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I grew up in apartment 10J of a high rise in Morningside Heights, in Manhattan. My maternal grandparents — both Japanese immigrants — lived one floor below us, in 9J.
My sisters and I would regularly sleep over, on a futon rolled out on their living-room floor, and breakfast at my grandmother Kachan’s table was always rice and eggs in one of two forms: tamago kake gohan (hot rice beaten with soy sauce and a raw chicken egg until frothy), or warm rice topped with tarako, the salted, cured egg sacs of Alaskan pollock. It’s an ingredient that’s great on rice, but also adds briny, umami flavor to a variety of dishes.
For breakfast, Kachan would place the soft, pale pink sacs over hot coals glowing in a small countertop binchotan grill. She’d flip them, each sac about the size of a cocktail wiener, until the edges were charred and smoky, and the sacs firm enough that they could be crumbled over warm rice. As we ate, we’d tear nori sheets into small bits, sprinkle them on top and stir the mixture with chopsticks.
At least, that’s how I remember it. My mother says Kachan probably cooked the tarako in a small-handled fish basket held directly over the gas flame of the kitchen burner. My older sister, Aya, insists that she did it in a small frying pan, the egg sac swelling until it burst, sending tiny eggs skittering across the hot metal. I also distinctly remember her broiling tarako in the same tabletop toaster oven where she toasted shokupan.
My grandmother passed away years ago, so we can’t check in with her. But over time, I’ve confirmed that every one of these techniques works just fine for tarako destined for the breakfast rice bowl (although the smokiness of charcoal can’t be beat if you can manage it). A single sac of frozen tarako is enough to flavor at least four breakfast-size bowls of rice, but I typically buy a few extra to keep in the freezer.
Since tarako, and its spicier sibling mentaiko, are used in both Korean and Japanese cuisines, the proliferation of Korean supermarket chains like H Mart has made them easier than ever to find. (In fact, mentaiko is a cognate of the Korean word for Alaskan pollock, or myeongnan, combined with the Japanese word for child, ko.) I typically get mine in trays near the frozen food department of Japanese or Korean supermarkets, and it keeps for a few months. Defrosting it is relatively quick — overnight in the fridge or an hour or two on a sheet tray on the counter — or you can keep it in the fridge for at least a week or two. (Its saltiness increases its shelf life.)
Cooking it for breakfast is a snap. I most frequently broil the egg sacs on a small sheet tray in my toaster oven or in a skillet on the stove until cooked through, while I microwave some leftover rice. Then, I crumble them over the rice, serving furikake or nori sheets on the side. It’s also wonderful raw, dolloped into the center of onigiri (seasoned rice balls).
Mentaiko is also a classic mix-in for Japanese-style potato salad, which takes a kitchen-sink approach to vegetables. Basic versions include cucumber, onion, carrot and corn, but virtually anything crunchy can be added. Mentaiko gives the potatoes a brininess that reminds me a lot of causa, the pre-Columbian Peruvian dish that combines cold mashed potatoes with a seafood-based stuffing.
The other day, I brought home a half-dozen bagels, and, while I typically whip cream cheese with scallions and a touch of cream until fluffy, I tried whipping in some mentaiko. It reminded me of lox cream cheese, but with the funkier flavor and chile heat of mentaiko. Plain old mentaiko cream cheese was great, but so were versions with chopped scallions, capers or dill.
Outside pairing with rice, the most popular preparation for tarako or mentaiko in Japan is mentaiko pasta. It’s a staple dish of Japanese wafu cuisine, a style typified by Western dishes prepared with Japanese ingredients and flavors. To make it, you combine raw tarako with soy sauce-seasoned heavy cream (though I prefer miso paste), then stir in freshly cooked spaghetti with a splash of the pasta water. It’s served garnished with shredded nori or shiso leaves. I find that adding a single egg yolk helps the sauce thicken and coat the pasta strands.
Given its similarity, I wondered if leaning into a version of the dish that more directly echoed Roman pasta carbonara would work, with mentaiko replacing the cured pork. I whisked the mentaiko with two whole eggs and four egg yolks, a healthy shower of black pepper and a dollop of miso paste. Then, I tossed this mixture with freshly cooked bucatini and a ladle of pasta water, stirring vigorously until the sauce thickened and coated the pasta in a golden sheen studded with tiny eggs.
Tarako is in the “will eat but will never ask for it” camp for my children. My mother moved down into apartment 9J when her parents passed away. Maybe my kids just need their grandmother to make a few post-sleepover bowls of rice with grilled tarako to really burn (or at least tastefully char) the flavor into their memory. I wonder if my mom still has the same old futon.
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发表于 6-21-2023 14:29:56
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