the three friends of winter

The Three Friends of Winter
a dessert

serves 6

winter: kasu amazake

This is a variation of amazake that introduces yeast via the kasu (sake lees), aligning it with Chinese jiuniang. Traditionally made with glutinous rice, it can be made with any variety (I like using fragrant jasmine and basmati). Served warm and flavored with yuzu zest, it is sweet, wonderfully aromatic, and mildly alcoholic— an adult version of rice pudding.

rice                                1/2 cup              90g
water                           1 cup 235g
kasu                               2 Tblspns          35g
koji                              1 cup                  180g
microplaned yuzu zest 2 tsps 4g

Bring the water to a boil in a small saucepan. Add the rice, stir, cover pan, and reduce the heat to low. Cook for 15 minutes or until tender.
Sterilize a bowl, a spoon, and a 1-qt glass jar with boiling water. When the rice is cooked, transfer it to the bowl and cool to 55C/130F. Crumble the kasu over the rice, add the koji, and toss mixture with the spoon until well blended. Transfer mixture to jar and cover. Incubate in a water bath at 55-60C/130-140F for 2-3 days, gently shaking the jar every 6-8 hours. After 24 hours, the kasu amazake should be mildly sweet and smell yeasty. It will continue to get sweeter and headier— remove from water bath when it reaches a pleasing flavor and aroma. If not serving within a few hours, stop fermentation by placing the jar in a boiling water bath for 5 minutes and store in refrigerator for up to a week.
To serve, gently warm the kasu amazake and stir in the yuzu zest.

Bamboo: candied black sesame

When black sesame paste is cooked in sugar syrup and brought to the firm ball stage, the oil and solids create a product with the texture of brittle fudge. Here, young bamboo shoots are first impregnated with the light syrup, then coated with the reduced syrup and left to dry.

black sesame paste               2 Tblsps                 40g
hot water                                           1/4 cup                 60g
sugar                                 1 cup                     200g
liquid glucose                                     1 Tblsp                21g
18 young bamboo shoots

Pour the hot water over the sesame paste in a saucepan and whisk to dissolve. Add the sugar and glucose, stir to combine. Cook over high heat to 104C/220F. Remove from heat and add the bamboo shoots to the hot syrup, submerging them. Cover pan and set aside for at least 6 hours at room temperture. Remove shoots from pan and set on a rack to dry. Return pan to high heat and cook the syrup to 121C/250F. Remove from heat and, using a fork, carefully dip each bamboo shoot in the thick syrup to evenly coat, then place on a sheet of parchment to dry. If syrup begins to harden, rewarm gently until fluid before proceeding.
Candied bamboo shoots can be kept in an airtight container for up to 3 days.

Pine: genoise, meringue

Both the cake and meringue are made with pine infused sugar. To heighten the flavor, a drop of pine essential oil was used in the syrup that moistens the genoise, and in the meringue. When buying essential oils for culinary purposes, look for 100% pure therapeutic grade.

pine sugar

sugar 1 cup 200g
pine needles 1/4 oz 12g

Place the sugar and pine needles in a blender and blend on high speed for 2-3 minutes until pulverized. Let stand 5 minutes and blend again for 1 minute. Sift the sugar through a medium sieve to remove pine chaff. Sift again through a fine sieve to remove small particles.

pine genoise

sifted cake flour 1/3 cup              44g
cornstarch 5 Tblsps              37.5g
eggs 4 whole                200g
pine sugar 1/2 cup              100g
cream of tartar                  1/4 tsp               .75g

Preheat the oven to 350 F. Grease and flour a 9" cake pan. In a small bowl, whisk together the flour with the cornstarch. With an electric mixer, beat the eggs with the sugar on high speed for about 5 minutes, or until thick, fluffy, and about tripled in volume. Sift half of the flour mixture over the eggs and fold in with a spatula. Repeat with the remainder of the flour mixture. In a separate bowl, whip the egg whites just until foamy. Sprinkle on the cream of tartar and continue whipping to stiff peaks. Fold the whites into the batter, then pour into prepared cake pan and level off the top. Place in the oven immediately and bake for 20-25 minutes, or until the top springs back when pressed, or a cake tester comes out clean. Remove from oven and allow to cool for 15 minutes before turning out of pan to finish cooling.

pine yuzu syrup

pine sugar 2 Tblsps              25g
water                                  1/4 cup              59g
yuzu juice                          2 tsps                  10g
pine essential oil               1 drop

Bring the sugar and water to a full rolling boil. Remove from heat, cover and let cool. Stir in the yuzu juice and essential oil. Evenly drizzle all of the syrup over the cake.

pine meringue

egg whites                          1/4 cup 60g
cream of tartar 1/4 tsp              .75g
pine sugar                          4 oz                  115g
pine essential oil 1 drop

In an electric mixer, beat the whites on medium speed until frothy. Add the cream of tartar and continue beating on medium while gradually adding the sugar. When approximately 1/2 of the sugar has been added, raise the speed to high and gradually add the remaining sugar until meringue is stiff and glossy. Remove a heaping spoonful (about 1/4 cup) of the meringue to a small bowl and fold in the drop of essential oil until well incorporated. Return the meringue to the mixing bowl and beat for 1 minute.Transfer the meringue to a piping bag fitted with #7 (small round) tip. Pipe long lines of meringue onto a silicone sheet. Bake in a 93C/200F oven for 1 hour, then turn off oven. Let meringues sit in oven until they release easily. To make 'pine needles' run the blade of a thin, offset spatula under each line of meringue— they will break off in short segments. Store in an airtight container for up to 5 days.

Plum: umeboshi puree, preserved ume

umeboshi plum puree

When making fruit purees, I like to freeze the fruit for a day or longer before processing. The freeze/thaw cycle releases flavorful juice by rupturing cell walls, allowing better control of solids:liquids ratio. It also allows the skins and pits to be easily removed. For this sweet/salty puree, I used deep red elephant heart plums and umeboshi (ume fermented in salt, then dried).
Ultratex is a tapioca-derived modified food starch that has the ability to thicken without applying heat. I used it here to tighten the puree, while retaining the fresh fruit flavor.

juice from frozen and thawed plums                  105g
solids from frozen and thawed plums                  80g
umeboshi, pitted                                              22g
yogurt                                                              50g
honey                                                              30g
ultratex 8 8g

Place all of the ingredients except for the ultratex in a high speed blender and blend until smooth. With motor running on medium, drop the ultratex into the center vortex and continue blending until thickened. Transfer puree to a squeeze bottle.

ume leaves

Ume, aka Japanese plums, are not a type of plum, but a distinct species in the subgenus Prunus that include plum and apricot. Even when ripe, they are at least twice as acidic as plums. Although fresh ume are difficult to find in the US, Kanjyuku Ume No Mi (preserved plum produced by Choya foods) can be found in markets like Mitsuwa that specialize in Japanese ingredients. Essentially, they are ume preserved in sugar, but they are unlike any candied fruit I've ever tasted: crunchy, gelatinous, barely sweet, fragrant, puckery, and addictive.

5 preserved ume

Cut each ume into 8 wedges, removing the flesh from the pit. Trim the underside of each 'leaf' so that it sits flat on the plate.

To assemble dish

Place a 7.5cm/3" ring mold in the center of a warmed serving plate. Spoon approximately 3 Tblsps on warm kasu amazake in the center of ring mold and spread in an even layer with the back of the spoon. Lift mold off of plate. Trim the candied bamboo shoots to 7.5cm/3" in length and arrange 3 on top of the kasu amazake. Break the cake apart into small, irregular pieces and arrange 3 pieces at the base of bamboo shoots. Scatter some of the pine meringue needles over the top of cake. Arrange 6 of the ume wedges around the base of the cake to resemble bamboo leaves. Pipe clusters of 5-dot circles on either side of candied bamboo to resemble plum blossoms and single dots to resemble buds. Repeat with remaining plates.

Peter Hertzmann’s floating island: the evolution of a dish

One of the most gratifying aspects of blogging is the private interaction with readers through emails. I love reading your thoughtful questions, comments, and ideas. It's these interactions that often become fuel for the fire.
Two years ago, I worked with a young cook who had mentioned a book that had helped him to advance his knife skills: Knife Skills Illustrated by Peter Hertzmann. Imagine my surprize when a few days later I found mail from Peter in my inbox!
Peter Hertzmann* and I have exchanged dozens of emails since then and I've always found his insights stimulating. Last month he began sharing a misozuke project (complete with photos) that was particularly inspiring and I asked if I could share its evolution here on the blog.
This is how it began:

Hi Linda,
You've created a miso-zuke monster—me.
I've now done oysters, scallops, endive, radishes, and cucumbers. I originally was interested because of your article where you pickled some egg yolks. I wanted to do quail, rather than chicken eggs. I was never able to get the eggs cooked just right, so I sort of gave up. Then a couple of weeks ago, I started playing with peeling eggs with acetic acid. In the case of quail eggs, an overnight soak in white vinegar leaves a shell-less egg with both of the membranes intact. The egg feels a bit like a full water balloon. I threw a few of these eggs in shiro miso and nothing happened, or so it seemed. After two weeks, they appeared for all intents and purposes the same as when they have been first immersed in the miso. So I'd thought I break one and look inside. The membrane was a bit tough, but I was able to pick a small tear in one end with some forceps. The white came gushing out—not quite as fluid as water, but not really a jelly. Inside was a firm, pickled yolk that I could carefully pull and then wash all the white away from. The taste was definitely that of a yolk, but the presence of miso was also pronounced. With a light sprinkle of ichimi, the task was marvelous.
A new dozen is now pickling to see if this was a fluke, or not. Thanks again for turning me on to this technique.

Several things interested me about Peters process:
1. dissolving the shell with vinegar allowed him to pickle the whole raw egg much more efficiently than waiting for the miso to penetrate the shell. This step alone opened up many ideas.
2. the texture of the cured yolk.
3. the miso-flavored egg whites.

A few weeks later, I received the following email:

Here's an update on the quail eggs. Like before, I removed the shells by soaking them in white vinegar (6% acetic acid) overnight. The following day I rubbed off any remaining shell with my fingers. The eggs, minus their shells, were immersed in shiro miso for two weeks. After rinsing they looked like…

Other than appearing a bit browner than originally, their appearance and firmness was unchanged. I used a pair of small 45° forceps to tear a small hole in the tapered end of each egg and drained them into a bowl. The "white" was as viscous as water and brown in color…

After removing from the membranes and rinsing, the yolks, which were firm but not hard, looked like…

I decided to cook the whites. I placed them in a small glass bowl and covered it with plastic film. This was placed in simmering water until the whites no longer jiggled. After cooling, the texture of the cooked whites was similar to a grainy custard. They tasted very much like the miso they had soaked in. I had hoped that they would cook hard so that I could sieve them for the final dish, but that was not to be.
About 4 hours later I plated the eggs…

As you can see the yolk weeps. (The flower is a rosemary blossom.)
I'm intrigued by your suggestion to make a meringue with the whites. These eggs didn't produce much white to work with so I'm going to try the same process with a chicken egg so I can get more white.

Then a few weeks later I received the following update:

Here's the followup on the previous email. I used vinegar to once again remove the shell from an egg; this time a chicken egg. I started with two but one broke with moderate handling during the shell-removable phase. The remaining egg was covered with shiro miso for 21 days. At the end it looked like below.

I should have measured the size after the shell was removed because I think it was then it grew. I should have weighed it also. Oh, well. It's obviously larger, but I can't say why.
I opened the egg onto a plate.

Normal eggs have four layers of albumin, two thick and two thin. It now appeared to have three distinct types of albumen.
The yolk was similar to an egg cooked at 64°C (and I did roll, freeze, and cut this into ribbons). In the picture I had already crushed it a bit with my fingers.

The white beat fairly normally in a stand mixer.

And they seemed fairly stable, at least for an hour before they were all destroyed.
I tried doing two things with them. The first was to make sort of a floating island in dashi. As soon as the egg white hit the hot soup, it started to collapse.

The final texture was similar to a kitchen sponge, but the flavor in the dashi was quite nice. It would be interesting to see if a little xanthum gum or versawhip would help stabilize them in the heat. I also tried some meringues, but they were a complete disaster. Besides collapsing most of the way, they turned brown like a cookie and tasted very salty. Maybe if they were stabilized they would have fared better. IN their plain form they weren't stable enough to pipe, but if they were, it would be interesting to make soup croutons out of them.

In a followup email, I asked Peter some questions about his experiment:

L: I'd be interested to know why the egg grew, or swelled.
P: I would too. I wonder if the hydrostatic pressure of a normal egg is slightly positive so that it expands once the restraint of the shell is removed. I guess it would be possible to conduct a small experiment, but I'm not ready to sacrifice a dozen eggs at the moment.

L:You said you made meringues, but they weren't stable… I'm assuming that you didn't use sugar because of the savory application. I like the idea of a salty/sweet meringue. Or perhaps a macaron?
P: Yep. No sugar, or anything else for that matter. Give the salt and sweet meringue a try and let me know how it is. I was thinking just savory, since the miso flavor is pretty pronounced.

A short while later, I received another email from Peter expressing a desire to use methylcellulose to stabilize the 'floating island' and he asked about ratios. I made some suggestions, and he responded:

I started with your suggestions and, as is normal for me, went my own way a bit. I also downloaded the Methocel tech sheet. It sounded like hot hydration would work better for me since I'm working in very small quantities.
I hydrated 1g of Methocel F50 in 20ml of simmering water, water that was boiled in microwave and then measured with a syringe. I stuck this in the frig for a few minutes. It was about 18°C when I pulled it out. I separated 1 extra-large egg white, about 30g. When i whisked the egg white and Methocel/water together is seemed to foam fairly rapidly so I decided to try whipping it in the KitchenAid. This took about 15 to 20 minutes to form soft peaks. I spooned this into hot hon-dashi to cook. I tried Chang's method of a 30-second steam followed by basting. I also tried a 60-second steam with less basting. The later was easier to do since I wanted to cook four at a time. In either case the linear shrinkage was about 50%, but still acceptable. I added ao-nori to the mixture part way through to give it a bit of color. I shot the picture quickly with my iPhone so the color is a bit off.

The final mouth feel of the island was similar to a spongy hard-cooked egg white. Not the same as a floating island made with sugar, but very interesting. I feel good about the results, at least enough to drop a couple more eggs into a vinegar bath and start the pickling again. I'd like to eventually serve the egg white in a double-strength chicken consomme and load the egg white with a fresh herb, maybe oregano. Everything should be ready by May 6th. I already have some guests scheduled for dinner that night. Little do they know…
As always, thanks for your help.

*Peter's bio: Cooking for Peter is a serial obsession. After spending 25 years studying Chinese cooking, history, and culture, in the mid 1990s, Peter started applying the same energy to French cookery. Over a period of 15 years he taught himself to read French, studied the history of dishes back to the 14th century, and worked in eight different restaurant kitchens in France to hone his skills. In 1999, he started an e-zine about French gastronomy and in 2011 added a weekly blog of amuse-bouche and mignardise to the site. In 2007, Peter wrote the book Knife Skills Illustrated: A Users Manual, now used for teaching in a number of cooking schools and restaurants. He has taught knife-skills classes around the country and in Canada. He has made many television appearances, including The Martha Stewart Show. He recently demonstrated knife skills for four hours at the Exploratorium for their After Dark: Gastronomy event. Nowadays, besides teaching recreational classes, he teaches knifes skills and general cooking twice a week at the San Mateo County Jail and twice a month at JobTrain, a vocational training center specializing in providing job skills for the underprivileged. As a charter member of The Butchers Guild, Peter is currently editing the official Guild Butchery Glossary. In July, he once again will be presenting a paper at the Oxford Symposium on Food and Cooking. The subject for this year’s Symposium is Wrapped and Stuffed Foods, and Peter will be addressing how Modernist cuisine relates to the issue.

sashimi rose and a celebration of fermentation

My first batch of shoyu has been brewing for six months now and it's just hitting its stride. I've tended it faithfully, stirring at least once a week and skimming off harmless surface mold as it formed, but for the longest time it was barely more interesting than a pot of bean soup. It wasn't until the end of its fourth month that I noticed a marked difference as the mold quit and the moromi (solids) began congregating on the surface, concealing clear dark liquid beneath. When I stir it now, the aroma is intoxicating in the nuanced complex way of fermented things. Soon, I'll begin filtering small batches to mark its progress and though I don't yet know when it'll be done, I expect it to continue improving with time.

While I wait for the shoyu, there's a fresh batch of mirin to celebrate— and real mirin is a just cause for celebration. I'll restrain myself from a full-on rant about what passes for mirin in the commercial market; you have only to read the list of ingredients and if it begins with glucose and ends with corn syrup, you should wonder why you're being asked to pay four dollars for ten ounces of sugar water. Hon- mirin (true mirin) contains no added sugar, though it is remarkably sweet— the result of koji/rice saccharification. The aroma of hon-mirin is unlike anything else, fruity and floral with a delicate flavor that can be sipped like a fine sake*. In fact, I see great potential for hon-mirin in cocktails and as an alternative dessert wine/spirit. And, an unexpected perk of brewing mirin is the lees— a heady cream that is left after pressing the moromi and before filtering.

The celebration continues with hishio, a hybrid of mugi (barley) miso and lactic-fermented fruits and vegetables. Hishio is made entirely with barley koji that is fermented in water and salt for about a week before adding vegetables (asian pear, cucumber, and eggplant in mine) that are seperately fermented in salt. The loose, miso-type condiment is then fermented in a warm environment and is ready in four months.

In even less time, a lively yuzu kosho can be made in a just over a week at room temperature. This particular batch was made late last year, when piney green yuzu were still available. They were zested with a microplane and blended with the restrained heat of charred, minced shishito peppers and salt. After it fermented for eight days, I blended in the last of the kinome leaves just before my tree went dormant for the winter. I'm sad to see the bottom of my jar come into view as fresh yuzu won't be available again until the end of the year, but I'm equally gratefully for the bounty; a consequence of soil, bacteria, and patience.

(left) mirin: clockwise from top- filtered, lees, moromi
(right) from top- hishio, yuzu kosho

sashimi rose
hiramasa • mirin lees • yuzu kosho puree • strained hishio

* most mirin brewers add water to the rice, koji, and shochu to bring the finished alcohol down to about 14%. I used straight shochu (20%), no water, and can only assume that my mirin comes in at between 17%- 20% alcohol by volume.

a living soup

Milkweed is a useful plant, entirely edible in its early stages. The young shoots are a delight when they emerge in the spring. Later, the tender young leaves are worth seeking out, but it's the reproductive parts that start out as buds, then open into sweet-scented flowers, and develop into tender-crisp pods that interest me most.

By mid-summer the plant toughens as it directs its energy into producing seeds. Though the mature pods are too cellulosic to consume, they're beautiful to look at. Pulling one apart, I am reminded of the recurring motifs found in nature: the seeds, perfectly shingled like feathers and fish scales, the 'cobs' composed of lustrous filaments— finer than silk— that unfurl into ghostly flowers to carry the seeds into perpetuity. Genius!

Although I had managed to harvest and pickle some flower buds while they were in season, I thought I had missed the window for the young pods until I found a stand of stunted plants growing in deep shade. The pods must be blanched to draw out their milky sap. I served them as crudites with a kefir-based dip and made some new milkweed (and kefir) converts. I saved a few to garnish a cold soup that I'm excited to tell you about.

All summer long my blender had been busy making raw, green gazpacho-style soups. Packed with good flavor and nutrients, they were a savory on-the-go alternative to smoothies, yet with some prudent garnishes they easily transitioned to more formal meals. Mostly, I made them with whatever was fresh and on hand, with variations of the basic components. Here's my framework recipe with percentages based on weight:

45% english cucumber, unpeeled
20% liquid– water, white wine, veg broth
15% fruit– green grapes, melon, avocado, white peach
8% fat– evo, almond oil, avocado oil
3.5% greens– lettuce, herbs, arugula, spinach, sorrel
3% nuts– almonds, macadamia, pistachio, sunflower seeds
2.75% acid– citrus juice, vinegar
2% aromatics– garlic, shallot, scallion
.75% salt

A few weeks ago, I made what would likely be the last cold soup of the year. I packed the blender with cucumber, nasturtium leaves, Crenshaw melon, almonds, garlic, scallions, and olive oil. I didn't have any open white wine or vegetable broth, but I did have a lot of fresh kefir whey left over from making kefir cheese. Since it was more than moderately acidic, I used it to replace both the liquid and the acid in the soup. In doing so, I realized that I was adding an ingredient that was alive with lactic acid and yeast, and that if given the right conditions (time and temperature), they would be capable of fermenting the soup. After consuming part of the soup, I put the rest on my front porch on an 85℉ day. Four hours later, the soup was notably transformed. The texture had lightened, almost to the point of being 'fluffy'. The sharp edges that I remembered from the soup that I had consumed earlier had rounded out (except for the acidity), yet the flavor had amplified. The difference was like listening to a CD versus a attending a concert; the raw soup was good, but the fermented soup tasted alive.

kefir

I have a friend who claims that regular consumption of kefir will provide her with a long, healthy, disease-free life. I hope she's right.

It seems that most kefir enthusiasts drink it for the health benefits (which are substantial) but almost apologetically claim that the flavor is an acquired one. Sure, if you're not open to the taste of sour milk, kefir can be offputting. But, by making it yourself, you can control the degree of sourness— from mildly tangy to sharp and effervescent.

For the uninitiated, kefir is fermented milk, cultured with kefir grains. The gelatinous grains are a matrix of sugar, protein, fat, and ash that harbor a garden of yeast and bacteria. It is the yeast that sets it apart from other milk cultures that are predominately bacteria.

Making kefir is as simple as adding the grains to milk (about 1 tablespoon of grains per 2 cups of milk) and allowing it to ferment at room temperature for a day or two. When the desired texture and flavor are achieved, the grains are strained from the kefir and recycled to start a new batch. If those directions sound vague, they are intentionally so. Even with careful weighing and control of temperature, the results are not always consistent. I've come to believe that this is because kefir grains are living organisms that operate with dual microbes and that the speed and efficiency with which they culture a new batch of kefir is largely dependent on their active state at the time of introduction. For example, I've found that after straining the grains from a completed batch of kefir and immediately adding them to fresh milk, fermentation (detected by the onset of a sour flavor) begins more rapidly than when a batch is started with grains that have been stored in the refrigerator between batches.

With so many variables, I no longer bother with weights and temperature, I just set it out on the counter and let it do its thing. Sometimes I catch it when it turns creamy and just begins to acquire a tang. Sometimes I let it ripen until it curdles and precipitates whey, at which point the curds can be drained to form a soft, tangy cheese. My favorite thing is to cover it tightly while it ferments to trap the CO2 released by the yeast until it gets fizzy. Milk champagne is a wonderous thing!

amazake strawberry kinome

It was on a blustery winter afternoon that I first sampled amazake. It came in the form of a traditional Japanese beverage, served warm with a sprinkle of grated ginger. Learning that it was essentially just fermented rice and water, I was amazed at the depth of flavor and sweetness that koji had coaxed out of the rice. And there was a richness about the way that it felt in my mouth that reminded me of dairy. It was, I was told, the vegan eggnog.

Recently, I had a visitor come to my home to see my newly remodeled kitchen. Because he writes about food, I wanted to cook for him and was eager to showcase some of the products that I had fermented. For dessert, I made an amazake ice cream based on the beverage, using coconut water for added flavor. It was really an experiment, as I was curious about the texture of churned and frozen amazake. The result was not as creamy as I had hoped and the inherent sweetness had muted to a mere whisper— which typically occurs with freezing. We both agreed that it showed promise, but needed work.

We also agreed that the flavor of strawberries and kinome with the amazake was quite special, so that part of the dish would remain intact.

Days later, I made a new ice cream with pureed amazake, cream, and sugar. It was a vast improvement over the original, but I couldn't help but feel that I had missed an important opportunity.

As someone who cooks customized food for a living, the upsurge of food intolerances is a salient concern. Coeliac disease, lactose intolerance, and food allergies are serious conditions that I have learned to make allowances for. Then there's an ever-increasing number of people who choose to refrain from entire food groups such as dairy or meat, or follow 'lifestyle diets' that exclude white powders and saturated fats. Add to that, the political eaters who prohibit foie gras, veal, unsustainable fish, factory farmed proteins, and unorganic produce; or picky eaters who refuse to eat (for example) anything with garlic or onions, and you can begin to see why chefs are so frustrated— some to the point of choosing to make NO allowances.

I don't have that luxury.

When a guest at a dinner party unexpectedly announces that there is something on the carefully planned menu that they can't or won't eat, I have to accommodate them. No excuses.

The upside is that when you feed someone with special dietary needs a delicious and satisfying meal that doesn't offend their bodies or minds, they are exceedingly grateful. Altruism aside, a happy client is always a boost to the ego.

Over time, I've learned to make adjustments to fit most diets, but vegan desserts continue to challenge me. In a pinch, I can turn to fresh fruit and sorbet or granita, but that often feels like a copout. So I reexamined amazake's potential to add texture, natural sweetness, and moisture to desserts that otherwise rely on dairy products and refined sugars, and I decided that an ice cream was a good place to start. To the pureed amazake, I added coconut milk for richness, rice syrup for added sweetness, and guar gum to improve the mouthfeel. The addition of sichuan pepper was specific to this dish to enhance the flavor of strawberries and kinome.

While I'm pleased with how the amazake ice cream turned out, if I were given a choice between the sweet cream version and the vegan one, I would invariably choose the former.

I'm grateful that I have that luxury.

amazake ice cream ✢ puffed forbidden rice
strawberry ✢ sake ✢ kinome

vegan amazake ice cream

400g coconut milk
260g amazake
20g rice syrup
5g vanilla
4g lightly toasted and ground sichuan peppercorns (optional)
3g guar gum

Place all ingredients in a high speed blender and blend 3 minutes, or until very smooth. Scrape mixture into an ice cream freezer and proceed according to manufacture's directions.

amazake

Making amazake is perhaps the most overt example of saccharification that I've ever witnessed.

Take some cooked rice, blend it with koji (about 2:1 by volume), embrace them in warmth (100-140F), and in less than half of a day the koji will have efficiently digested the rice's starch, converting it into simple sugars. The result is stunningly sweet and full of character.

Traditionally, amazake is used as a sweetener or blended with hot water and served as a warm drink, but I'm just starting to investigate its potential in other arenas.

kasu bread

Leavened bread is probably the last thing anyone would associate with washoku tradition. Indeed, when we take a protracted view of Japanese cuisine, bread is a johny-come-lately.

It was late in the 16th century when the first Europeans—the Portuguese—settled in Japan, bringing with them Western religion, science, technology, and food. Although the Japanese quickly assimilated cake (bōlo) and fried food (tempura) into their cuisine, the Portuguese bread was too sour and chewy for their taste and not widely adopted. Nonetheless, it captured their imagination and the word pan (from the Portuguese pão) stuck.

Fast forward 300 years to 1871: the samarai Yasubei Kimura opens a bakery, Kimuraya, in Tokyo, with the aspiration of producing baked goods for the Japanese palate. Kimura realized that making European-style bread in Japan would be challenging. Leavened doughs were a new concept and wheat flour and yeast were scarce. After many failed attempts using alternate sources of yeast, Kimura hired Kodo Katsuzo, who developed a dough leavened with kasu (sake lees), giving birth to anpan, a hybrid of manjū (a Japanese derivative of Chinese mochi) and light, cottony, Dutch-inspired bread dough, encasing a filling of anko (sweet red bean paste). After the emperor gave it his seal of approval, anpan became the first widely accepted Japanese bread.

It was kasu's potential to leaven bread that first drew me to it. I found many references to sakadane, the liquid kasu starter used in the original anpan, but couldn't find a recipe or process, so I developed my own. Using wild cultivated yeast as a model, I made a starter from rice flour, water, and kasu. It took 8 days of feeding and stirring for it to become fully active— a considerable effort for what turned out to be a less than remarkable loaf of bread.

I suppose I could have started over and tweaked the recipe, but with all of the lengthy fermentation processes that I have currently working, I wanted something more immediate. I wanted bread— conspicuous with kasu, and mellow with rice—that I could make start-to-finish in a day. To that end, I made a new dough, adding yeast to hasten the process, and folded bits of kasu and fragrant basmati rice into the risen dough. For that shortcut, I make no apologies— to you, or to myself— because the bread was truly remarkable.

kasu bread ✢ kombu butter ✢ salt ✢ kinome

Kimura's anpan is but one example of how cross-cultural influences inform and develop cuisine by borrowing ideas, processes, and/or ingredients, and tailoring them to the tastes of the people that it will feed.

My kasu bread goes one step further; it closes the circle.

The Japanese were inspired to create a national bread from their introduction to leavened bread via the Portuguese. Inspired by sakadane, I borrowed kasu from the Japanese and applied it to a bread from my own heritage: Portuguese pão.

How does it taste?
It tastes richly personal,
sweet with history,
seasoned with a touch of irony.

kasu bread

starter:
54g compressed kasu
180g water
100g bread flour
.4g active dry yeast

dough:
175g bread flour
1.6g active dry yeast
5g salt
5g rice bran oil
5g mirin

solids:
100g cooked, drained, and cooled basmati rice
40g compressed kasu, cut into small bits

starter: In a blender, blend together the kasu and water until homogenous. Place the flour in a bowl and stir in the yeast. Pour kasu water into center and stir with a spoon to form smooth batter. Cover loosely and set aside at room temperature for 2-3 hours until batter forms bubbles.
dough: Place flour, yeast and salt into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with paddle attachment. Mix on low speed to blend dry ingredients. With the mixer still on low speed, slowly pour in the active starter. Turn speed to medium and mix for 2 minutes. Add the rice bran oil and the mirin and mix 2 minutes more. Replace paddle with dough hook, turn speed up to medium high and knead dough for 5 minutes. Lightly oil a large bowl. Scrape dough into bowl and turn upside down, so that top of dough is oiled. Cover with plastic wrap and set aside at room temperate until doubled in volume, about 1 1/2-2 hours.
solids: Punch dough down to deflate and turn out onto floured board. With fingertips, press dough into a rough rectangle, about 1/2" thick. Evenly sprinkle rice over dough, followed by bits of kasu. Starting at wide end of rectangle, roll dough in a tight spiral to form a log, and seal the ends. Cover dough with lightly oiled plastic wrap and let rise at room temperature for 1 1/2 hours, or until nearly doubled in size.
40 minutes before baking, place a baking stone on floor of oven and preheat to 232C/450F. When dough has risen, transfer it to a floured baking peel and place on heated stone in hot oven. Mist the oven 3-4 times with water in a spray bottle during the first 10 minutes of baking. After 15 minutes, turn the oven down to 204C/400F, and continue baking for 15-20 minutes longer until deep golden brown. Remove from oven with a peel and allow to cool on a rack.

kasu-cured scallop

Kasu is a by-product of sake. Also known as sake lees, it is the separated and pressed solids that remain at the end of the fermentation process. Consisting of rice, koji, residual yeast, and a small amount of alcohol, kasu can sometimes be found as a soft paste or, more readily, as square compressed sheets. It has a delicate floral yeasty aroma.

Kasu zuke is another type of Japanese pickles where food is embedded in a paste made from kasu, mirin, sugar and salt. Typically, the process is applied to white fish for a brief curing, or to fresh vegetables for longer periods.

These live scallops were so pristine that I wanted to keep them clean and chose to wrap them in kasu sheets instead of a paste. After spiral cutting them into thin, even strips, they were sprinkled with mirin, covered with kinome, then sealed between two sheets of compressed kasu. Looking like large ravioli, they cured in the refrigerator for 24 hours,. They emerged from their kasu cocoon all fragrant and delicious.

kasu-cured scallop ✢ blood orange ponzu ✢ kinome

cured shad roe

With the other shad roe sac, I'm attempting a multi-stage curing process. Here it is so far:

First, it was brined for 2 days in a 3% salt solution. Then it was embedded in a thick layer of sea salt for 3 days. Next, it was allowed to dry on a rack in the refrigerator for another 3 days until the surface was thoroughly dry. After brushing off the excess salt, it was embedded in a thick layer of red miso, covered and set in the refrigerator to ferrment for 2-3 months. That's where it is now.
After that, it will be cold smoked, then dehydrated until it is hard as wood.
The intention is to transform the shad roe into a botarga-like product with the complexity of katsuobushi.
The hope is that it will be delicious.