flour)
1 egg, beaten
1/2 cup heavy cream
In a saucepan over medium-low heat, stir together the sugars and milk. Gradually stir in the kinako. When the mixture begins to simmer, remove from heat, and whisk half of the mixture into the egg. Pour the egg mixture back into the saucepan, and stir in the heavy cream. Continue cooking over medium-low heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture is thick enough to coat the back of a metal spoon, about two minutes. Remove from heat, and strain into a container with a lid.
Chill in the refrigerator, ideally for at least 4 hours and up to overnight. This will improve the texture. Pour chilled mixture into an ice cream maker, and freeze according to the manufacturer's instructions.
Link | Comment (2) | Categories: Recipes | Soy | Summer | Sweets
June 26, 2006
tsu things to do with tsuyu
Tsuyu is the name for the rainy season in Japan, which is currently in full swing. The two characters of the word mean "plum rain," which I think is a rather undeservedly pretty name for several weeks of constant rain, sogginess and encroaching mold.
Tsuyu is also the name of a sauce usually used as a dip for cold noodles. I think tsuyu is delicious during tsuyu. I thought there might be some connection between the two, but my word detectivery was cut short when the first Japanese person I asked said, "They're just homonyms." (My word inventery, however, has continued unabated.)
I've been using tsuyu a lot in the last couple weeks, especially on days when it's too hot to fire up the fish grill and I'm sweating so much I can barely peel the paper bands off my soba noodles. My reliance on tsuyu as a way to cook without really cooking explains why I buy the bottled stuff, as opposed to making it from scratch. I'm a terrible Japanese housewife, I know. But the Kikkoman Hon Tsuyu is really very good, I assure you.
Some additional ingredient notes: Katakuriko is a starch made from potatoes, similar to cornstarch, but with its own special texture. So while cornstarch is an acceptable substitute, I think the lovely chewiness of agedashidōfu made with katakuriko is not to be missed. (You can buy it online here.) Lastly, I find it is worth it to spend more on soba noodles. More expensive noodles will undoubtedly be more flavorful and have a better texture than the cheaper brands in the store, so go ahead...spend the extra dollar. Plum rain season comes but once a year.
Agedashidōfu (Fried Tofu with Tsuyu)
Makes 2 servings1 block momen (cotton) tofu
2 Tbs katakuriko (potato starch)
vegetable oil
1/4 cup tsuyu
2 Tbs green onion, chopped
1/2 myōga bulb, thinly sliced, or 1/2 tsp grated ginger
Drain the tofu. I wrap mine in paper towel, put it in a bowl and microwave it for 50-second intervals two or three times, wrapping it in fresh paper towel between zappings. Then I let it sit for 5-10 minutes on a dry paper towel. It loses a lot of water and feels much more firm at that point.
Cut the tofu into eight pieces and dredge in the potato starch. Cover the bottom of a skillet with a thin layer of vegetable oil and heat over a medium flame. When the oil is hot, put in the pieces of tofu and cook briefly on all sides, until just barely golden. Remove from the oil and put on a paper-towel-lined plate.
Transfer the tofu to two small bowls and top with the tsuyu, green onions and myōga or ginger.
Thanks to James for introducing me to the delicious simplicity of homemade agedashidōfu.
Cold Soba Noodles with Sesame Tsuyu
Makes 1 serving1 bundle of soba noodles (about 100 grams)
1 Tbs white sesame seeds
1/3 cup tsuyu
1 Tbs green onion, chopped
Bring a pot of water to a boil and add the soba noodles. Cook for about 4 minutes, or until the noodles are al dente. Immediately drain into a colander and rinse well under cold water.
Toast the sesame seeds in a pan over a low flame, tossing or stirring the seeds constantly until they become fragrant and golden. Pour into a small bowl and with a pestle or wooden spoon, grind and crunch up some of the seeds. Add the tsuyu and green onions.
Put the noodles in a large bowl and serve with the sesame tsuyu. To eat, dip the noodles in the sauce and slurp away!
Link | Comment (1) | Categories: Noodles | Recipes | Soy | Summer
June 8, 2006
maguro no tataki don
The summer heat and humidity descended last weekend and, not wanting to cook anything beyond rice, I thought it was the right time to experiment with maguro no tataki don, or minced raw tuna over rice, especially since June is apparently when maguro tastes its best. The quail egg addition was inspired by a dish I had at an izakaya in Osaka a few months ago. I've recently been eating a lot of myōga, a kind of ginger, so I sliced that up and threw it in, along with lots of green onions, some grated ginger and chopped shiso. The fresh taste of the herbs mixed with the buttery fish, the slippery egg and the hot rice was so good I ate it three times over the weekend. (In part because I didn't know what else to do with a dozen quail eggs.) I hearby proclaim it The Official Delicious Coma Dish of Early Summer 2006.
Some notes on ingredients: Myōga and shiso are both available at Japanese markets, but if you can't find them, you could substitute other leafy herbs. Shiso is said to taste a bit like a combination of basil and mint. Cilantro might also be good and would make me jealous because I can't buy cilantro here. Quail eggs can most likely be found at Japanese or Chinese markets; a fresh, organic chicken egg yolk could be substituted.
Maguro no tataki don (Minced Tuna and Herbs on Rice)
Serves 2
5 oz/150 g sashimi-quality raw tuna
1/2-inch piece of ginger, grated
1 1/2 Tbsp chopped green onion
1 myōga bud, thinly sliced
1 shiso leaf, thinly sliced
(or substitute 2 Tbsp fresh herbs for myōga and shiso)
1/4 tsp soy sauce, or to taste
1 cup freshly-cooked Japanese rice
1 quail egg or 1 organic chicken egg yolk
Using a very sharp knife, mince the tuna. (Or buy already-tataki-ed tuna from a Japanese grocery store. And yes, I did make up the word "tataki-ed.") In a small bowl, mix the tuna with the ginger, green onions and herbs. Add the soy sauce and mix.
Spoon the rice into two bowls and top with the tuna mixture. Make a small hollow in the middle and crack the egg into it. Serve with Japanese pickles and mugi-cha, cold barley tea.
Link | Comment (2) | Categories: Recipes | Rice | Summer
May 27, 2006
kinako pancakes
These pancakes have a nutty taste and more protein and B vitamins than your average pancake. They also have a tendency to stick to the pan, so use a nonstick skillet and butter it a bit before you add the batter. Also, buttermilk is unheard of in Japan, so I use a mixture of whole milk and plain yogurt. You could use a cup of buttermilk instead.
Kinako Pancakes
Makes about 8 4-inch pancakes3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup kinako (toasted soy flour)
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
dash of salt
1/2 cup plain yogurt
1/2 cup whole milk
1 egg
3 Tbs melted butter
Sift the dry ingredients into a bowl. Stir together the yogurt and milk, then add to the flour mixture. Add the egg and butter, then stir to combine. Lumpiness is okay.
Heat a nonstick skillet over a medium-low flame and add some butter or a bit of oil. Pour the batter into the skillet, about a half-cup for each pancake. When the edges of the pancakes look dry, flip them to cook the other side. Keep the finished pancakes warm in a low oven (250°F) until you are done making all of them.
Serve with butter, maple syrup and extra kinako for sprinkling on top.
Link | Comment (3) | Categories: Recipes | Soy | Sweets
May 7, 2006
making japanese rice
Until kitchens with gas and plumbing became common in the 1920s and ‘30s, housewives in Japan had to cook rice on a wood-burning stove, a complicated process which required maintaining a low flame, then a high flame, then—at exactly the right moment—removing the wood from the fire and finishing the cooking over the coals. All this, and without lifting up the lid to peek, which would have ruined the pressurized conditions needed for the rice to cook properly. This was a jingle used back then to describe the rice-cooking process:
Hajime choro-choro
Naka pa-ppa
Akagao ga naite mo
Futa toru na.
First it bubbles,
Then it hisses.
Even if the baby is crying from hunger,
Never remove the lid!
So housewives would stand patiently over the stove as the rice cooked, using the various sounds and smells coming from the pot to decide when to pull the burning pieces of wood out of the stove. Most likely while wearing a kimono and standing a dirt floor, which was the standard for traditional kitchens. Ye olde Japanese housewives were hardcore.
Nowadays, of course, almost everyone has an electronic rice cooker, which became household staples after they debuted in Japan in 1955. The rice-cooking process is the same—low heat to slowly warm everything inside the pot, then high heat to stew the rice in boiling water, then very low heat to let the grains steam in the remaining water—only now it is monitored by electronics rather than women wielding burning pieces of wood. I guess that’s what they call progress.
Japanese rice is short-grained and more sticky than the long-grained rice eaten in countries like Thailand and India, which makes it easier to eat with chopsticks. The ideal Japanese rice is tender, full-flavored, glossy and moist; to achieve this, the rice must be thoroughly washed before cooking to remove all surface starch. Measure your rice into a bowl, cover it with water, swish the rice around until the water becomes cloudy, pour off the water and repeat the process until the water runs clear, usually after four to six rinsings. You can save the starchy water for watering your plants (which I do) or boiling vegetables. After the final washing, drain the rice into a mesh colander and let the excess water drip away for a minute or two.
When cooking Japanese rice, the official water-to-raw-rice ratio is 1.2:1, but, in addition to preferring whole numbers to fractions, I prefer rice that is a little more stiff and sticky, so I use a 1:1 ratio. Also, I get my rice from a teacher at school who has a rice field, and I find her rice is a little less dry than store-bought rice. (I know, rice from a real field! It’s a novelty I still appreciate.) Rice is harvested in the fall and the grains gradually lose their moisture during the course of the year, so they are their driest at the end of the summer, and you may have to add extra water then.
Japanese Cooked White Rice
Note: I always use my rice cooker when making rice, so the stovetop directions are based on the instructions in Washoku by Elizabeth Andoh.
Makes 2 cups cooked rice
1 cup Japanese-style white rice, washed
1 cup water (or 1 cup plus 2 tablespoons for drier rice grains)
If you have a rice cooker: Place the rice and water in the cooker and start it. Once the active cooking cycle is over, make sure the rice remains in the cooker for 10 minutes, lid closed, to steam the grains. This ensures the proper texture. Stir the rice before serving.
If you don’t have a rice cooker: …You should get one. It’s worth it. In the meantime, put the rice in a straight-sided pot with a lid. Let it sit in the water for 10 minutes to absorb some moisture.
Place the pot on high heat and bring to a boil, which should take 3 to 5 minutes. Don’t open the lid; instead pretend you are a Japanese housewife and listen for the sounds of boiling (choro-choro) and look for the steam chattering the pot lid.
Reduce the heat to low and cook for about 5 minutes or until you hear a low hissing sound, indicating that the water is almost absorbed. If you have to peek, now is the time to do it, but replace the lid quickly. Increase the heat to high for 30 seconds to dry off the rice.
Remove the pot from the heat and let the rice steam for 10 minutes with the lid on. Stir before serving. There will probably be a crusty, browned layer of rice in the bottom of the pot. This is a delicacy in many rice-eating countries. In Japan, it’s called okage. You should eat it, either by mixing it in with the rest of the rice when you stir, or by itself, sprinkled with a little salt.
Link | Comment (2) | Categories: History | Recipes | Rice
