Dashi

The making of dashi is the foundation of Japanese cooking.

It is to Japanese cuisine what veal stock is to French cuisine. In fact, it is so fundamental to the very grammar of traditional Japanese cuisine that it can be safely said that there can be no Japanese cuisine in its absence.

However, its importance looms even larger in a multi-cultural universe.

Dashi is a umami rock-star.

Master it, and you can give a little more ooomph to all foods from Italian to Indonesian. (In fact, this is the "secret" to the success of many professional chefs. All they ever did in life was to add a ladle of dashi to their sauces, and suddenly they were "jeniuses" - yes, with the less common "j"-spelling.)

Well, you can be one too. But, first you must learn the basics of Japanese tradition.

The classic dashi begins with konbu -- also spelt kombu because in Japanese, the pronunciation is in-between the "em" and the "en" sounds -- and katsuobushi.

Konbu is a seaweed that is absurdly potent in umami flavor. When you buy it, it will look like it has a patina of whitish dust over it. Do NOT wash it under any circumstances. That patina is the source of the umami.

Katsuobushi is dried skip-jack tuna which is another rich source of umami. Most likely, the supermarket version will be the pre-sliced, paper-thin, pale-brownish-pink stuff but the real stuff is like an elongated rock-hard block of wood. It lasts forever, and has to be shaved fresh on an inverted wood-plane -- katsuobushi kezuriki. (Needless, to say, the CC heaps scorn on the supermarket one but it's not bad in a pinch.)

Both ingredients are dry, and will last forever in your pantry.

Classical Japanese technique calls for making two broths -- ichiban dashi and niban dashi -- quite literally, the first and second extractions.

Ichiban dashi is a clear, golden-hued, light stock with a delicate flavor meant for clear soups.

Niban dashi is a darker-hued, robust-flavored, all-purpose stock to cook with.

The recipe makes a little over 4 cups of each. The CC frequently doubles the recipe if needed. If you only need the more robust version, you can just skip the intermediate steps but make sure you understand all the details below.

There are many many other styles of dashi -- niboshi dashi with dried sardines, dashi made with shiitake mushrooms, entirely vegetarian versions made for Buddhist temple cuisine (shōjin ryōri), etc.

It's a world unto itself.

Ingredients

4 cups water
a 5" piece of konbu
3 handfuls of katsuobushi (two initially, one for later.)

Recipe

Soak the konbu in 4 cups of water at room temperature for 30 minutes. Heat the water until just before it starts to boil. Remove the konbu, and set aside. If you don't remove it before the water boils, the broth will taste bitter which you don't want.

Bring the water to a boil. Turn off the heat. Add about 1/2 cup of water to cool it down, and toss in two handfuls of the katsuobushi. If the water is too hot, it will be cloudy which is aesthetically unpleasant. (Note the similarity to classical French stock-making.)

Strain the liquid with a cheesecloth. Under NO circumstances press down on the solids which would also cause the broth to be cloudy.

The liquid is ichiban dashi.

To make niban dashi, add the solids and the retained konbu to four cups of water. Bring to a boil. As soon as it boils, turn off the heat, add an extra half-cup to cool it down, and add the extra handful of katsuobushi to it -- oigatsuo -- "chaser" katsuo. Steep for 3-4 minutes.

Filter with a cheesecloth but this time wring to extract the maximum flavor from it.

You have niban dashi.

Wild Rice with Cranberries, Pomegranate with Orange-Walnut Vinaigrette

Food as Character

Food is character.

There's no getting away from it. It defines us. It strips naked completely what we would like to have hidden.

One can tell more about a person from what they will or won't eat, conditional on their background, than all the degrees, documents, and recommendations that they trot out.

If you want to learn about a person, watch them at dinner.

Observe how they hold their fork, and ask them what they feel about eating animal innards, and you will quickly strip them emotionally naked. Observe their inward or outward delight (or lack thereof) to a perfectly executed dish, and you will learn more about them than by asking a thousand questions.

Food is character.

Great writers have noticed this forever. When Edith Wharton describes food, she is not describing the food as much as the society that would make such food, and the elements of the society that would eat it. Food becomes the barely neutral turf on which the anxieties of society play.

Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa in his one and only, wondrous novel Il Gattopardo observes his characters, and in turn, has them observe each other through the medium of food.

If you've never heard of Lampedusa, or his only novel, the CC urges you to seek it. Most people's knowledge of Lampedusa comes from the eponymous, and equally wondrous Visconti movie.

The Prince was too experienced to offer Sicilian guests, in a town of the interior, a dinner beginning with soup, and he infringed the rules of haute cuisine all the more readily as he disliked it himself. But rumours of the barbaric foreign usage of serving an insipid liquid as first course had reached the notables of Donnafugata too insistently for them not to quiver with a slight residue of alarm at the start of a solemn dinner like this. So when three lackeys in gold, green and powder entered, each holding a great silver dish containing a towering macaroni pie, only four of the twenty at the table avoided showing pleased surprise: the Prince and Princess from foreknowledge, Angelica from affectation and Concetta from lack of appetite. All the others (including Tancredi, I regret to say) showed their relief in varying ways, from the fluty and ecstatic grunts of the notary to the sharp squeak of Francesco Paolo. But a threatening circular stare from the host soon stifled these improper demonstrations.

Good manners apart, though, the aspect of these monumental dishes of macaroni was worthy of the quivers of admiration they evoked. The burnished gold of the crusts, the fragrance of sugar and cinnamon they exuded, were but preludes to the delights released from the interior when the knife broke the crust; first came a spice-laden haze, then chicken livers, hard-boiled eggs, sliced ham, chicken and truffles in masses of piping hot, glistening macaroni, to which the meat juice gave an exquisite hue of suede.

The beginning of the meal, as happens in the provinces, was quiet. The arch-priest made the sign of the Cross and plunged in head first without a word. The organist absorbed the succulent dish with closed eyes; he was grateful to the Creator that his ability to shoot hare and woodcock could bring him ecstatic pleasures like this, and the thought came to him that he and Teresina could exist for a month on the cost of one of these dishes; Angelica, the lovely Angelica, forgot little Tuscan black puddings and part of her good manners and devoured her food with the appetite of her seventeen years and the vigour given by grasping her fork halfway up the handle. Tancredi, in an attempt to link gallantry with greed, tried to imagine himself tasting, in the aromatic forkfuls, the kisses of his neighbour Angelica, but he realised at once that the experiment was disgusting and suspended it, with a mental reserve about reviving his fantasy with the pudding; the Prince, although rapt in the contemplation of Angelica sitting opposite him, was the only one at the table to notice that the demi-glace was overfilled, and made a mental note to tell the cook so next day; the others ate without thinking of anything, and without realising that the food seemed so delicious because sensuality was circulating in the house.

Oh, The Horror, The Horror!

Today, while idly searching the web, the CC came across recipes for "no-rice risotto".

Really people?!?

Heck, even the Italians have experimented with variations with barley and spelt (and generally treated the results with various degrees of horror) but seriously?!?

No-rice in risotto which quite literally is etymologically related to rice?

Next up: roasted chicken minus the roasting or the chicken.

Precision and Nutrition

If you want to have complete control over the texture of your vegetables, and the CC knows you do, you should steam them not boil them.

You get the added benefit that the nutrients are not lost to the water.

Pasta with Cauliflower, Raisins and Almonds

This recipe is so awesome that the CC has already posted it.

Twice.

Clearly, there was no response. So it's time for more high-pressure tactics. If one of you readers don't make it, and share in the mind-blowing gloriousness that is this recipe, and share your foodgasm with the rest of us, the CC will torture you by posting this recipe again and again until one of you surrenders.

The recipe has even been optimized for you slackers - you know who you are!

Yes, the CC has no shame! (But he does have cauliflowers.)


Ingredients

1 large cauliflower
1 large red onion (cut into very thin semi-rounds)
1/2 cup slivered almonds
1/2 cup raisins
4 tbsp white wine vinegar

2 cups whole wheat pasta

4 tbsp capers (in salt not vinegar, finely chopped)
4 tbsp chives (finely chopped)
4 tbsp tarragon (finely chopped)
4 tbsp parsley (finely chopped)

parmigiano-reggiano
olive oil
salt
pepper

Recipe

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Stick the almonds to roast while the oven is preheating (roughly 10 mins.)

Toss the cauliflower florets with olive oil, salt and pepper. Bake in the oven until roasted and browned (roughly 40 mins.)

Meanwhile, put the raisins in vinegar, and add about a cup of water. Bring to a light boil for about 7 mins to plump the raisins. (Hint: the microwave is awesome at this task. Use it!)

Make the pasta just under al dente.

Heat some olive oil in a pan. Fry the onions until they are limp. Add the cauliflower, the raisins (with the liquid), all the herbs, salt and pepper, and the pasta. Toss well.

Serve topped with the roasted almonds, grated parmesan, and plenty of black pepper.

Whole Wheat Pasta with Brussel Sprouts and Anchovies

This recipe has a lot of steps but all it requires is patience. Additionally, it's really amenable to parallelization so it's quite easy to do quickly.

This has a strong aggressive flavor with plenty of umami so it holds up well with whole wheat pasta.


Ingredients

2 cups whole wheat pasta
1 lb brussel sprouts
2 large red onions (sliced into thin rounds)

4 anchovies
1/2 cup hazelnuts
2 tbsp tomato paste

2 tbsp rosemary/thyme/tarragon
2 tbsp vinegar

olive oil
salt
black pepper
parmigiano-reggiano

Recipe

Pre-heat the oven to 375°F. Roast the hazelnuts for about 10 minutes but make sure they don't burn!

Meanwhile, halve the brussel sprouts, toss with olive oil, salt and vinegar, and roast them in the same oven for about 30 minutes until lightly browned. Alternately, you can pan-fry them lightly in a wok if you have one.

Make the pasta in heavily salted water.

Meanwhile, crush the hazelnuts either in a mortar and pestle or in the food processor. Make sure that they are uneven, and have large bits not turned into a powder.

Fry the onions languidly until they are limp. Toss in the anchovies, and the tomato paste. Fry for a short bit, add the herbs, salt and pepper, and a little water. Finally, add the toasted brussel sprouts.

Toss with the pasta, the vinegar, and the hazelnuts.

Serve with grated parmigiano-reggiano, and lots of black pepper.