Vinegar is a relationship between sugar, water, and time. The world is full of wonderful microbes that require just a nudge to begin fermenting a fine batch of your own sour brew. Begin with purified bottled water that is free of chlorine and fluorides. Most tap water is treated to sterilize it, but that also means it can harm the beneficial cultures that you want to thrive. 

Taiwanese-style fruit vinegars can be made with a range of different ingredients, though there is often an emphasis on particularly acidic fruits like pineapples and citrus, which, over time, help to develop a prized tangerine-rind flavor known as chenpi. Feel free to use your own favorite fruit for your batch. While both fresh and dried fruit may be used, dried ingredients are generally a bit more stable, and less prone to spoilage and infections during the fermentation process.

Writer Nissan Haque’s vinegar guru, Kathy Yongxue Mei, suggests using manuka honey, which is believed to have natural antibacterial properties, to jumpstart the fermentation, but feel free to substitute ordinary sugar if you prefer a cleaner taste. Live organic apple cider vinegar is now widely available on grocery shelves. These typically contain their own vinegar “mother,” which can be used in small amounts to provide the microbial framework to seed your own brew. This ingredient isn’t strictly necessary, but if you find that even after three weeks a mother has not formed, adding a tablespoon from the bottle can help the process along. 

Straining your vinegar is also not necessary but doing so prevents “off” flavors from forming as the dead yeasts settle. Use a pH kit to periodically taste the liquid as it ferments. A vinegar with at least four percent acidity or a relative pH between 2.5–4 will be shelf-stable enough to age well into the future. 

Featured in: “Finding Vigor in Taiwanese-Style Aged Vinegar.”

Equipment you will need:

Two 32-oz. mason jars (plastic lids preferred)
Cheesecloth
pH kit

The post Dried Mulberry Fruit Vinegar appeared first on Saveur.

The early evening was still and silent in Taichung, Taiwan, save for the sounds of clinking glassware in a small corner of the old house. I’m a bit of a wanderer and also a tea teacher. A year earlier, my search for antique teas had led me to the studio of Yanggu, a quiet master of kintsugi and metal staple repair who happened to share my love of the beverage. Now, on the first night of my subsequent whirlwind apprenticeship in the repair arts, I found myself stuffed and bloated after dinner at my new master’s home. I complained: I was too full to even think about sleep.

Mr. Cai, Yanggu’s spirited old patron, stretched his legs under the low table, slicked back his silver hair, turned to me, and confessed he had overindulged as well. Yanggu flashed what I’d eventually come to know as his signature grin. He stepped into the kitchen and assured us both: he had a special cure. 

“This is aged,” he said. “20 to 25 years.” He set down three antique glasses, centered a single ice cube in each, and uncorked the small vial. “Not Tea. Vinegar.”

An umbral viscosity settled over the ice like the creep of dusk over the nearby Dazhan mountains. I was sure I had heard Yanggu say vinegar, but the faint scent of sweet plums made me wonder if I had misunderstood. The initial sip was astronomical, in the celestial sense of the word: Its shock of acidity tilted my head upward and made me see stars. At once bracing and fleeting, the liquid’s fruity twinkles left my tongue slicked with a lingering, almost oily texture. Before I could take a breath, the acidity took over again.

The complexity of age is difficult to describe, whether in tea, wine, whiskey, or vinegar. These living products transform perishability into the nearly immortal. On a scale too small to see (but large enough to smell), microbes, sugars, acids, and a host of phenolic compounds continuously alter these brews long after fermentation and acetification slow to a crawl. Flavors that begin as bitter, cloying, and puckering thicken and evolve into smooth sweetness. Textures and mouthfeel improve. Aromas become complex and enticing. It’s no wonder civilizations all over the world harnessed these bubbling cultures, then aged their results into something even more beguiling.

The earliest recorded fermented beverage is a wine from around 7000 BCE, made from rice, honey, and fruit. Evidence of this brew was discovered in the ruins of Neolithic villages dotting the Yellow River Valley. And wherever wine is in contact with air, there is a chance that it will sour. 

Vinegar—the word itself derived from the French vinaigre, meaning “sour wine”—was likely made shortly after. An early written record of vinegar dating back to 3000 BCE describes how Babylonians used an acetic brew as a preserving agent. But residues found in Egyptian urns trace vinegars as far back as 5000 BCE. And Chinese texts like the Rites of Zhou from around 200 BCE detail the alchemic use of vinegar to create medicinal elixirs as far back as 1000 BCE. 

Aged vinegars, which are often sweet and smooth enough to drink, are similarly far-reaching, but far more dear, wherever they’re found. Perhaps the most famous example is Italy’s aceto balsamico, made from grape must and traditionally aged over the course of decades in a series of wooden barrels. Black vinegars made from grains have been aged in clay jars in China and Japan as far back as 3000 BCE; these are widely used in cooking and are also occasionally drunk as a digestif. In Taiwan, the local cuisine is inseparable from the influence of its many past occupiers, and it is likely that aged vinegar was introduced to the island by one of them.

“As a child, I never had this kind of vinegar. We didn’t really have vinegars at all,” says Mr. Cai, puckering his lips. The Taiwanese-born businessman grew up in the countryside, but spent much of his life in France, where he experienced culinary vinegars for the first time. Zoe, a native of Taiwan and fellow lover of Taiwan’s tea culture, notes the parallels between the two beverages: “Aged vinegar is a bit [more] of a northern Chinese thing. They cooked and ate things like dumplings with [black] vinegar but never in my family or my friends’ families growing up.” Chinese teas was initially brought to the island by Portuguese traders in the 1600s; modern fruit vinegars were most likely an import from the Japanese occupation. 

“[Vinegars] were probably brought over from Japan over a hundred years ago,” speculates Mr. Lao, a fourth-generation vinegar maker in the south of Taiwan. Lao, now retired, produced both malt and vinegars, which he aged in large clay jars preserved from previous generations. His fruit vinegars took much longer to age than the malt varieties, but to him, the slow process was worth it. “Fruit in Taiwan is so sweet,” he tells me “and the weather is quite good [for aging].” But the aged vinegar sales were modest. “Most people would rather make this at home than go to the store for it.”

Vinegars for Health

In the mid-20th century, Mr. Lao’s old-school sipping vinegar fell out of vogue. In 1949, China’s nationalist party, led by Chiang Kai-shek, had fled to Taiwan after breaking from the communists. Scarcity followed, and culinary luxuries were few and far between. But after the Chairman’s death in 1975, Taiwan set up a democratic government which ushered in a new era of prosperity. Frugality persisted in the focus on food preservation despite the country’s rapid growth.

But new health trends frequently arose and vinegar makers saw an opportunity. Two distinct vinegars were subsequently distilled into Taiwan’s culinary and medicinal identity—northern Chinese-derived black vinegars like lao chencu became a popular ingredient for cooking, while fruit vinegars, then heavily marketed as a health beverage by companies like Uchibori, Kuze Fuku & Sons, and Shih Chuan in Japan, rose in popularity amongst the Taiwanese. Health-conscious vinegar imbibers still swear by a spoonful for a host of physical benefits, from the regulation of cardiovascular health, to relieving fatigue, to burning calories. “It is said,” my master Yanggu tells me, “that sipping nurtures the stomach.” 

Though there’s little conclusive scientific research to support any of these claims, similar beliefs have persisted since at least as far back as the Zhou Dynasty, and microbiologists, studying the effects of gut flora on health, are finally coming around to the idea. But aged vinegars are difficult to find. “Either you make them, or you know a vinegar-maker,” Yanggu sighed as he finished his sip of vinegar. “If it’s [aged] well, the complexity can’t be matched.” He stared at his glass for a brief moment, tilted the ice onto his tongue, and savored the last drops of the tart elixir clinging to the cube.

Third Wave Fruit Vinegar

Nowadays, new companies such as Artizn, Brightland, and Acid League are paving the way with new experiments in acid and flavor. Scott Friedmann of Acid League’s new line of “Living Tonics” promotes a departure from the stabilized, bottled vinegars from industrialized processes. “There’s no question that twenty years of aging has a huge benefit on flavor,” Scott says, “The question from a health perspective is: do many more years of aging improve the health benefits of vinegar, or do you get those on day one?” 

Scott’s excitement, like that of so many contemporary vinegar drinkers, focuses instead on fresh fruit and vegetable flavors that can be preserved and accentuated with as few as six months of aging. This new wave aims to change the perception of the often harsh brews from the earlier health-led trends.

But my own renewed infatuation with vinegars began more practically than with a desire for better health or even with an attempt to recreate that first heavenly taste in Taichung. I simply had too many darn mulberries growing, and they were making a right mess of my garden: I decided to make a go of aging my own fruit vinegar at home.

How Do You Make Your Own Fruit Vinegar?

Vinegar is a relationship between sugar, water, and time. The world is full of microbes that just need a nudge to start the process of fermentation. Naturally occurring yeasts begin the process, first by consuming sugars, then by producing carbon dioxide and alcohol. Alcoholic fermentation is largely anaerobic—meaning no oxygen is required—so a clean, sealed environment with a simple airlock is the ideal place to begin fermenting whatever fruit or grain you like. 

Eventually the resulting alcohol—with the help of acetic acid bacteria—will transforms into vinegar. This secondary fermentation is aerobic, which necessitates leaving the liquid exposed to air. Remove the airlock, then cover the container with cheesecloth to keep dust and critters out. Once that’s finished, strain your brew into a glass or plastic bottle (or an antique century old jar, though my wallet much prefers glass), cover tightly, and let it age. Large artisan productions often seal their vinegars away in breathable clay jars, but beginners are better off sealing their homemade bottles. Whatever your solution, be sure not to use anything metal as vinegar is corrosive.

Tips for Success

Start Well, End Well.

When aging any food or beverage, your best bet is to start with high quality ingredients. Bad tea ages into, well, more bad tea. Bad fruit ages, on the other hand, into a right mess. Aging is a major time commitment, so don’t waste the process on sub-par product. Fresh, peak-season produce generally has the optimal amount of sugar for proper fermentation, as well as clean and potent flavor of. But that doesn’t mean vinegar-making can’t happen year-round. In the absence of summer’s bounty, dried fruit works great too. 

It’s Alive!

As your secondary fermentation progresses, a thin, clear, jelly-like film will appear along the surface of your vinegar. This is the beginning of the “mother”—a symbiotic relationship between acetobacter and cellulose. This is where most of the organisms that convert alcohol into vinegar live. It’s helpful to think of the mother as a thriving community. Over time, that community shifts and changes like the seasons. Be aware that the mother is temperature-sensitive; to help her thrive, store your brew at a comfortable room temperature, between 60 to 80 degrees Fahrenheit.

Golly, What’s Growing On Here? 

It’s all fun and bubbles until a fungus decides to show up: Sometimes, mold happens. You can get away with some surface mold growing along the surface of your vinegar if it’s past its alcohol-making stage and small enough to easily scoop out. (The acetobactors and acidity can kill off the “infection” and soldier on.) But why risk it? If you’re unsure, toss the batch and start again.

Use Your Nose

Your best friend through any fermentation journey is your nose. Humans are surprisingly good at telling when something is spoiled. If your vinegar smells funky or rotten, toss it. It’s not worth the risk. A few weeks into the secondary fermentation, start to smell and taste your vinegar periodically. If your vinegar smells like nail polish, it’s a good indication that there’s not enough air. A smell of acetone means there’s not enough air to turn alcohol into acetic acid. Simply allow more airflow to complete the conversion.  It’s also a good idea to pick up some pH test strips. A pH of 2.5-4 (about four percent acidity) indicates that vinegar is shelf stable and ready to be bottled and aged. Over time, the liquid will become sweeter and thicker. As you begin this process with your own batch, take some time to smell the perfume of vinegar in the air, and enjoy this ancient, venerable art of letting go.

Recipe

Dried Mulberry Fruit Vinegar

Get the recipe for Dried Mulberry Fruit Vinegar »

The post Finding Vigor in Taiwanese-Style Aged Vinegar appeared first on Saveur.

Makgeolli is a raw, unfiltered alcoholic beverage, traditionally made from rice, water, and a fermentation starter called nuruk. The Korean drink consists of two distinct layers that can be seen when the strained alcohol settles. The top, transparent layer, which is known as yakju or cheongju, can either be served separately or distilled into soju. The lower sedimentary layer is called takju.

When making makgeolli at home, try to maintain a room temperature between 65°F and 78°F. (If the room is cooler, the brew may take up to 14 days to ferment; if the room is warmer, it will speed up the process).

An instant-read thermometer is useful when preparing this recipe; the ingredients may be purchased in bulk from Brew Chatter where you can also buy everything you need in a premeasured kit. For the best results, sanitize your equipment before you begin, either in the hottest setting of your dishwasher, or with a homebrewing sanitizer, such as Star San. If you are unsure as to whether or not the makgeolli is fermented, give it a sniff and taste: it should smell of alcohol and have a lightly sweet taste.

Featured in: “Makgeolli Magnate Alice Jun Is Spreading Korean Culture, One Bottle at a Time.”

Make Makgeolli Cocktails with Your New Homebrew

Makgeolli Old Fashioned

Get the recipe for Makgeolli Old Fashioned »

Ginger Makgeolli Twist

Get the recipe for Ginger Makgeolli Twist »

Yuzu Makgeolli Mule

Get the recipe for Yuzu Makgeolli Mule »

The post How to Make Makgeolli appeared first on Saveur.

Three decades ago, when Esther Choi’s parents and grandmother emigrated from Korea to New Jersey, they set to work building a garden to make their own kimchi, the basis of most of their weeknight meals.“At the time, there was no kimchi at restaurants nearby,” she says, “and it was hard even to find any Asian ingredients in stores.” Choi’s grandmother began gathering neighbors and friends to make communal batches of kimchi in their local church basement. The fall batch was the most important because it meant their garden vegetables would be preserved through the winter.

Making her grandmother’s recipe—an amalgam of thick cabbage spears, dried and fermented fish, sticky plum sauce, and a fire-engine-red chile paste left to ferment for a week or more—is still a steady ritual for Choi, who is now chef-owner of mŏkbar, a Korean restaurant with locations in Brooklyn and Chelsea Market.

“I’m obsessed with kimchi and always have been,” the chef says. “It’s in my blood.” Aside from being a staple side dish of Korean cuisine (which Choi eats alongside everything, even pizza), this spicy, fermented vegetable mixture is the main component in many Korean dishes. Today, Choi’s menu at mŏkbar features riffs on some, such as kimchi-jjigae, a comforting stew.

Traditional Kimchi

At her restaurant, Choi has at least 12 different types of kimchi in rotation. Beyond using the traditional Napa cabbage, she makes versions with daikon radish, perilla leaf, and ramps.

There’s no single perfect formula or recipe for how to make kimchi—every family has its own, something Choi likens to an Italian tomato sauce—nor will every batch turn out the same. The results might vary based on the water content of the vegetables or the time of year and the day’s weather, or the particular type of salt you use. But more than anything, Choi says, “It’s the person—it’s the knowledge that you bring to it and the lessons that you learn with each batch that make your kimchi your own.”

“It’s a slow, long process,” she continues, “which is why it carries a stigma of being difficult.” But if you like eating kimchi, try making your own. The flavors are more complex, and “it’s not that hard,” she says. “It just takes repetition, and then it becomes sort of like a memory.”

Making Kimchi Is Easier Than You Think

You just need a large jar, a couple of bowls, gloves (if you want them), and these four steps

Step 1: Salt The Cabbage.

“This is the number-one thing,” Choi says about salting, a part of the process called joelim in Korean. Salting the cabbage and letting it rest draws out its water and gives it a lightly “cooked” texture, preparing it to be fermented. “Not every salt is the same and not every cabbage is the same, so even if you have an exact recipe, you will still probably have to improvise based on what looks and feels right.” Eight to 10 hours of rest after salting is a good starting point, but check earlier to determine how much the cabbage leaves have wilted. “You want a little bit of crunch to remain, but when you lift up the cabbage, it should flop down,” says Choi. Be sure to rinse vegetables at least 3 times in cool water after salting.

Step 2: Make The Paste

“This is where people get creative—each region and household has their own recipe,” Choi says. Her take falls between the flavors of southern Korea, which is known for fishier versions, and Seoul style, which is spicy and sour. She swears by adding plum extract to the paste, but you can substitute puréed fruits like apple or kiwi if plum extract proves difficult to find. Other crucial elements include a sticky rice “glue” made from cooked rice flour, for thickening, and a combination of fish sauce, fermented baby shrimp, and dried pollock or cod—which gives the kimchi a refreshing brightness called shiwon. “It’s just not the same without it,” Choi says. You can make the paste a day ahead and refrigerate in an airtight container.

Step 3: Mix Thins Up

The best way to mix the paste into the salted cabbage is with your hands. Because—particularly in traditional recipes—the cabbage is kept in large wedges before it’s seasoned, nothing else can do a better job of working the paste into the nooks and crannies. So wear gloves if you want, and focus on coating each piece. “Don’t overdo it, but don’t skimp either—get every leaf covered in some paste.” Then, see how the color looks. “I like kimchi that’s vibrantly red, which means it’s really well seasoned and the chile flakes are fresh,” Choi says. If your chile paste looks too dark or too brown, that means your chile flakes are old. Use them soon after buying, or store them in the freezer to retain their color and freshness.

Step 4: Let It Ferment

Traditionally, kimchi makers would bury their batch in the ground in earthenware pots to ferment. But since the neighbors will likely talk if you start digging holes in your backyard, a vessel on your kitchen counter will work just as well. Coil the cabbage pieces into a large airtight jar or crock, leaving at least 3 inches of space at the top to prevent the bubbly, fermented juices and gases from oozing out (something Choi says has happened to her countless times). After 2 days at room temperature—or more if you want it really sour and funky—transfer the jar to the refrigerator for another 5 days. After that, it’s ready to eat and will last up to a year. “The whole idea of kimchi is that it’s long-lasting,” Choi says.

Korean Kimchi Stew with Pork Belly and Tofu (Kimchi-jjigae)

The post How To Make Kimchi With Chef Esther Choi appeared first on Saveur.

Gone are the days of splurging on your favorite kombucha at the grocery store or local co-op. With just a few ingredients, a handful of reusable supplies, and a good bit of patience, you can make your very own super-healthy, probiotic punch right at home.

The steps are quite simple: you brew a strong tea with sugar and let it ferment in a jar with SCOBY (an acronym for “symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast”), and the result is that fizzy, probiotic-packed, kinda-funky drink we all know and love. The process can take anywhere from one week to 30 days. Once you get the basics down, the real fun begins: flavors! Feel free to play around with all kinds of inventive combinations.

Here’s everything you need to prepare your DIY kombucha.

Large Kombucha SCOBY and Starter Tea

Amazon

Check Price

Upon first glance, your SCOBY might give you the heebie-jeebies on account of the weird string-like things hanging from it, but don’t let those scare you off—it’s the one of the most important components in the kombucha-making process. SCOBY is essentially a slippery, rubbery layer of cellulose that fosters the fermentation of your tea. In short, it keeps bad bacteria out, and the good stuff in. This particular SCOBY is five inches in diameter and comes from a reputable kombucha company. It also includes a 16-ounce bottle of starter tea, which you’ll need to kick things off.

Glass Jar

Amazon

Check Price

As for what kind of vessel you should use to make kombucha, a big glass jar is the way to go. Take note that the diameter of the jar’s opening make a difference in the fermentation process. For example, if you’re using a wider-mouthed jar (say, nine inches), the fermentation may occur more quickly and yield a more vinegary-tasting kombucha. This BPA-free, nontoxic one-gallon jar comes with a cheesecloth and rubber band specifically made for brewing kombucha.

Unbleached Muslin Jar Covers

Amazon

Check Price

When it comes to a cover for your kombucha brew, keep in mind that choosing the correct material is vital. Kombucha can attract fruit flies and other tiny bugs, so the fabric should be tightly woven enough to prevent pests from entering. At the same time, it also needs to be vented enough to allow airflow (no airtight lids allowed!). Your best options are unbleached muslin or cheesecloth (like what comes with the jar above). If you want some extra covers on hand, this unbleached-muslin four-pack includes rubber bands, and keeps out flies but allows your kombucha to breathe easy.

Get Kombucha Organic Tea Blend

Amazon

Check Price

Most beginners opt for basic black tea bags to get their kombucha going, but you can also use loose-leaf tea, like this organic black-and-green blend specifically made for kombucha. Many kombucha brewers insist that a combination of black and green teas makes sure the SCOBY gets all the nutrients it needs to thrive.

White Cane Sugar

Amazon

Check Price

The most basic ingredient on this list, sugar is a must for making kombucha. While any white sugar will do, most pros recommend organic white cane sugar.

Glass Beverage Bottles

Amazon

Check Price

When it comes to kombucha storage, look for eco-friendly glass bottles with leak-proof steel caps, like these dishwasher-friendly ones from Epica. The set comes with six.

Kombucha Brewing Kit

Amazon

Check Price

If you don’t want to source each item individually (or mix and match from what you already have in your kitchen), invest in this kombucha starter kit from the Kombucha Shop. The set includes a glass jar, SCOBY and starter pouch, and extra goodies like loose-leaf tea and pH strips (to measure the acidity). It also comes with a helpful step-by-step guide on how to get started.

The post Everything You Need to Make Your Own Kombucha appeared first on Saveur.

Left to ferment, this sauce takes on a tangy, spicy-sweet flavor. Minnick uses cayenne chiles, but any hot red chile will do.

What You Will Need

• Medium Bowl
• Airtight Pint Jar

The post Fermented Carrot, Chile, and Tomato Sauce appeared first on Saveur.

Yukiaki Tenpaku reaches for a piece of raw ubame oak in his clifftop smoke hut, stoking a fire like the ones his ancestors used 300 years ago. Tenpaku is the owner of Maruten Ltd., a small company in Japan’s Shima City that makes katsuobushi the old way: by gently smoking, drying, and fermenting bonito fish for shaving into pinkish-brown flakes. It’s a main ingredient in dashi, Japan’s staple stock, and is widely used as a topping on dishes such as okonomiyaki, where the supple flakes twist and curl in the rising heat.

From the beginning, the Tenpaku family has practiced tebiyama—a time-honored way of smoking that attaches firewood flavor while allowing for precise control over the flame. But very few makers still use this labor-intensive method, and Tenpaku believes it’s in danger of disappearing. “It isn’t attractive to the younger generation,” he says. “The bonito are decreasing, and Japan’s food is diversifying.” Still, the desire to preserve this way of life keeps him going. He used to obtain his bonito—a smaller relative of skipjack tuna—from local waters, but after the Fukushima nuclear accident in 2011, he has turned to the waters of Indonesia and Papua New Guinea. The months-long process begins for Tenpaka at port, where the fish are gutted and boiled before transport to his hut.

Here, he stacks hundreds of fillets in wooden baskets, each morning lighting a low fire in a pit several feet below, which he extinguishes after a few hours to let the fillets dry. This is repeated every day for a month. Tenpaku then trims and shapes each fish and stores them in a high-humidity mold room, where they will ferment for two weeks before a brief break to dry in the sun. The mold is scraped off and Tenpaku begins again. After months of delicate maintenance, the fully dried fillets look and feel more like wooden sheaths than fish. But inside, they’re a brilliant translucent red, with a tongue-coating flavor the Japanese call kokumi. It’s a long and lengthy process, but one Tenpaku cherishes every step of the way.

The post Katsuobushi on Japan’s Ise-Shima Peninsula appeared first on Saveur.

This past winter, we had a huge variety of really great recipes, ranging from hearty and heavy to some dishes that had us feeling a bit lighter on our…er, feet. In addition to fermenting everything (no really, everything), we learned about cooking with cheese and some other Greek ingredients in Crete. We pickled trotters to eat alone or sprinkle into a bed of greens, we cooked with lots and lots of sherry, and we learned to love duck fat (ok, we may have already loved duck fat, but still). Below are the 27 recipes we cooked while creating our latest issue.

Short Ribs with Fermented Pepper Harissa

Tangy fermented pepper paste, the base of Burns’ harissa, can be customized to be as sweet or spicy as you prefer. “Mine is usually in the middle,” she says. The sauce can be used immediately, but Burns says the leftovers will continue to improve in taste for up to 6 months and keep indefinitely in the refrigerator. Slow-cooking the short ribs at the oven’s lowest temperature, or in a low-heat dehydrator, ensures that the centers stay medium-rare. And a quick sear on a grill or grill pan delivers crispy edges. Get the recipe for Short Ribs with Fermented Pepper Harissa »

Fermented Squash and Sesame Dip

“This is a nod to tahini dip, done in a way where you also get sweet and sour flavors from fresh and fermented vegetables,” Burns says. “The sesame helps emulsify, and lemon juice, garlic, and spices lend a little acid and heat.” If you have another fermented vegetable on hand, you can substitute all fresh squash and use the lacto-brine from that vegetable in place of or in addition to the lemon juice. Get the recipe for Fermented Squash and Sesame Dip »

Fermented Carrot Borscht with Ginger and Turmeric

“Borscht was traditionally a fermented soup,” says Cortney Burns, who adapted the classic beet base to one featuring a combination of fresh and fermented carrots and beets instead. “The warming spices, fresh ginger, and alliums bring out the natural sweet flavor of the carrots,” she says. Burns tops her soup with anything from salt-brined caraway to shredded or wilted vegetables, pickled ginger, dill, or yogurt, but play around with combinations you like. For a red version, use purple or red carrots and red beets. For a yellow version, use yellow carrots and golden beets. Pass the finished soup through a fine-mesh sieve for a completely silky texture. Get the recipe for Fermented Carrot Borscht with Ginger and Turmeric »

This wet-brining technique promotes the development of lactobacillus, a bacteria that works to break down sugars into lactic acid, a natural preservative. Over time the vegetables will soften as if being gently cooked and take on a tangy, sour taste. It works best with hearty, durable vegetables (like the carrots and winter squash in the recipes that follow), and less so with fruits or more delicate vegetables. Every few days, check jars for mold and discard if needed. Get the recipe for Base Brine for Fermented Vegetables »

The base of these flourless crackers is a mixture of whole and ground seeds. Burns fuses them together by blooming ground flax and chia seeds in the brine from lacto-fermented vegetables to make a natural binding agent. “I do them in a dehydrator at 105 degrees, which keeps them raw and keeps the lactobacillus alive,” Burns says. But you can also set your oven to the lowest setting, or, with a gas oven, leave it off and let the pilot light do the work. If they soften or go stale, these crackers can be re-crisped in a low oven or dehydrator as needed. Get the recipe for Seed Crackers with Lacto-Fermented Brine »

Gascony’s love affair with corn dates back to the 15th century, when it was introduced from the New World by Christopher Columbus and his Basque crew shortly after their return to Spain. Get the recipe for Gascon Duck-Fat Polenta with Duck-Skin Fritons (La Cruchade) »

As the bird steams and braises in a terra-cotta roaster or Dutch oven, it releases its own fat and juices that make a rich sauce with the roasted grapes and shallots. Because it’s made in one pot and results in tender, juicy meat every time, this is a perfect duck dish for beginners. Get the recipe for Roast Duck with Shallots and Concord Grapes »

Confit, from the French verb confire, to preserve, is a traditional means of cooking meat slowly in its own fat. Although you may not have access to a whole foie gras duck for rendering, you can create a deeply flavorful confit with good-quality duck pieces and rendered fat bought from a trusted butcher. Get the recipe for Gascon-Style Duck Confit (Confit de Canard) »

Gascon Sourdough Cornbread (Pain de Méture)

Corn is prevalent in Gascony, France, where it’s used to feed the region’s famous foie gras ducks. It’s also the star of this pain de méture, a Gascon cornbread made with sourdough and baked in a cast iron pan. Get the recipe for Gascon Sourdough Cornbread (Pain de Méture) »

Hearty Vegetable Stew with Duck Confit and Cabbage (Garbure Gasconne)

Traveling through the lower reaches of Gascony, you will be offered a steaming bowl of garbure to begin almost every lunch and dinner. Warming, hearty, and satisfying with large chunks of sweet winter roots, cabbages, and onion, garbure is the way the French balance the heavier meat and starch courses inevitably to follow. Locals here typically enrich the broth by stirring it with a leg of duck confit, then adding the shredded meat at the end, or with the addition of a few chunks of ham. Get the recipe for Hearty Vegetable Stew with Duck Confit and Cabbage (Garbure Gasconne) »

Many years ago, I learned a classic civet of duck cooked in a rich wine and blood sauce from the most wonderful female cooks in the Lot-et-Garonne, chef Marie-Claude Garcia of La Belle Gasconne restaurant and my dear friend Vétou Pompèle. They taught me to always “cook” the wine lightly by lighting it on fire before adding the meat and aromatics to simmer. Get the recipe for Wine-Braised Duck Legs with Agen Prunes (Civet de Canard Aux Pruneaux D’Agen) »

While this marriage of artichokes and Sanlúcar prawns (called langostinos locally) in a fino sauce tastes like a timeless classic from the Sherry Triangle, it was created recently by young chef Javier Munoz at La Carboná, the restaurant owned by his parents in Jerez de la Frontera. The restaurant’s motto is “Cocina con Jerez” (cooking with sherry), and Munoz, who worked previously at El Celler de Can Roca, concocted this appetizer as the ideal accompaniment to briny, nutty amontillado. Get the recipe for Marinated Artichokes with Prawns and Fino Sherry (Alcachofas Salteadas con Langostinos y Fino) »

Equipo Navazos’ Jesús Barquín ritualistically enjoys scouring the fresh fish market in Sanlúcar de Barrameda for the area’s incomparable shellfish. He cooks mantis prawns, langostinos, and clams and their sweet and salty juices into fideos, Spain’s national noodle, a short vermicelli. The dish is reminiscent of paella, but a hefty portion of the liquid used is dry fino sherry. Watch the noodles at the bottom of the pot for burning; unlike paella, you don’t want a crispy edge. Get the recipe for Spanish Vermicelli Noodles with Prawns, Cockles, and Squid (Cazuela de Fideos con Mariscos) »

For Equipo Navazos’ Eduardo Ojeda, a classic Sunday meal is pork cheeks (carrilleras) slow-braised in beef stock, rich and oxidative palo cortado, and a pool of olive oil. The excess oil helps keep the relatively lean cut of meat tender as it simmers. Ojeda suggests pairing the dish with a young amontillado. Get the recipe for Braised Pork Cheeks with Palo Cortado Sherry (Carrilleras Estofado con Palo Cortado) »

This regional dish uses the same rice and many of the same techniques as paella—and whatever wild gamebirds are in season. Jan Peterson, owner of the Fernando de Castilla bodega and a collaborator with Equipo Navazos, cooks his on a campero, an outdoor gas range popular in the Spanish country­side. Get the recipe for Saffron Rice with Partridges and Amontillado Sherry (Arroz con Perdiz) »

Acorn-fed pata negra lomo, a salty, dry-cured Spanish pork loin, is delicious on its own. But chef Israel Ramos, of Restaurante Albalá, makes a case for its tartare-ization. The lomo is best cut into tiny cubes with a very sharp knife, and the dish best eaten alongside fino or manzanilla, ideally en rama. Get the recipe for Iberian Cured Pork Lomo Tartare »

You can find Andalusian potato-tuna salads like this offered at any café or bar in Jerez, served at most hours of the day and night. Eduardo Ojeda of Equipo Navazos likes to make the dish as the starter course for family meals at home. He uses tuna belly preserved in olive oil, tins of which are sold in Spain as ven­tresca de atún claro. He also adds a serious quantity of olive oil, never measuring exactly. Just when you think you’ve added too much oil, he recommends adding a healthy flourish more. Serve with fino, ideally from Machar­nudo vineyard. Get the recipe for Spanish Potato Salad with Tuna (Papas Aliñas) »

Cretan Bean Stew with Spinach

Dark leafy greens are the predomi­nant vegetables in Crete, where more than 100 types grow and they are often paired with beans in sautés, stews, and pies. To make this rustic, lightly sweet side dish to accompany his meat and cheese dishes, Trilirakis uses manaroli, a legume similar to a chickpea but with a characteristic black spot. You can cook the beans up to a few days ahead of serving; store in fresh water in the refrigerator. Get the recipe for Cretan Bean Stew with Spinach »

Roasted Goat with Potatoes and Onion

Goat’s milk is used widely in local cheeses. But this simple dish from Stelios Trilirakis of Dounias restaurant represents a traditional Cretan preparation of the meat, slow-roasted for hours in a clay pot over a wood-fired oven. You can achieve equally tender meat and crisp edges using a heavy, covered pot. Get the recipe for Roasted Goat with Potatoes and Onion »

This milky, soft-cooked vegetable casserole is sprinkled with a granola-like wheat topping called ksinohontros, from the Cretan words meaning sour (ksino) and large chunks (hontros). It was traditionally made by cooking cracked wheat in soured milk, then drying and crumbling it. Stelios Trilirakis uses fresh milk from his animals and dries the pieces directly in the sun, but an hour in a low oven does the trick. Get the recipe for Broccoli and Cauliflower Casserole with Cracked Wheat Topping »

Sarikopitakia (fried mizithra cheese pastries)

These savory fried cheese pies are named for their spiral shapes. Sariki, a Turkish word meaning “turban,” is also the name of a traditional headdress still worn by Cretan men at celebrations. Tsikoudia, a grape-based spirit from Crete, is used in the dough, likely for making it easier to roll out into thin sheets. Get the recipe for Cretan Fried Cheese Pastries (Sarikopitakia) »

Cretan Cheese Pies with Thyme and Honey (Kalitsounia)

These local hand pies are often served around Easter. Made with a country-style phyllo, which is less flaky and slightly thicker than classic versions of the dough, they can be found either baked or fried and filled with many different types of mild local sheep and goat cheeses. This recipe for a baked version features mizithra and tiromalama cheeses, but others may use malaka or anthotyro. A good substitute is a mixture of feta and ricotta salata. Get the recipe for Cretan Cheese Pies with Thyme and Honey (Kalitsounia) »

In Crete, boureki is a rich, layered dish typically consisting of potatoes and squash, often topped with a generous amount of cheese before baking. Boureki may be eaten at room temperature, but it is especially irresistible when the cheese is still warm. Get the recipe for Layered Pumpkin and Cheese Gratin Squares (Boureki) »

After testing and adapting author and culinary instructor Kate Hill’s recipes for “In French Gascony, Duck Fat Is King”, we found ourselves with a glut of beautiful white-gold duck fat. Since we could only fry so many eggs and potatoes in the stuff, we turned to Ariane Daguin, the Gascon-born head of boutique meat purveyor D’Artagnan, for more ideas. Daguin will often use the slightly funky flavor of the fat to reimagine baked goods. Get the recipe for Duck-Fat Shortbread Cookies »

At the Glade Hill Cannery in Franklin County, Virginia, master canner Ronald David helps his neighbors process local heritage apples—like tart, vinous Staymans—into dense, jammy apple butter (see “A Living Larder”). The concentrated natural sugars, which turn the apple butter a deep chestnut color, also help to preserve it. David also stresses the importance of adding salt, which cuts through some of the natural sweetness of the cooked apples. Virginians traditionally pair apple butter with soufflélike cornmeal-batter bread for breakfast, but in the Test Kitchen, we love it on ham sandwiches or as part of a cheese plate. Get the recipe for Apple Butter with Cinnamon and Cloves »

Braised Collard Greens with Pickled Trotters

While you can use store-bought trotters in this dish, we pickled our own, which add a similar kick of acidity and deep hammy flavor. Get the recipe for Braised Collard Greens with Pickled Trotters »

Natural gelatin released by pig’s trotters during cooking gives them a jellied consistency. In Creole cuisine, they were traditionally served chilled as an hors d’oeuvre or battered and fried like chicken. While trotters do not contain a lot of pure meat, their skin and cartilage are edible and—once pickled—loaded with tart, porky flavor. The silky pickings from one or two make an excellent addition to beans or braised greens, like the delicious sweet and sour collards Chef Jean-Paul Bourgeois makes at his restaurant Blue Smoke in New York City. Get the recipe for Spicy Creole Pickled Pig’s Trotters »

The post The 27 Recipes We Featured in Our Winter Issue appeared first on Saveur.

When it comes to fermentation, we’re just a touch obsessed. If there’s something that can be fermented (hint: everything), we think it should be. It may sound intimidating (and there are risks involved, to be sure), but it doesn’t have to be a challenge. Executive editor Stacy Adimando would go so far as to say that “the art of fermenting vegetables is as simple as soaking them in salt and water, or…rubbing them in salt so they form a natural brine.” Get some spices involved to kick your brining up a notch. Once you get your base down, get ready for plenty of soups, dips, and sauces to take your ribs to the next level. Check out our 10 favorite fermentation recipes below.

Chia seeds! Lacto-fermented brine! It sounds like hippie food, but these seed crackers are addictive. Get the recipe for Seed Crackers with Lacto-Fermented Brine »

This squash will be ready after two weeks in brine. Get the recipe for Base Brine for Fermented Vegetables »

Fermented Carrot Borscht with Ginger and Turmeric

“Borscht was traditionally a fermented soup,” says Cortney Burns, who adapted the classic beet base to one featuring a combination of fresh and fermented carrots and beets instead. Get the recipe for Fermented Carrot Borscht with Ginger and Turmeric »

Short Ribs with Fermented Pepper Harissa

Tangy fermented pepper paste, the base of Burns’ harissa, can be customized to be as sweet or spicy as you prefer. Get the recipe for Short Ribs with Fermented Pepper Harissa »

Indian Lime Pickles

Tangy, tender lime pickles are a flavorful staple of India, a condiment that adds sour, spicy punch to meals. Get the recipe for Indian Lime Pickles »

Fermented Raspberry Shrub

This berry-infused syrup made with vinegar adds a balancing zing to all kinds of drinks, most famously the Roffignac, a sweet-tart cocktail named for New Orleans’ last French mayor. Allowing it to ferment (as opposed to cooking it on the stovetop and using it immediately) makes it even tangier. Get the recipe for Fermented Raspberry Shrub »

At the Glade Hill Cannery in Franklin County, Virginia, master canner Ronald David helps his neighbors process local heritage apples—like tart, vinous Staymans—into dense, jammy apple butter (see “A Living Larder”). Get the recipe for Apple Butter with Cinnamon and Cloves »

Mixed Baby Vegetable Pickles

The recipe for this lacto-fermented mixed pickle is flexible: Use whatever vegetables happen to inspire you at the market, and feel free to tweak the seasonings. The benefit of using baby vegetables is not only aesthetic; because of their small size, they cure faster. Also because of their small size, and their sweet, mild flavor, we don’t want to use too much salt in the brine: As a safeguard, we add just a bit of white wine vinegar. Get the recipe for Mixed Baby Vegetable Pickles »

Spiced Hard Apple Cider

This recipe was adapted from True Brews: How to Craft Fermented Cider, Beer, Wine, Sake, Soda, Mead, Kefir, and Kombucha at Home by Emma Christensen. Sterilize every spoon, jug, bucket, cap, or bowl you use when home brewing to avoid contamination. Get the recipe for Spiced Hard Apple Cider »

Quick Basic Kimchi

Getting tired of your plain winter root vegetables? Throw some homemade kimchi on there to spice up a standard dish. Get the recipe for Quick Basic Kimchi »

The post 10 Ways to Turn Your Kitchen into a Fermentation Larder appeared first on Saveur.

There’s a reason chef Cortney Burns of “A Living Larder” has a basement filled wall to wall with jars. The art of fermenting vegetables is as simple as soaking them in salt and water, or—another technique she loves—rubbing them in salt so they form a natural brine. Spices, herbs, and other aromatics can take fermented vegetables to the next level. Here, a guide to fitting the produce to the brining method, and some flavor combinations to try.

Wet-Brining

Works with whole or cut hearty, raw peeled vegetables of all shapes and sizes (but smaller shapes and cuts will ferment more quickly). Dissolve 1 Tbsp. kosher salt per 1 cup water to form a brine. Jar vegetables with aromatics and add brine to cover. Seal and store in a dark, 60–68° area for 2–3 weeks, uncovering the jar every few days to release carbon dioxide. Eat, or refrigerate up to 1 year.

Dry-Salting

Works with shredded cabbage or some julienned roots. Massage 2½ lb. vege­tables with 1 oz. kosher salt. Jar with aromatics. Let rest several hours. When liquid nears the top, weigh down vege­tables to submerge. (If needed, add brine made of 1 Tbsp. kosher salt dissolved in 1 cup water.) Seal. Store in a dark, 60–68° area, uncovering every few days to release carbon dioxide. Eat after 1–2 months, or refrigerate up to 1 year.

The post How to Ferment (Almost) Everything appeared first on Saveur.