Cobra's bits (Posts about cuisine)

The five dimensions of heat

Cobra — Fri, 03 Jan 2020 15:37:21 GMT

Most people love to travel. I don't. First of all, I dislike the modern way of transportation that reduces travel to a mere logistic problem, namely, to the one transporting human cargo with the minimum cost. Second, I'm a creature of habits, and traveling inevitably interferes with them. And third, away from my natural habitat I miss the native diet of a chilivore.

It's not that I want every dish to be hot as hell, but what I can't stand is the styrofoam taste of the stuff one gets for food in airplanes and related places. Heat doesn't refer here to the physical quantity, but the sensation experienced when consuming certain spices, which is commonly also called spiciness, hotness, or pungency. This quality is usually only associated with Chili, but that's a fairly one-dimensional view.

Chili

“The food of the true revolutionary is the red pepper, and he who cannot endure red peppers is also unable to fight.” Said Mao Zedong (毛澤東), who was born in the Hunan province in China which is home of one of the eight great traditions of Chinese cuisine well known for its liberal use of hot chilis.

The active substance in all chili peppers is capsaicin. The Scoville scale provides a measure of the amount of capsaicin in a given plant and ranges from 0 to 16,000,000 Scoville heat units (SHU). The hottest Chili on earth is currently the Carolina Reaper with a breathtaking value of 1,569,300 SHU (as a reference: the spiciness of the original red Tabasco is not higher than 3,500 SHU). Now, these kind of hyper-hot chilis are mainly a fetish for chili heads (like myself) and are commercially valuable only as tourist attraction (see here). Nobody in his right mind would use such a designer chili for actual food. The hottest variety I've seen in authentic indigenous food is the bird's eye chili, which is particularly popular in Thai food, and which scores around 100,000 SHU. I have not seen anything substantially hotter in Mexico, but I have never been in Yucatán, where people eat reportedly Habaneros (up to 350,000 SHU) for breakfast.

Black pepper and ginger

Both are known for adding flavor rather than heat. But what is not commonly known is that both of these spices contain substances that are chemical relatives of capsaicin, have an analogous effect and can be measured on the same scale. The active substance in black pepper, for example, is called piperine and scores 100,000 SHU. Not much behind is gingerol in Ginger with 60,000 SHU. Even considering that the actual plants contain only a few percent of these active substances, they can be surprisingly hot when used liberally.

Mustard/Horseradish/Wasabi

A completely different kind of hotness is produced by a substance called allyl isothiocyanate, which is contained in mustard seeds as well as in horseradish and wasabi, and affects the nose rather than the throat. Personally, I don't like the popular chili mustards that attempt to combine the distinct types of heat offered by chili and mustard, but many people just love it for barbecue. Furthermore, many popular curry powder recipes combine mustard seeds with chili. In any case, mustard seeds are a part of human food everywhere in the world.

Sichuan Pepper

Has nothing to do with any other pepper (particularly with the very similar looking black pepper as you can see above). Contains hydroxy α-sanshool, which has a unique effect unlike any experienced with ordinary pepper, chili, or mustard. In the words of Harold McGee in his book On Food and Cooking, the sanshools “produce a strange, tingling, buzzing, numbing sensation that is something like the effect of carbonated drinks or of a mild electric current (touching the terminals of a nine-volt battery to the tongue).” Used, not surprisingly, mostly in Sichian (四川菜) food such as mapo doufo (麻婆豆腐) – my absolute favor and IMHO the undisputed crown of Chinese cuisines.

Garlic/Onions

Raw onions and even more so raw garlic develop an intense heat due to the substance allicin. When consumed in large quantities, the effect can be rather overwhelming. To give you at least an idea of what I'm talking about, have a look at the main vegetable side dish you get when ordering the traditional bulgogi (불고기) in Korea:

The meat coming with this friendly offer is marinated with a paste containing, among other delicious ingredients, loads of garlic. 😆 And the other side dishes consist in a green onion salad and (rather mild) chili peppers. 😵 After enjoying this course, I wasn't surprised hearing that onions and garlic have their own pungency standard, namely, the pyruvate scale.

It requires only these few basic ingredients to create the infinite variety of spicy food all around the world, from Thailand to the Caribbean islands, from Mexico to Ethiopia, from Cajun country to Korea. Sometimes, we may find the taste disagreeable or too extreme, like the eternal wasabi and ginger in Japan, and the endless garlic and onions in Korea. Don't be shy, vocalize your needs. I got hot chilis in Japan and ginger in Korea just by asking.

A spicy new year to all of you! 😊

山葵 (Wasabia japonica)

Cobra — Sat, 05 Oct 2019 16:35:08 GMT

My wife had to attend to urgent family matters and went home for a few weeks. When she asked me if there's anything I'd like her to bring back, well, of course: Wasabi! Now, most of you will have been already in Sushi shops or Japanese restaurants, and you thus may believe that you know what I'm talking about. You don't.

Personally, I've been served genuine wasabi only in two places in Japan, one in Osaka, one in Tokyo, both places I normally wouldn't even dream to visit since I don't want to spent my monthly income in one evening. But that's where I've learned what wasabi actually is – not the colored horse radish one gets almost everywhere, even in Japan (and certainly in Berlin), but one of the most delicious and stimulating spices and condiments I've ever had the pleasure to experience.

My wife bought a small little root as well as a おろし金 (shark-shin oroshigane), since wasabi is enjoyable only when being very finely grated. But when arriving at the airport, she was held back by authorities, since one cannot possibly bring the national treasures of Japan abroad without registering. 😱

Well, after filling out a phytosanitary certificate and getting it officially stamped, she was allowed to enter the plane to Helsinki. 😌

We are now having dinner and are enjoying the fresh wasabi together with good bread, butter, and smoked salmon (and beer). 😋 美味しい (Oishii)! 乾杯 (Kampai)!

Æchter Senf

Cobra — Fri, 24 Mar 2017 12:09:58 GMT

As a native German, I'm born with the genetic predisposition to love Bratwurst, Sauerkraut, and Kartoffelsalat. However, I insist that the Bratwurst, regardless of its provenience, is served with Mustard, and not just any one. Unfortunately, the standard mustard in Germany (“mittelscharfer Senf”) is a feculent substance that sickens me even if I only think about it. It tastes just like one would imagine a vinegar-salt-sugar paste with a homeopathic dose of mustard powder would taste: disgusting.

What I expect from mustard is really very simple: it should taste of mustard (and not exclusively of vinegar) and has the effect of mustard, i.e., I want to experience the familiar nose-tingling sensation one also knows from horseradish or wasabi. And that's to be expected, because all these condiments contain C₄H₅NS (3-Isothiocyanato-1-propene) or allyl isothiocyanate.

Wasabi has probably the highest C₄H₅NS content among the brassicaceae plants, and it was in fact in Japan where I discovered my love for the effect this substance has on the “mucous membranes of the sinuses”, as medically oriented people would put it. I've been invited several times to high-end sushi places in which wasabi was freshly prepared right at the dining table using a shark-skin oroshigane. I'm not too fond of sushi in general, but tekkamaki and unakyumaki are absolutely delicious when served with a proper amount of fresh wasabi.

And I soon found that the Japanese are serious mustard aficionados as well. Karashi, for example, is just plain brown mustard powder mixed with water and is served with many popular dishes, for example oden. Sausages are also highly popular and are usually consumed with a variety of excellent mustards available at any 7-11.

And then I returned to Germany just to discover that we live in a culinary desert. We have great sausages, oh yes, but where's the mustard of equivalent quality? A regular super market offers a dozen different varieties of “mittelscharfer Senf” (all tasting exactly the same), one sweet Bavarian variant (sugar paste with one or two mustard seeds), and two or three Dijon type mustards such as Löwensenf and Maille Dijon Originale. The latter ones are the least despicable, but I'm still not satisfied with their effect on my nose.

But who cares what the local market offers, this is the age of online shopping! Right?

Well, I order a lot of my food in the internet, and consequently also tried various offers I found online. Einbecker produces mustard with excellent taste, just as my favorite chili shop. I've set my hope in the latter as there were rumours in the forum that Michael Dietz, the founder of Chili Food, planned to create a truly hot mustard. In the end, it turned out to be just another of the so-called hot mustards that are simply pimped with chili.

But chili and mustard are two totally different beasts. As stated above, the desirable effect of mustard relies on the presence of allyl isothiocyanate. Chili, in contrast, is powered by C₁₈H₂₇NO₃ [(6E)-N-[(4-Hydroxy-3-methoxyphenyl)methyl]-8-methylnon-6-enamide] or capsaicin. Their effect is not only different: actually, it is entirely distinct. I don't understand why it seems to be increasingly popular to simulate the former with the latter. Imagine the opposite: somebody asking for Tabasco getting a pouch of Löwensenf.

In my desperation, I've even ordered Karashi and Colman's via Amazon. But come on: besides the obscene price tag, I really do not want to depend on a US internet retailer for a satisfactory Thüringer experience.

And then I found ECHTER LOOSER SENF and began to see the light. Hell, yes, why should I not produce my own mustard? How difficult can it be?

As it turned out, it's about as difficult as making a coffee. I've chosen this comparison as we have to grind the mustard seeds, which can be done with a mill or a mortar. Talking of mustard seeds: that's of course the central ingredient for a mustard. 😉 Since I aimed to get a really, genuinely, absolutely hot one, brown mustard seeds were required that can be obtained from specialized spice shops such as this one. A plain hot mustard can then be obtained with only a few more basic ingredients. Prior to its preparation, however, it's important to realize that a mustard has to be enjoyed when fresh. Certainly, one can keep it for months and perhaps even years and it never gets “bad” in a microbiological sense. But after a few days the bite of it is gone! So put your freshly prepared mustard in the fridge and wait overnight to let it mellow, but don't keep it longer than a week.

With that in mind, I recommend to prepare only a minute amount sufficient for just one or two meals:

Brown mustard seeds:                    25 g
Water:                                  30 ml
Wine:                                   5 (10) ml
Vinegar:                                15 (10) ml
Salt:                                   1.5 g
Sugar:                                  0.15 g

Grind the seeds in a mill or mortar (I recommend the latter). Mix water, vinegar and wine with salt and sugar. Pour the mixture over the mustard powder and stir carefully. Put in fridge for one night but let it warm to room temperature before digestion. Let me add that the choice of wine and vinegar is important, as these two ingredients are largely responsible for the character of our mustard. This fact is also the reason why I allowed for some flexibility in their relative amounts.

Season color

Cobra — Sun, 05 Apr 2015 17:00:43 GMT

An early morning shot of the norway maple just outside my study. Together with a freshly pressed orange juice followed by good coffee, and watching my cats watching the birds in the tree, the world doesn't seem such a hostile place after all.

Wurstsalat

Cobra — Fri, 25 Oct 2013 19:05:18 GMT

I've studied physics in Regensburg and Munich, which are cities in Bavaria, the land of beer and beer gardens. I soon learned to love the live-and-let-live philosophy characterizing the traditional beer gardens in these cities.

During the first years of my studies, I couldn't afford to live downtown. However, I was fortunate to find a place for me, the girl which'd chosen me and our two cats in Eilsbrunn, a scenic village situated in the black Laber valley 15 km west of Regensburg. And as it happened, our home (green arrow) was 200 m from one of the most picturesque beer gardens I have ever seen, the Röhrl Bräu garden:

We went there often already in the morning, sans cat, but armed with the quantum mechanics script and enough determination for a lifetime. After a couple of beer (even the smallest one, called Halbe, is essentially a pint) the edges would soften somewhat, and we would have grand insights and great visions. With the chestnut trees protecting us from sunshine, rain and even thunderstorms, we would sit there for hours, drink our beer, eat some snacks, and watch tourists arriving in Bentleys with HH plates and ordering “small beers” with mild amusement.

We were superior. We were Bavarian. We just didn't speak the lingo.

But we ate what the natives ate, and liked it a lot. In fact, Obazda and Wurstsalat, being comparatively low-priced, were a major component of my dietary plan for many years of my student life. Particularly the latter, of which a thousand variations exist. I always liked the "Swiss" or "Elsass" variant with Emmental cheese best. The following recipe is a distillation of the best Wurstsalat recipes I've experienced in Bavarian beer gardens.

500 g Lyoner oder Regensburger
200 g Schweizer Emmentaler
5 Saure Gurken
5 Radieschen

Wurst in Stifte schneiden, Käse und Gurken in Würfel, Radieschen in Scheiben.

3 Schalotten, in Ringe geschnitten
5 EL feingehackten Schnittlauch
10 EL Weißweinessig
5 EL Rapsöl
2 TL Salz
2 TL Schwarzen Pfeffer
2 TL Senf
1 TL Zucker

Alles gut vermengen. 24 h kühl stellen.

Mit frischem Brot und einem kühlen Bier servieren. 😉

Unmenschlich

Cobra — Sun, 08 Sep 2013 17:42:17 GMT

Some time ago, I've talked about Tabasco replacements. Several iterations later, I've now arrived at sauces which are are typically placed in the category Inhuman.

On the left, you see three sauces reaching level 10 without extracts. Angry Cock and El Chupacabra are produced by CaJohns in Ohio, while the Jolokia Sauce in the middle is made in Bad Dürkheim by Chili Food. They're all absolutely great, with the latter being particularly fresh and fruity.

On the right, you got two sauces using extract to reach level 10+ (exceeding 250000 Scovilles). Z by CaJohns is a lot like Vicious Viper, but hotter. 😉 Schwarze Witwe is fabricated again by Chili Food and probably the most potent sauce I've ever tried.

Sunshine

Cobra — Sat, 11 Aug 2012 12:56:42 GMT

Carsten read my hot sauce entry and decided to help: he went to the next supermarket and bought a popular hot sauce. Popular in Colombia, I should add. 😉

Here you see the 'Salsa de Ají Piquetasco' in company with its somewhat more vicious friends.

The sauce is not very hot (I'd guess about 5000 scoville¹), which makes it ideal for pizza. I had one yesterday night and used half of the bottle. Absolutely delicious! I never had a sauce which such a full and fruity taste. So I got curious and started to search.

Ají, I learned, is the caribbean word for chili in general, but likely refers here to a specific family of chilis, the capsicum baccatum, whose most popular species is the ají amarillo. In Europe, this family of chilis is much less known than anuum (which includes bell pepper, peperoncini, jalapeño, cayenne), chinense (bird's eye, habanero, bhut jolokia, ...), or frutescens (tabasco).

One finds a lot of praise of the ají amarillo in the web, but the article on Serious Eats describes this chili most vividly:

"Besides its phylogeny, ají amarillo is worth seeking out for its unique flavor, which offers a lot of fruitiness for its heat. It's a different kind of fruitiness from other chiles like poblanos: less sharp and harsh, more full-bodied, and a lot more subtle. If there were a chile to taste like sunshine, this would be it. It may sound odd to use the word "comforting" to describe a hot chile, but for ají amarillo, it seems fitting."

Exactly my impression.

Thanks so much for the great sauce and for widening my culinary horizon, Carsten. But...couldn't you've stayed in Bogotá a little longer?

¹ For comparison, the 'After Death' and 'Sudden death' sauces are rated at 50000 and 100000 scoville, respectively. Particularly the latter one is too hot to be sprinkled generously across a pizza.

Serious sauce is serious

Cobra — Sat, 21 Jul 2012 22:36:58 GMT

Some time ago, I was delighted to find a decent hot sauce in the store around the corner. When I checked last week, however, these sauces had disappeared. Upon my inquiry I was told that "this product was not accepted by our customer base". Why didn't I try this new product, the "all natural hot chili paste"? Very hot, and so natural!

Since arguing was futile, I gave in and took the paste. In a kind of desperate and naive hope I also bought the Habanero sauce from the bio store next door. At home, I tried both at once, and discovered that their “hotness” is on the same level as the mild peperoni from the pizza delivery.

All right, this is Berlin, and I can simply take the U-Bahn and go to the Pfefferhaus in Mitte. Or I can order online, which is what I finally did.

These are three examples out of the selection of sauces I've ordered. Notwithstanding the lurid packages, these are good-tasting and truly satisfying sauces. In contrast to super market sauces, they don't sting your tongue, but manifest themselves primarily by a slow heat building up in the throat. The dose is just right if every breath makes you feel like a dragon: invincible and full of life.

The ghost on the left, by the way, is not one of the usual metaphors in this business for death, but originates from the main ingredient of this sauce: the Naga Bhut Jolokia Chili also referred to as ghost pepper. It scares elephants, but attracts me. 😉

Rote Grütze

Cobra — Sun, 17 Jun 2012 19:04:30 GMT

Another favorite of mine when I was young, always expertly prepared by my grandma. Let's come straight to the point.

1 Glas (700 g) Schattenmorellen
400 g tiefgefrorener Beerenmix (Him-, Johannis, Erd-, und Heidelbeeren)
70 g Perlsago
250 ml Kirschsaft
70 g Zucker

Kirschsaft in mittelgroßem Topf geben, Zucker zugeben und verrühren. Beeren und Kirschen unterheben und aufkochen. Saft abseihen, in kleinen Topf geben und Sago einstreuen. Circa 30 min köcheln bis Sagokörner transparent sind. Früchte dazugeben und nochmals 5 min köcheln. Masse abkühlen lassen, mit Frischhaltefolie abdecken und über Nacht in den Kühlschrank stellen.

Je nach Geschmack kleine Portion auf flachen Teller geben und mit Vanillesauce anrichten. Oder großzügig Vanillesauce in tiefen Teller gießen, und künstliche Grützeinseln mit möglichst abrupten und tiefen Schluchten entstehen lassen. 😊 Guten Appetit!

Frankfurter Grüne Soße

Cobra — Sat, 07 Apr 2012 13:13:48 GMT

When I was a kid, my grandma often prepared the famous German green sauce. It was a favored dish of mine, but I realized much later that I liked it just the way she'd done it, and not like it's offered in restaurants. What you get there is commonly nothing more than a mushy potato with a little dip of rather thin, liquidy consistency and mayonnaise-like taste. I was always bitterly disappointed. 😞 A home-made 'Grüne Soße' would have been the natural alternative, but to obtain the required fresh herbs is usually a difficult task outside the area of Frankfurt.

Luckily, the fruit shop just across the street at which I live offers the original white herb packs directly from Frankfurt for a very reasonable €4.95. So let's try and recreate the original 'Grüne Soße' of my grandma! Since the ingredients for this local dish will be not easily available to people living outside of Germany, I post the following recipe for four portions of the genuine Frankfurter Grüne Soße in German only.

400 g Schmand
300 g Vollmilchjoghurt
200 g Crème fraîche
100 ml Vollmilch
2 EL mittelscharfer Senf
1 EL Weißweinessig
2 TL Salz
1 TL weißer Pfeffer
1 TL Zucker

Milchprodukte und Gewürze in einer tiefen Schüssel gut verrühren.

200 g frische Kräuter (Borretsch, Kerbel, Kresse, Petersilie, Pimpinelle, Sauerampfer, Schnittlauch)

Kräuter kurz waschen und mit einer Salatschleuder trocknen. Anschließend holzige und gröbere Bestandteile wegschneiden. Die verbleibenden Anteile mittels eines Wiegemessers oder eines sehr scharfen Kochmessers fein wiegen. Keinesfalls eine Küchenmaschine oder einen Pürierstab benutzen! Die zerkleinerten Kräuter unter die oben angerichtete Grundsoße heben.

8 hartgekochte Eier

Die hartgekochten Eier pellen, mit einem Eierschneider würfeln und in die Soße einrühren, bis sich die Eigelbwürfel komplett aufgelöst haben.
Schüssel mit Frischhaltefolie abdecken und über Nacht in den Kühlschrank stellen.

1,5 kg festkochende Frühkartoffeln wie z.B. Charlotte

Schüssel mit Soße direkt vor dem Kochen der Kartoffeln aus dem Kühlschrank nehmen.
Kartoffeln säubern und als Pellkartoffeln zubereiten.

Kartoffeln auf flachen Tellern anrichten, Soße darübergeben und sofort servieren. Guten Appetit!