Cooking without a recipe is game of sensory Tetris. You are playing with all kinds of sensory shapes and colours, from flavour and texture, to acidity and temperature, trying to fit them together to make a neat and seamless composition that fits pleasingly in your guests’ range of pleasurable tastes.
When your guests are your siblings, assembling the Tetris structure of a meal is a piece of premixed add-an-egg-and-bake cake. Having grown up on roughly the same food education (aged cheddar, beer foam, licorice wheels, homemade pizza and mountains of brined olives), we all moan within the same octave when a fine cheese hits our palate.
When my older sister arrived in Victoria to spend the summer, after six years of living in the UK, I jumped at the occasion to have her over for dinner. Six years is a long time, but I knew that the span of a meal would be enough to shrink that time down to a digestible morsel. Of course, I wanted to offer her the best of my kitchen — a meal that would combine the familiar and the new, the comfortable and the exotic, and most importantly, the fresh flavours and textures of the promising summer to come.
Dinner for my sister: Taro Vichyssoise with Lovage Miso Purée, Burrata Salad with Pickled Sea Asparagus, Slow-Roasted Salmon with Shio-Koji Pickled Fennel, Lemon Poppy Seed Salad Kraut, Parsnip 糠漬け (Rice-Bran Pickles) and Strawberry Basil Shiso Kombucha
Salicornia Pacifica
Some ingredients in Culinary Tetris are new, others recall sensory memories from long ago. When I saw the piles of sea asparagus at the local greengrocer’s, I was immediately transported to a place and time where sand dollars were a currency, wooden trail bridges were competitions in stride length, slug populations were meticulously monitored in a notebook, and marshmallows and licorice were staple foods.
No summer in my childhood was complete without a camping trip to Miracle Beach. Indeed, no place had greater impact on my rampant imagination and on my view of the natural world. Walking at low tide beyond the sandy expanse dotted with sunbathers, picnickers and sand-castle builders, I remember gazing with wonder at the fields of sea asparagus growing in lush clumps interspersed with patches of sand. I would try to cross the maze of salty succulents without crushing them, by jumping from sand patch to sand patch, like a game of wild hopscotch. Crouching down, the plump green stems became trees in a miniature forest, housing all manner of crustaceans and mollusks.
We knew they were edible, but were wary of eating plants that spent half their lives as a carpet potentially trampled by flip flops, Birkenstocks’ and furry paws. I wanted to eat them. I had very romantic ideas about living off the land, snacking on wild rose petals and spending inordinate amounts of time with my brother picking huckleberries not much bigger than pinheads and then crushing them with a fork to make jam — enough for a few pieces of toast if we were lucky. Needless to say, alone in the woods, I would have gone hungry rather fast.
Nowadays, Salicornia pacifica has become a common offering a farmers’ markets on the West Coast, thanks in part to a growing population of locally-minded and sustainability-oriented foodies and chefs. Although they are commonly known in my area as sea asparagus, the popular nomenclature also includes American glasswort, perennial saltwort, pacific samphire and pickleweed, to name just a few.
Maldon Sea Salt
I was inspired to use Maldon Sea Salt by Samin Nostrat, who praises their transformative effects on food and explains what distinguishes it from other types of salt, and how to make good use of them in the kitchen in her wonderful book Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat: Mastering the Elements of Good Cooking.
Sea salt is left behind when seawater evaporates. Solar sea salts such as fleur de sel , sel gris , and Maldon are the less-refined result of gradual, monitored evaporation that can take up to five years. Taking the shape of delicate, distinctly aromatic flakes, fleur de sel— literally, “flower of salt”—is harvested from the surface of special sea salt beds in western France. When it falls below the surface of the water and attracts various sea minerals, including magnesium chloride and calcium sulfate, pure white fleur de sel takes on a grayish hue and becomes sel gris , or gray salt. Maldon salt crystals, formed much like fleur de sel , take on a hollow pyramid shape, and are often referred to as flaky salt.
Because solar salts are harvested using low-yield, labor-intensive methods, they tend to be more expensive than refined sea salts. Most of what you’re paying for when you buy these salts is their delightful texture, so use them in ways that allow them to stand out. It’s a waste to season pasta water with fleur de sel or make tomato sauce with Maldon salt. Instead, sprinkle these salts atop delicate garden lettuces, rich caramel sauces, and chocolate chip cookies as they go into the oven so you can enjoy the way they crunch in your mouth.
When I popped a few grains of Maldon Salt in my mouth for the first time, I was blown away. Their delicate texture and intense saltiness reminded me of Pringles — without the potato (or the junk!). A light sprinkling on locally-grown tomato halves (the salt, not the Pringles) transformed a sweet snack into a moan-inducing delicacy. Once you’ve experienced them once, you will want to try them on everything, from watermelon slices to chocolate mousse, just to see how can transform your food.
The iconic box of Maldon sea salt flakes can seem quite expensive, if you are used to buying refined sea salt or table salt, but used parsimoniously, as a finishing salt, sprinkled on top of dishes just before serving, the box will last you a very long time. Like a good balsamic vinegar or olive oil, it is an easy way to enhance your dishes and add a touch of luxury to simple cooking. Also, look around for specialty food shops in your area that might sell them in bulk. I was able to get a nice little plastic vial (enough for quite a few salads!) for under CAN$2.
Burrata
I didn’t think there could be anything better in life than biting into a fresh, meaty ball of mozzarella di buffala under the warm Italian sun… until I had burrata. You see, burrata starts with a pocket of mozzarella, which then gets filled with cream. The best of two worlds if you ask me. Author and delicatessen-owner Mary Contini explains the magic in her book Valvona & Crolla: A Year at an Italian Table:
Burrata is a specialist buffalo milk cheese, first produced during the 1920s in the then-inaccessible heel of Italy. Production of it begins with rennet curdling warm buffalo milk. Then, unlike other cheese-making, the curds are plunged into hot whey and skilftilly pulled into stretchy strings, pasta filata, before being shaped as required. When making burrata, the pasta filata are shaped into pouches, small scraps of mozzarella are stuffed into them and these are topped with fresh cream before being closed off in a ‘cheese’ knot. (…) When fresh burrata is sliced open the creamy, buttery centre flows out (…) To enjoy at its best, it should be eaten as soon as possible, definitely within a few days. It has an exquisite flavour, creamy and indulgent, sweet without a hint of sour.
As Mary explains, burrata is best eaten as fresh as possible. Unless you live in Italy, I recommend finding a good cheese shop in your area that imports burrata made in its place of origin, Puglia (the “heel” of Italy). Inquire about which day they receive their shipment, and plan to eat burrata only on that day.
Joëlle
Serves 2
A quintessential summer salad showcasing simple, high quality ingredients. With fragrant tomatoes and basil, syrupy balsamic vinegar, crunchy Maldon sea salt, pickled sea asparagus and a voluptuous ball of burrata, it's sunshine in a bowl, with a hint of sea spray.
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Ingredients
- 1/2 cup microgreens (I used baby mizuna from my garden)
- 10 cherry or grape tomatoes, halved
- 1 ball of burrata
- 2 tbsp olive oil
- 1 tbsp aged balsamic vinegar
- Handful basil leaves
- Maldon salt (or other finishing salt, such as fleur de sel)
- 1/2 cup sea asparagus
- 1 Shallot, thinly sliced
- 1 tbsp shio koji
- 1 tbsp white wine vinegar
- 2 tsp mirin
- A few basil leaves, chiffonaded
Instructions
- Steam sea asparagus for 1 minute, and transfer immediately to a bowl to cool
- Once cool, add the rest of the pickling ingredients and leave the mixture at room temperature to cool for at least a few hours.
- To assemble the salad, scatter microgreens at the bottom of a serving dish.
- Take the pickled asparagus with your hands with squeeze out the pickling juices. Layers them atop the microgreens, reserving a few tablespoons to garnish the burrata.
- Place the ball of burrata in the middle of the bowl, and arrange the tomato halves and basil leaves around it.
- Garnish the burrata ball with the reserved sea asparagus and a sprig of basil.
- Drizzle olive oil over the salad, followed by the balsamic vinegar.
- Sprinkle Maldon salts over the dish. Serve immediately.
Notes
Shio koji (塩麹) is a lacto-fermented mixture of rice koji (rice inoculated with aspergillus oryzae spore -- the basis for many well-know Japanese ferments such as miso, sake and soy sauce). It provides enzymes and probiotics while imparting the dish with a unique umami flavour. You can substitute sea salt, himalayan salt or fish sauce. To learn more about shio koji, how to make it at home, and how to use it in the kitchen, click here.
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Reference
Contini, M., & Contini, P. (2012). Valvona & Crolla: A Year at an Italian Table. London: Ebury Digital.
Nosrat, S. (2017). Salt, fat, acid, heat: The four elements of good cooking. New York: Simon & Schuster.
