Terms: Mekabu

We Japanese eat a lot of seaweed. The more standard ones that are fairly well known these days are Nori (which is used in sushi) and Wakame (which is frequently in soups and salad). The konbu I used in the Dashi post is also a commonly used seaweed. But there are many, many more exotic seaweeds in our arsenal, and today's post is about one of my favorites - Mekabu.

The characters for Mekabu literally translates to Japanese Cloth Radish, although the common understanding is that it means Budding Radish. I am not entirely certain as to what part of Mekabu resembles a radish, but Mekabu is the root of the same seaweed that Wakame is made from - hence, the Budding association comes from the Mekabu portion of the seaweed being where the seaweed buds and grows.

The defining characteristic of Mekabu is its stickiness. It is slimey in the most delicious and satisfying way to those of us who love okra, natto, and yama-imo. It dances in the mouth and slithers down the throat, while maintaining a crunch to it with firmness only possible in seaweed and other plant-like foods. There is a brine-y scent that usually begs to be toned down with some citrus or ginger as to not overpower the palate.

Mekabu is sold either in dried form waiting to be reconstituted or "fresh", packed in liquid. I usually buy mine in liquid, packed with ginger. I take extra caution to get the ones without food coloring in it, because Mekabu is notoriously dyed with food coloring to give it an unnatural (and to me, unappetizing) green color.

My most frequent use of Mekabu is to mix Mekabu with natto and yamaimo in a side dish/salad. Simply mixed with a touch of ponzu, this salad is a goo-ey lover's dream dish! I will definitely post this as I get through natto and yama-imo terms post too. Although this mixture is great alone, it is also wonderful as a dipping sauce for noodles or folded into freshly boiled spaghetti for a unique sauce.

I also like to use Mekabu in salads with avocado, cucmbers, and greens. I simply mix all the ingredients, tie it together with a dash or two of ponzu, and voila! One dish done for parties!

Mekabu works great as a warming thickner for soups too. It adds viscosity without requiring starches, and it also gives off a wonderful deep richness to broth due to its high content of "umami".

Today, I discovered a new use: Mekabu-Kimchi. I chopped kimchi into small pieces, mixed it in with Mekabu, and served it as a palate cleanser - I know, it sounds weird, but we JPs use anything with a drastically different taste from the rest of the menu as a palate cleanser for meals.

If you have a great Mekabu recipe, I'd love to hear it!

Terms: Abura-age

Abura-age: Oil-fried.

The second word is a-ge, with e as in hem, not age as in the years you have been alive...

Anyway, it is interesting that the two words that literally translate to "oil-fried" always indicates fried tofu in Japanese. It's not like we don't deep fry other things, but if it's oil-fried, it's always tofu.

I have read that it is relatively easy to make abura-age at home, although I have yet to try it. It requires pressed out water from already firm tofu, flash frying once in high heat, followed by slow frying in lower heat. It sounds easy enough, but when perfectly good abura-age is so readily available in the JP grocery stores nearby, it's hard to get deep frying going at home.

The commercially bought abura-age can be a touch stale, although it comes back to life nicely by abura-nuki (oil-removal). It has a fancy term, but all it involves is either blanching the abura-age or washing their surfaces with boiling hot water. The deep frying process creates air pockets inside the tofu and with a little extra handling, abura-age fluffs up like comforters in the hot summer sun!

Once fluffed, these pillows are extremely versatile. It can be baked in the oven or stewed in soups. They can be enjoyed alone as is as slices of smaller pieces or it can be stuffed with all sorts of ingredients. I tend to fill them rather than use them alone. Some of the many things I have stuffed them with are natto, hijiki seaweed, cabbage, mushrooms of all kinds, barley, and a combination of many of these goodies. I have even dropped a raw egg inside the abura-age pocket and cooked the eggs in its pockets inside broth. These pockets can be tied with the dried Japanese root vegetable, kanpyo (more terms!), or simply closed with a tooth pick.

I stuffed mine today with left over udon noodles from dinner last night, which is something I learned at En, the new Izakaya that opened last month which serves a nice selection of oden. It had never occurred to me before to fill abura-age with anything but vegetables, but I liked the concept very much. The problem, though, was that it was like combining something relatively plain, flavor-wise (abura-age), with something more plain (udon). So I decided to add either kimchi or nori seaweed in the pockets alongside the udon for my version. These were then added to a line up of other hot-pot trimmings like vegetables and fish cakes and simmered in the broth for a few minutes.

I have to say - the upgraded flavor punches definitely made a big difference! In comparing the two pockets, the nori one definitely had better fragrance and a more delicate combination of scent and texture, but boy, the kimchi one was the winner for sure! It packed a kick of crunch that highlighted itself very nicely against the pillowy abura-age and the flavor-injected udon noodles!

Nori vs Kimchi Battle #1: Nori 0 - 1 Kimchi

Terms: Yuzu-koshou

My second Terms post was a close call between Ponzu and Yuzu-koshou. These are the two most common condiments I use routinely. Both have a citrus backbone within the saltiness, and both are extremely versatile. I use them for many purposes that were likely never intended by the original inventors, I'm sure. Yuzu-koshou won in the end, because I was pretty sure I had explained ponzu sometime ago.

Yuzu-koshou (or kosho, depending on where in Japan you are from and what school of romanization you prefer) literally translates to Yuzu (a type of Japanese citrus) black pepper. Interestingly, however, there is no black pepper in Yuzu-koshou. Apparently, the word Koshou can also mean red pepper in the O-ita Prefecture in the Southern Island of Kyushu from where Yuzu-koshou originated.

Frequently, Yuzu-koshou looks almost identical to fresh ground wasabi... until you smell it. Potently fragrant with that intense and distinctive yuzu citrus scent, it has a tantalizing spiciness to it that is rounded out by a gentle saltiness. It combines a peppery kick with a clean citrus finish for a very appealing savory combination.

It is supposed to be easy to make Yuzu-koshou if you have a ton of yuzu, which in itself is a luxury item in the US (at least where I am). Since our yuzu tree did not quite produce enough yuzu to make Yuzu-koshou with this past year, I didn't get to try making it at home yet, but the recipe seems simple enough:

1. Pulverize yuzu skin and hot peppers together. Green hot peppers are typically used, but red peppers should be fine as well.
2. Add salt and yuzu juice to taste.
3. Bottle and keep cold to store.

That's it!

I buy mine or use the bottles my very generous mother brings me from Japan, but if our yuzu tree yields a big harvest, I am definitely going to try making it with our very own Super Hot Peppers!

Yuzu-koshou is great mixed with yogurt to make salad dressing or dissolved in soups to add a touch of refreshing heat. I eat tofu with it, and I even use to love sashimi with it instead of the traditional wasabi. Most steamed vegetables come to life with a touch of Yuzu-koshou on the side, and it's also great with grilled chicken or pork. I have used Yuzu-koshou as the guiding flavor for simple mushroom pastas, and even added a touch of it in grilled cheese sandwiches for a fusion kick to the traditional taste. It is honestly one of the most versatile condiments I have ever had in my kitchen! (Those of you advanced JP food connoisseurs, Yuzu-koshou in natto is GREAT!)

Luckily for those of us with a Japanese grocery store nearby, I have seen Yuzu-koshou sold at all of the stores in different packages. If you ask your friendly grocer, I'm sure they can point you to the jar or tube of the stuff.

Happy Eating!

Terms: Dashi

The inherent limitations in trying to translate all of the Japanese culinary terms present one of the most difficult challenges in writing this blog. Because I cook and eat predominantly Japanese or Japanese-inspired vegetarian food these days, I would love to share some of these more exotic culinary treasures from the Japanese. BUT IT IS SO HARD TO AVOID JP TERMS!

So I decided the quickest way to not feeling guilty about using these non-translatable words is to develop a log of all the terms I frequently use and have it posted here. Then, I can always just refer back to these pages during my future posts if necessary.

Nothing is more appropriate as my first Terms post than Dashi. Dashi literally means broth, and it is the heart and soul of Japanese cuisine. What a cook chooses to make dashi with defines the cook. Yes, it is that important.

Being a semi-vegetarian, I still use animal-based broth from time to time. Some dishes just require that briney depth of flavor that only bonito (katsuo in Japanese) and other dried fish can provide. I use them less and less now, as my non-meat based cooking moves away from dishes that require that extra punch, but the combination of konbu kelp and bonito flakes is the fundamental pillars of most JP broth.

Dashi is made first by soaking konbu kelp in cold water. Sometimes, I do this overnight, other times, only while I chop and prep the rest of the meal. It is best if the konbu is kept in as whole a piece as possible, or the broth can get "sticky". There is something in the konbu that makes water viscous and it leaks out more with more exposed lateral surface area. Of course, sometimes that stickiness and powerful mineral flavor is needed for the dashi - and in those case, crumpling the konbu while it is dry works best for me.

Next, I let the water with the konbu come to a boil, slowly. The traditionalists will say that the konbu must be taken out when the water reaches a boil. Letting the konbu stay is supposed to make the broth too minerally and viscous. I happen to like it slightly over-konbu'ed and I leave that piece in there until the very end.

I depart from the traditionalists in the following step too. The treasured, classical "First Dashi", the equivalent of Extra-Virgin Olive Oil, is made by dumping a lot of bonito flakes into the konbu broth after it boils until a second boil is achieved. Then, everything is strained, and voila! Perfect dashi!

I have two problems with this. One is simply that my allergies prevent me from being able to safely consume left over bonito flakes, no matter how careful I strain the broth. The second is that... I think it's a BIG WASTE OF BONITO!

There is so much more deliciousness packed in that bonito, and in fact, a second, more "unrefined" preparation called "Second Dashi" is made with the remaining bonito in classical JP cooking too. Since my home cooking tends to be less refined and more powerful, I just use a tea bag and steep the bonito flakes for a long while.

Yup. A tea bag.


I let this bonito-flake-stuffed tea bag follow the konbu all the way from start to finish. The process is simple, and the final product is potent and satisfyingly deep in flavor enough to require nothing but a pot full of vegetables to nourish and satisfy two marathon-training runners, especially after the addition of a few more shiitake mushrooms!



PS: Those balls that look like fish balls are Japanese taro potatoes called Sato Imo.