I’d never really thought about slicing up fresh turmeric root, which seems to be increasingly available in lots of markets these days, and frying it up til crispy, until I tasted one of Jehanghir Mehta’s brilliant creations on Iron Chef. They are beyond delightful just sprinkled on top of just about anything. The taste is milder than you’d expect, with distinct earthy and savory tones. I’ve been floating them on soups, tossing them in salads, on top of fish, and even just snacking on them. I like to fry them in a combo of walnut oil and butter, topped off with plenty of good sea salt and black pepper. My next assignment: turmeric tofu!
Spicy Green Papaya Salad, Breakaway Style
Green papaya remains mysterious to many of us. Why would anyone eat unripe fruit? Won’t it be astringent, bitter, and cause stomach aches or worse?
With some fruits all of that might be true, but for papaya, no. Is there a difference between green papaya and regular papaya? No — green is just unripe; it turns yellow, and sweet, after a while. But seriously, why eat unripe papaya? Because it has a fantastic, slithery, snappy texture, and tends to absorb whatever flavors you toss at it. It seems especially at home with citrus and chiles, which is what I’ll describe below.
But before describing how it was made, a word about prepping the papaya. Choose a firm, young-looking one; it shouldn’t look tired and old (which, alas, seems to be a common way of presenting them, at least at many of the Chinese markets around that routinely stock them). First, peel it with a vegetable peeler. Then slice it lengthwise and, using a spoon, scrape away the seeds. Slice each half again lengthwise, and proceed to shred the fruit via your favorite method. I find that a cheese grater works well, but I’m just as likely to begin slicing like mad with a sharp knife. You want thin strips, as in the photo above.
If it’s a young, lithe papaya, the seeds will be white-ish. If it’s middle aged or older, the seeds will be black, and the flesh will be slightly more yellow than its younger brethren. We can still happily eat an older one, it just won’t have the snappy texture of its youth. The always-informative Andrea Nguyen has an excellent little primer on green papaya here. She says that the slimy slippery dewy enzymes (papain) that the fruit gives off when prepping it make for a great exfoliant/facial, so you can give that a shot as you practice your knife skills in prepping the rest of the salad.
There is one extra somewhat fussy step you must do before proceeding to build the salad though. Place the shredded papaya in a colander, and liberally sprinkle with kosher salt (Andrea and Vietnamese culinary tradition call for sugar here as well, but I omit it). Let it sit for a few minutes, as you would salted eggplant, to draw out as much moisture as possible. Though it sounds counterintuitive, rinse the papaya with running water to rinse the salt away, transfer it to a clean tea towel, bunch up the corners, and squeeze the hell out of it. You want to wring as much moisture out as you can, so that the fruit will absorb, sponge-like, whatever flavors we’d like to inject into it.
Transfer the papaya to a bowl, and fluff it up a bit with your fingers to liberate it from the dense squeezy shape of the towel. Then add the following and gently mix with your hands:
- several limes, zest plus juice
- drizzle of oil (I like using walnut oil)
- drizzle of agave nectar, or your preferred sweetener
- handful of sliced radishes (I’ve used watermelon radish here, but any radish will do)
- jalapeno, de-seeded and de-veined, then sliced thinly
- habanero, manzano, or other fruity insanely spicy chile, de-seeded and de-veined and sliced thinly
- small piece of sweet bell pepper, any color, julienned
- at least a cup of mixed herbs — try Thai basil, mint, and parsley
- pickled ginger, chopped
- chopped nuts on top for extra crunch — I like pecans here
- edible flowers, just to make it pretty (pansies are used above)
This salad should be SPICY. In that sense it’s probably more like a som tom (Thai spicy green papaya salad) than a Vietnamese one. Supergreat in hot weather.
Insane Spicy Beer Nuts
I’m a nut man. I don’t think I’ve ever met a nut I didn’t like (yes, Delia will concur that I have a rather large number of eccentric friends).
But sometimes you just gotta go beyond reaching into the bag and munching.
My fast-growing kaffir lime tree prompted me to trim it back it a bit, so I had a pile of leaves sitting on the counter, with a bag or roasted almonds next to them. Hmm. I wondered what it would taste like if we combined them, along with some olive oil from garlic confit, a little dried habanero for some kick, and a handful of almonds tossed into the processor for texture, and then roasted for 15 minutes?
The answer: they turn into CRACK!
Top with kaffir lime salt.
Beer of choice: icy cold IPA. Oh my, this is a good combination.
This will probably work with other nuts too. Just follow the formula: kaffir + garlic oil + dried chile + nut of choice. And report back, please!
Late Summer Udon — Cool, Easy, Perfect
We’re having a mini heatwave again. You’ve got to love a climate (northern CA) that gets its best weather in mid to late September! When it gets this hot, I immediately think of cool, slippery, chewy udon, the thick wheat noodle from Japan that can be enjoyed both hot (usually in a dashi-based broth) or cold (read on).
I’ve found that dried udon, cooked like pasta, is far superior to the frozen udon sold in bags at Japanese markets. Cooking udon until al dente, draining, and then rinsing under cold running water produces a clean, slightly chewy noodle that takes beautifully to light, vibrant sauces. Imagine fresh figs mixed with fruity green olive oil in the blender; that pesto-like sauce is then gently tossed with the cool udon and topped with good salt and pepper. You could do the same with plums, apricots, pluots, nectarines, or any other summer fruit. It’s the coolness of the fruit and olive oil against the cool noodles that makes it so refreshing.
Another favorite is a sauce made from plenty of herbs, lemon (Meyer lemons work especially well here) and young ginger to really wake it up. Combine about a cup of mint, a cup of fresh coriander, a teaspoon of diced fresh young ginger, the juice and zest of a lemon, some olive oil, and perhaps a little yogurt to ensure that the blender can do its job. The dish is so light and vibrant, it almost floats away! The entire dish, start to finish, should take no longer than 15 minutes.
Can you imagine any other combinations for udon? Try some, and report back here!
Hot Summer Salad — Cauliflower "Rice"
Cauliflower is one of those vegetables that flummox people. Everyone I know seems to have some negative associations with childhood memories of brutally overcooked (i.e. overboiled) florets, yet, when presented with an actual tasty cauliflower dish, everyone likes it! The simplest way to cook cauliflower well is, I think, to spray it liberally with olive oil/sea salt/black pepper and roast in a hot (425) oven till it turns golden brown.
But that can get old, too. So here’s another way I really enjoy eating cauliflower. The idea is to chop it up finely, so finely that it resembles rice, and then to imagine it as rice! This simple little summer dish hits all the right buttons for me: healthy, spicy, fruity, creamy, crunchy, all in one! Here’s what went in it:
- one large head cauliflower, trimmed, stemmed, and diced
- 1 small torpedo (or other) onion, chopped
- 1 manzano (or other) chile, deseeded and chopped
- handful of “shishito” (or other) peppers
- 2 fresh plums, chopped
- handful of semi-dried tomatoes
- slices of avocado
Anyone else have any favorite ways to prepare cauliflower?
And PS — I think I’ve got gremlins in my email subscription server, to quote Karena. Sigh. I apologize to all who’ve received repeat posts, and will do my best to fix this annoying problem.
Breakaway Huevos Rancheros
Another classic foraging lunch. I had some leftover spicy carrots, cooked spinach, salsa verde, and GREAT flame-toasted thick tortillas from my local Mexican grocer. A habanero got sliced up and tossed in. A poached egg in the middle, topped with lots of black pepper and kaffir lime salt, was the coup de grace.
Vegetable Stock, Breakaway Style
Thanks to all for the delicious comments on the Iron Chef / Battle Coconut episode. It’s been great fun — I think the episode repeats throughout this week and into next, check it out if you can! If you google Morimoto Mehta you should get links near the top for your local listing.
I’ve been making quite a few stocks recently, despite the heat. Sometimes you just have to, because you run out!
My freezer is currently bulging with stocks of all kinds. My preferred method of freezing them: pour into quart freezer bags/ziplocks (write on them first — it’s impossible when they’re already filled). I then just pull one out randomly, let it thaw, pour into a glass bottle, and keep in the fridge for whenever I need a liquid flavor blast. It’s very nice to have stock on hand — I seem to always need flavorful liquid, whether it’s for a quick soup, deglazing a pan, making rice, or a million other uses.
My current favorite is the following vegetable stock:
- persian lime
- galangal
- small pasilla (chile), seeds removed first
- onion
- carrot
- oregano
- coriander seeds
- red lentils
- s&p
The photo above doesn’t really represent ideal quantities used; I would use more carrot and onion, for sure.
Saute all in a little butter, and a good drizzle (say a quarter-cup) of water. Cover, and let cook down a bit for about 10 minutes — this seems to concentrate the flavors. Add at least three quarts of cold water, turn the heat up to max, and bring to a boil. Turn it down to a simmer, and cook, uncovered, for about 90 minutes, longer if you have time and want deeper flavors/more concentrated stock.You can also save time by doing this in a pressure cooker for about 30 or 40 minutes on medium pressure.
Strain and discard the solids. If the resulting stock tastes bitter to you — the pasilla adds distinctly bitter notes; they’re deliciously bitter to me, but not to everyone — simply add a small amount of sweetener (agave works well) and/or thin it out with some water.
You can obviously omit anything, and add anything! But this particular one delivers a spicy, pungent, and earthy punch. The lentils give it a bare hint of creaminess, the lime/galangal/coriander toss off their pungencies, and the pasilla gives it an earthy depth. Rice made with it is sublime, and I like to use it for light vegetable braises. It’s a nice, all around, go-to alternative to water or other cooking liquid. I’m betting it would be good for cooking pasta using the method of “disappearing liquid”: Pasta is cooked in a liquid, usually wine but sometimes wine/stock combinations, that gets used up entirely during the cooking process, and the pasta often takes on the color of the liquid. It’s pretty much exactly like cooking risotto, except it’s pasta, not rice!
Do we have any regular veg stock users out there? What do you use it for?
Umami Beef Jerky, Redux
I was recently daydreaming about the green papaya salad they serve at Bodega Bistro, on Larkin in SF, and especially about that Vietnamese-style beef jerky they use in it, and wanted to try making it. I cruised around the net looking for ideas on how to make it (the always-informative Andrea Nguyen has a wonderful-sounding one), and was relieved to find that most are done in the oven. Why relief?? Well, I’m getting slightly jaded about my dehydrator, with which I usually make my jerky, and which was purchased several years ago with the idea of jumping full-bore down a vegan path, just for fun and enlightenment. But the dehydrator has left me all “eh.” And it takes up WAY too much space! So oven-dried jerky, here we come.
A little over a year ago I wrote about some beef jerky I was regularly making. I still like that jerky, a lot, but the one I made today was truly outstanding. I started emptying my pantry, looking for the most umami I could pack into the meat. The jerky I made was an umami play on the classic Vietnamese beef jerky, which is made with lemongrass, brown sugar, fish sauce, and soy sauce. This dish is slightly more complicated than most breakaway dishes, in that it requires a multiple steps every half hour or so, though most of that is pretty passive, so it doesn’t feel very hard/big dealish.
It has insane levels of umami, and a dark, bronzed appearance. This is total crack. Makes one pound of jerky. It’s especially nice julienned, and sprinkled into salads.
Umami Beef Jerky, Redux
- 2 tablespoons Japanese soy sauce
- 2 tablespoons Chinese thin soy sauce
- 2 tablespoons fish sauce
- 2 tablespoons Bragg’s amino acids (forgive this hippie transgression, but it really does pack an umami wallop)
- 2 tablespoons Chinese black vinegar
- about a quarter cup of minced lemongrass
- large pinch ancho chile pepper, ground
- large pinch aleppo pepper (just cause it was lying around)
- 1/2 cup coconut syrup, AKA palm juice
- 2 or 2.5 pounds beef rump/eye of round
1) Freeze the beef for an hour to really firm it up, which makes it very easy to slice. I used my scary-sharp new Shun bread knife for this, but you could also use a sashimi knife or just your trusted very sharp chef’s knife.
2) Slice it as thinly as you can; try not to exceed 1/8 of an inch if you can. Thinner slices allow the marinade to penetrate better, which results in tastier jerky.
3) Make the marinade in a large bowl, one big enough to hold all the sliced beef. In it, whisk together all the remaining ingredients.
4) Add the beef to the marinade and mix thoroughly (I use my hands). Let it marinate in the refrigerator for a minimum of an hour, though you could probably marinate it for much longer, including overnight).
5) Move two racks in your oven to the uppermost and bottommost positions, and preheat to 300F.
6) Prepare your pans. Use two standard baking sheets (officially called “quarter sheets” and measuring 9 x 13 inches). Lay a piece of foil over each one, then set up a rack to rest on the foil/pan. I use wire cookie cooling racks.
7) Gently squeeze the beef to dry it out a bit. Get as much liquid out as you can, but don’t go too crazy.
8 Carefully place the beef on the racks. Don’t overlap the beef; you should have enough space to spread them out comfortably but snugly.
9) Bake for 30 minutes. Using tongs, flip each piece, and reverse the order of the pans (so that the one previously on top is now on the bottom, and vice versa).
10) Bake for another 30 minutes. Taste a few. They should be pretty close to done, but if you deem it requires more time, give it some more. Don’t go overboard though – excess carmelization can impart bitter flavors. It should be thoroughly browned and extremely tasty!
On the Massive Importance of Salt
It occurs to me that, as much as I’ve talked about salt in the past few years, I’ve never really laid out a totally coherent/comprehensive post dedicated to this ingredient many of us take for granted. Forgive me for the length, please – but I would like to get all of this on table, so to speak.
There are essentially three types of culinary salt:
- iodized table salt (the familiar round canister)
- kosher salt, and
- sea salt. Some distinguish a fourth type, fleur-de-sel, but it’s really just a kind of sea salt, so we’ll make do with these three.
A fourth category of salt, the blended finishing salt, or flavored salt, is especially important to breakaway cooks. More on that below. But first things first.
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Iodized Table Salt — The Enemy of Good Food
In every country on earth, salt is the most widely used ingredient, and for good reason: it makes food taste a lot better. But its proper use is kind of tricky. Proper use of good salt will make an average meal exceptional. Conversely, the use of iodized table salt in otherwise good food can turn a potentially fantastic meal into a grim one. The Salt Institute, which is kind of like the Rand Corporation of the salt world, says that about 70 percent of salt sold in the United States is iodized table salt.
Eons ago, I was one of the “salt is salt, bugger off” crowd who passionately believed that any differences in taste of various salts are purely in the mind of the taster, that the taste buds/neuroreceptors can’t tell the difference, and that the people who buy $12 little canisters of fancy French sea salt are being hoodwinked.
And then I woke up: iodized table salt is not only unhealthy – processed foods are LOADED with it — it just ruins food. It makes food taste hot, and nasty. It also tends to melt and go into solution in a general sense, salting the dish in toto,
Yes, I realize that iodine deficiency was a big health problem globally for a long time, and that’s why it’s added to table salt, but iodine deficiency is just not a problem for most people today; we get plenty of iodine through eating fish, dairy products, eggs, seaweed, and many more common items. There is no reason to consume salt that’s been sprayed with potassium iodate solution (which functions as a stabilizer) if you’re not worried about developing goiters. Table salt also contains anti-caking compounds (prussiate of sodium) to make it pour easily. These additives prevent table salt from absorbing water from the air, which is why it acts the way it does.
The net effect of table salt is nastiness. It makes everything taste like processed food.
So table salt is out, for all purposes.
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Kosher Salt — The Workhorse
The second type, kosher salt, has a much larger surface area/grain size than table salt does. It is harvested like table salt – i.e., by shooting pressurized water into salt deposits, capturing and evaporating that solution, and then collecting the salt crystals that remain – but kosher salt crystals are then raked, which give them much larger crystalline structure. These larger crystals absorb blood from slaughtered animals better than table salt does. And since Jewish dietary laws require blood to be extracted from meat before eating it, it became “kosher” salt.
For early stage cooking, I usually use kosher salt. It lacks the mineral notes of sea salt, but the oversized crystals are good for pinching with your fingers; they fall on food like little snowflakes. Because they have a surface volume many times larger than table salt, they don’t taste as “salty” as normal compact table salt does. It’s tasty, fun to work with, and dirt-cheap: you can get a large box of it for a dollar or two. It is the absolute workhorse of the kitchen.
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Sea Salt — Our Special Friend!
Type three, sea salt, is simply evaporated seawater. It contains all kinds of trace ingredients, and is generally les dense than table salt. It tastes like the ocean. All of the expensive fancy salts you see in a well-stocked market are sea salts. Many contain signature elements: Hawaiian sea salt, for example, actually contains clay; Indian black salt contains significant quantities of sulphur. Sel gris, by far my favorite type of salt, is a delicious, grey colored, large-crystalled salt, typically from Brittany, France.
I’ve done my share of blind salt tastings on finished food, and the results have been overwhelmingly conclusive: sea salt makes food taste better. Part of the attraction seems to be the trace amounts of other sea stuff that clings to it (notes of seaweed, maybe, or just a general “oceany” feel to it). But another major benefit is textural: the larger, crunchier crystals provide localized salt bursts that make food wake up and shine in your mouth. Larger crystals, resting atop the finished food, remain a separate component, not unlike an herb or piece of citrus zest.
For finished food, it’s sea salt. I keep two small ceramic bowls of it next to my stove. One is sel gris, and the other is a whiter, Mexican sea salt that has smaller crystals and that doesn’t taste quite as oceany. There is something satisfying and aesthetic about reaching into a bowl and pinching the exact amount you want. I never use salt shakers — they don’t make the holes big enough to accommodate my salt, and I have more of a “feel” for how much salt should be used by touching it with my fingers.
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Blended Finishing Salts / Flavored Salts
I also keep a half-dozen or so blended salts near the stove, each in its own little pretty ceramic bowl. Why do I bother blending salt with something else? Because you can achieve wonderful, symphonic flavors with them with virtually no work.
These blends couldn’t be easier to make – you simply add about a ¼-cup of sel gris to about a teaspoon of your ingredient of choice, and pulse it a few times in a cheap electric coffee grinder. Why sel gris? Because it has a very high water content. When you blend sel gris with some other ingredient, the resulting flavored salt is intensely vibrant both in color and in taste.
Typically, I have on hand:
- matcha salt (ceremonial, superfinely powdered green tea)
- lavender salt
- tangerine salt
- smoked paprika salt
- kaffir lime salt
- saffron salt
The color palettes and flavor profiles of these six salts are, I think, exquisite. They can turn the most ordinary of dishes – poached eggs, steak, a block of tofu, grilled chicken, corn-on-the-cob – into sublime taste sensations, with no work other than simply pinching some and sprinkling it on. This is my kind of cooking!
If you take away just one thing from this website and from my books, let it be this: good salt is your friend! It can elevate your cooking from the predictable and mundane into something lofty and invigorating.













