Photos by Kenji Miura
When I told Dianne Jacob that I used Patricia Wells’ recipe for tempura, she laughed out loud.
But I do. And it’s fool proof.
Tempura is one of the trickiest Japanese foods to prepare. We’ve done two Soba Dinners at Chez Panisse with a chef friend from Japan, and both times, the tempura was hard to get right. Flour variations are monumental between producers and countries. The actual taste of the flour and its gluten content also factor into the equation. Oil flavor and temperature are other crucial components that go into making the perfect piece of tempura. Does this mean you shouldn’t try? No. Just be prepared to do it right and be prepared to serve from the stove.
My husband, Tadaaki, has always been the main Japanese cook in our family,
though I often assist. And sometimes, I make tempura. Unlike
Tadaaki, who does a massive fry-up involving numerous vegetables and fish
varieties, I choose one or two bright green mountain vegetables. Crunchy and bitter, dipped in sea salt,
a few clusters is all you need. No
big fry-up. Though you may want to
skim the oil and recycle for another less flavor-sensitive fried food, like
chicken kara age.
A lot of Japanese foods require a “mama”—the person manning the fry kettle, hot pot or charcoal broiling ring (shichirin konro). I’ll unashamedly admit that the “mama” in our house is usually Tadaaki. Because he insists. We try to dissuade him, and offer to take a turn, but he is obstinent. It is almost as if he cannot enjoy his meal until others are satisfied. Clearly, he’s not American.
But of all those foods, fried things (agemono), really mandate one person frying and ferrying to the table since fried foods need to be eaten hot. I’ve been working on a Japanese farm food cookbook, so it is often I who stands at the stove. And as I fry, my mind wanders, or gets testy as I listen to my family’s lively banter in Japanese. I don’t want to get into their Japanese world, because English would fall away at an alarming rate. I have fought to keep English alive in our house and as a result my boys are bilingual and my husband is fluent, but I feel the (self-enforced) isolation of being outside their Japanese conversations. And, not selfless like my husband, I begin to resent manning the fry kettle, and get irritated that I need to call several times for someone to come fetch the crisp fried pieces of tempura that I have just pulled from the bubbling oil.
And sometimes I resent that by the time I sit down, Matthew has already wolfed down his food and left the table. Another fallout from his new school life. Students have a short few minutes to shovel in their lunch, so shovel they do. And I get tired of entreating him to slow down, because he is usually done before I notice and he pays no heed to my pleas. Matthew and Christopher were always joined at the hip, so as Christopher neared 18, 12-year-old Matthew joined him in his bouts of independence.
I stand at the stove, dipping curled bunches of wild parsley
(ceri) and feathery stems of tree
buds (koshi abura) into the tempura batter made from our home grown flour,
a pinch of salt and sparkling water.
I grasp my chopsticks and swish a piece of greens around, knocking
against the ice cubes that help keep the batter cool and light. I shake off the greens so there is no
residual batter clinging inside the leaves and the batter sprays around the
stove a bit. Tempura is not for
the faint of heart or the meticulously clean kitchen. It makes a mess.
But like so many simple, yet difficult things, making a perfect piece of tempura ultimately is intensely satisfying. And I’m not Japanese, so that satisfaction is even stronger and more intense, knowing that I have made tempura better than my husband and that I’m not the bumbling American that I so often feel. Perhaps I haven’t mentioned that as a farm boy, Tadaaki is skilled at just about everything and that as a town girl, I am not. But I make great tempura. And I can cook.
In fact, Tadaaki is alarmed that I may take over his spot as the Japanese cook in our house. No chance of that, though he does now have a partner in the kitchen. I suppose life comes full circle. As the boys go off to school, we are back to the partnership of cooking together and it feels good to be cooperating and not vying for our own time as we did when the kids were small. I like that we gave of ourselves to the kids when they needed us, but that now they are pursuing their own individual interests, Tadaaki and I are working on projects as a team. And I look forward to that new phase in our life, as we transition back into being a couple, rather than just parents, more cooperative than adversarial. A relief that softens the loss of teenagers as they move into their own worlds away from the family.
A relief that softens the loss of teenagers as they move into their own worlds away from the family
Patricia Wells’ “tempura”: The truth is, this recipe was originally for deep-fried zucchini blossoms—one of my all time favorite appetizers in the summer. Patricia’s recipe includes a couple teaspoons of curry powder and is inspired by Joël Robuchon. Patricia also uses Wondra flour, something I have never had. I use Tadaaki’s homegrown low-gluten flour (cake or pastry). Prepare 3-4” (7.5-10 cm) lengths of bitter budding flower tops (bok choy, mustard, turnip, arugula) or same in diameter of curly watercress-like bunches. Line a cookie tray with a thick piece of one whole newspaper, then paper towels on top of the newsprint. Set next to the stove. Over low flame, heat 4” (10 cm) best quality rapeseed or peanut oil in a medium-sized stainless steel saucepan. Whisk 1 cup low-gluten good tasting flour (150 g) with 1 cup (250 cc) sparkling water and ¼ tsp fine white sea salt. Take out 2 pair of long cooking chopsticks. Use one pair to dip in the batter and one pair to remove tempura from oil. Increase heat on oil to about medium high flame. The oil should not be smoking. Test oil with a drop of batter, before starting. The batter should sizzle and immediately form a small ball as it hits the oil. It should not brown immediately. Adjust oil as you go. Add about 6 large ice cubes to the tempura batter. Working with about 3 or 4 pieces at a time, dip herb tops in batter, shake off excess batter (well) and drop into hot oil. Turn gently as the batter becomes a light golden color and when all sides are cooked, remove to newspaper & paper towel lined cookie sheet. Serve immediately with fine white sea salt or organic soy sauce.
A relief that softens the loss of teenagers as they move into their own worlds away from the family
Photos by Kenji Miura
Reading your posts, with the descriptions and the pictures, erases any other food thoughts or cravings . . . and now all I want is tempura. How do you do it Nancy?
Posted by: Sarah O'Toole | May 11, 2010 at 07:42 PM
Wonderful story Nancy! I relish the times when Gary and I are preparing dinner together but I often resent being the 'mama" as well. I love tempura and this post has inspired me to experiment with some none gluten flours. I'll let you know how they turn out.
Posted by: Richard Stevens | May 13, 2010 at 08:17 AM
Sarah: I am in Vietnam and absolutely craving the comfort food of Japan. How did I get to this place? Funny how not too long ago it was California or Mediterranean food that I craved. There is almost nothing I wouldn't give for some eggplant abura miso (see brown food post..when was that oh yeah, Eggplant & Bitter Melon). I am totally determined to figure out how to make the yaki niku by the way because we need to be able to do that at home. Ne?
Richard: In Vietnam they mix rice flour and wheat to make baguette. In Japan, I use potato starch to dredge chicken pieces marinated in soy sauce, sake & grated ginger. I think you could work with rice flour for tempura, but definitely avoid the egg and do it in small batches with ice cubes. And do let me know how that works.
Posted by: Nancy Singleton Hachisu | May 13, 2010 at 10:27 AM