"To understand anchovies, you need to understand umami.
For most of history, just four tastes were recognized: sweet, sour, bitter and salty. They were probably singled out around the fifth century B.C.E. by the Greek philosopher Democritus. The mantra of four tastes was repeated — with a few notable exceptions — until a Japanese chemist named Kikunae Ikeda posited in the early 1900s that there might be an unidentified fifth.
Mr. Ikeda had noticed that seemingly unrelated foods such as asparagus, tomatoes, cheese, cooked meats and dashi, a traditional broth in Japanese cuisine made from kombu seaweed and dried fish flakes, had something in common that did not align with any of the four recognized tastes. He set about analyzing kombu to tease out the chemical foundation of this unique flavor.
After months of painstaking chemical reductions, the seaweed yielded the source — a tiny amount of glutamate, which exploded with flavor when combined with sodium and sprinkled on food. He named the taste umami, after the Japanese word “umai,” which translates — very roughly — as savory taste.
Preserved anchovies — whether salted, packed in oil or transformed into fish sauce — have extraordinarily high levels of umami. Adding even half an anchovy or a small splash of fish sauce to an otherwise simple dish can turbocharge it to a new realm of flavor. Despite this ability, in some Western cultures anchovies are notoriously polarizing. (No such divide seems to exist in many parts of Asia, however, where they are regularly consumed fresh, dried or in fish sauce.)
But it’s time for the leery to give anchovies another chance. These are times in which we’re rethinking how we eat. We know that red meat and animal fats are hard on our bodies and the planet. We know we need to be eating more whole foods, more plants, more good fats, more grains and pulses. The beauty of the anchovy is that it’s a small, fast-growing fish that can be sustainably caught, is good for us and is very good at making other things that are good for us taste great. We know that because it’s been doing so for millenniums: It enlivened lamb and black-eyed peas in ancient Rome, spiked the sauces of French haute cuisine and had a starring role in hors d’oeuvres at fancy New York restaurants.
The ancient Romans were the first in Europe to harvest and consume anchovies and other small fish on an industrial scale. Across their empire, the pungent fish sauce garum — often made with anchovies — was consumed in large quantities. So distinctive is the aroma of garum that during the 1960s in the ancient city of Pompeii, excavators unearthed 2,000-year-old containers that they said still exuded the smell.
Even if the Romans had no recognized concept of umami, they understood that fish sauce made their food taste better. Much better. In the ancient Roman recipe compendium known as “Apicius” and considered to be the world’s oldest surviving cookbook, some 350 of more than 400 recipes use fish sauce. They include one for lentils, an ancient Roman staple, which suggests also adding leek, cilantro, mint, honey and wine. [1]
Anchovies also spent decades elevating French haute cuisine. François Pierre de La Varenne’s “Le Cuisinier françois” in 1651 instructed chefs and home cooks to add anchovies (and copious amounts of butter) into sauces, largely inaugurating an era in which anchovies were a flavor enhancer de rigueur. In the 18th century, Vincent La Chappelle was exhorting readers of his “Le Cuisinier Moderne” to add two or three anchovies to a coulis of veal and ham. “Let it be hot and relishing,” he wrote. It was also around this time that a cookbook by François Menon featured the recipe for one of the all-time great culinary alliances: anchovies and toast.
These flavors and fashions crossed the channel to Britain, but it was through condiments that anchovies reached the heart of British cuisine. Traders returning from East Asia in the 17th century brought back fish sauces, including one called kecap, which quickly became all the rage. Cooks and housewives in Britain reverse-engineered the process to create their own homegrown, anchovy-based versions, which they eventually called ketchup. In 1769, Elizabeth Raffald’s cookbook “The Experienced English Housekeeper” contained 144 recipes that called for anchovy-infused ketchup or condiments. By the early 19th century, they were a bona fide kitchen staple.
Ketchup, of course, eventually made its way to America, but the American version evolved by losing anchovies in favor of plenty of tomatoes and sugar. (British ketchup mostly doesn’t use anchovies today either, though there are still some popular condiments that do.) Most Americans had little need for a diminutive fish as a flavor enhancer because the abundance of affordable meat, fowl and larger fish meant that plenty of umami could be had from other sources, even by the poor. Nonetheless, anchovies did find a home in fancy French restaurants, including New York’s Delmonico’s, where one often began a meal with anchovies on toast. Such trendy hors d’oeuvres appealed to the aspirations of many a New Yorker at the dawn of the 20th century.
We’re in another anchovy moment. Chefs eagerly confess their love for the “bacon of the sea.” For home cooks and foodies they’re an “affordable luxury.” And there are whole restaurants devoted to canned fish.
That’s a good thing. As many of us move toward plant-based eating, anchovies can and should be called upon to do more of the culinary heavy lifting. They are nutrient-dense and full of heart-healthy omega-3 fatty acids. They are loaded with protein and packed with vitamins and minerals. And unlike larger, slower-growing and longer-living fish that reside higher up the food chain and become repositories for mercury, anchovies are fast-growing, at the bottom of the food chain and lower in mercury.
And, as history shows, the opportunities to add an anchovy are almost endless: Perk up a French vinaigrette by adding half an anchovy. Improve almost any vegetable with a little anchovy, garlic and chili flakes. Add a few fresh herbs and a couple of anchovies to baked fish.
Follow the lead of Gaspare Delle Piane, a monk and the author of a meat-free cookbook in 19th-century Italy, and toss one or two (or three!) into a pot of lentils.
Or make like the 18th-century chef Vincent La Chapelle and drape whole fillets across the top of a roast fowl just before serving.
From the Roman Empire to the present, this tiny fish has always punched above its weight in flavor. So the next time you want to add a little magic to your meal, add an anchovy. I don’t think you’ll regret it.
Christopher Beckman is the author of “A Twist in the Tail: How the Humble Anchovy Flavored Western Cuisine,” from which this essay is adapted." [2]
2. Anchovies Are Always a Good Idea: Guest Essay. Beckman, Christopher. New York Times (Online) New York Times Company. Jul 17, 2024.
Komentarų nėra:
Rašyti komentarą