Delectable diversity

The future of American food includes Angeleno tacos and Indian spices

Chubbs Tacos
Chubbs Tacos

Ask Preeti Mistry why she cooks Indian food and you can almost hear the frustration in her voice.

"Well," she explains without hesitation, "it all goes back to chai."

Chai?

"This is a drink my family, and my grandparents, have been drinking every morning and every afternoon their entire lives," says the mohawked chef of Oakland's Juhu Beach Club and Navi Kitchen in Emeryville, Calif. And one day, mysteriously, the beverage of South Asia began turning up at every coffee shop she encountered.

We weren't yet using terms like cultural appropriation, but "chai tea" marked something of a political awakening. Why, she wondered, are all these white people making money off it?

"You get made fun of in school for being weird, for being different, for having weird smells coming out of your house," says Mistry, who was born in London and raised in the United States. She kept the faith. "I knew I would get to the place where I can cook Indian food like the Indian food I love, and people will see there's more."

She was correct that there would be a new generation of diners -- foodies -- eager to dig their forks into the unfamiliar. There is also a new generation of chefs like Mistry: born or reared stateside, rewriting the script on what that cuisine should look and taste like.

Now 41, Mistry is the one making money off her chai, which she serves at Navi Kitchen, with freshly roasted spices, sugar and milk, all boiled, the way it is in Mumbai. You can, if you must, get it with a shot of espresso.

Wesley Avila has a no-nonsense way about him. When Gary Menes of Le Comptoir asked him about his goals in a job interview, Avila told the chef he wanted to be a taquero -- a taco slinger, the furthest thing from the tasting menu Menes would offer.

Menes wanted to serve his guests personally, from behind a counter. So did Avila. Menes gave him the job.

Avila had known taqueros all his life. He was reared in Pico Rivera, a largely Hispanic suburb in L.A. County. His mother was born just outside San Diego; his dad emigrated from Durango, Mexico, in the 1970s, washing cars at first, and then snagging a job at a cardboard factory that he held for more than 40 years. Listless for years after the tragic death of his mother when he was a teenager, Avila looked like he would put in a life at the same factory; he worked there as a forklift driver for seven years. His father finally intervened. "You guys are American," his father told him. "You should be able to go to school and have a career, and do something you want to do."

Avila ultimately quit his job and went to culinary school. He went to Mexico and France and Spain to educate himself and spent years in fine dining. Now 39, Avila launched Guerrilla Tacos in 2012. It took its name from the fact that Avila's taco cart was, at first, a rogue, unpermitted operation. Now a food truck, Guerrilla Tacos might sell a sweet potato taco with French feta and romesco-like salsa one day, or a wild boar taco another.

"I really identify as Angeleno -- from L.A.," he said. "What my food represents isn't necessarily Mexican, and it isn't high-end. It's Angeleno; it's a melting pot."

"I don't think these folks set out to do this thing; it's just who they are," says former LA Weekly restaurant critic Besha Rodell, who began to notice the swell of young bicultural chefs a few years ago. "That's what makes it different from fusion. Fusion is taking one thing and banging it into another -- like, wasabi in the mashed potatoes. This is authentic in the very real sense of the word, because it is their authentic, lived reality."

This spicy salsa has a fairly smooth, saucy consistency, which makes it great for spooning over Chubbs Tacos (recipe follows). It will keep, refrigerated, for a week.

Arbol Salsa

2 to 3 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided use

1/2 ounce dried arbol chile peppers, stemmed (seeds removed for a slightly less spicy salsa)

1 teaspoon cumin seed

1 pound tomatillos, husked and rinsed

6 cloves garlic, each cut in half

Water, as needed

Kosher salt

2 tablespoons distilled white vinegar, or more as needed

Heat 1 tablespoon of the oil in a medium cast-iron skillet over medium heat. Once the oil shimmers, add the chiles and cook for 2 to 3 minutes, stirring often, until toasted on all sides. (The chiles will be quite aromatic and the oil may sputter, so open a window or vent and be attentive.)

Add the cumin seed and toast for about 2 minutes, stirring, until fragrant, then add the tomatillos, garlic and 1 tablespoon of oil. If that amount of oil is not enough to coat all the tomatillos, add the remaining tablespoon. Cook until the tomatillos brown and blister slightly, using tongs to turn them over, about 2 minutes.

Add water, 1/4 cup at a time, and cook, turning the tomatillos over occasionally. (It's useful to have a splatter screen here.) As the water evaporates, add more of it, 1/4 cup at a time, to prevent burning; we used 3/4 cup water in total. It should take 12 to 15 minutes for the tomatillos to become completely soft, with little water left in the pan.

Transfer the contents of the skillet to a blender; remove the center knob in the lid so steam can escape, cover with a towel and puree until fairly smooth. Season lightly with salt and add the 2 tablespoons of vinegar.

Let cool completely before tasting and adjusting the seasoning and/or vinegar, as needed.

Makes 13/4 cups.

Adapted from Guerrilla Tacos: Recipes From the Streets of L.A. by Wesley Avila with Richard Parks III (Ten Speed Press, 2017)

Avila is correct in saying that this street food is not quite like anything you can get anywhere else: Based on how his dad (whom he nicknamed "Chubbs") used to fry fluffy eggs in lard for tacos when Avila was a kid.

This version uses a combination of clarified butter and vegetable shortening. We garnished the tacos with fried chicken skins because we had the skins on hand; you can buy fried pork cracklings/skins at specialty markets.

Chubbs Tacos

1/4 cup clarified butter or ghee (see notes)

1/4 cup vegetable shortening

4 eggs

1 medium red or white onion, minced

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

Handful of pork cracklings, chicharrones or fried chicken skins (see notes)

1 cup homemade or canned pinto beans, broth or can liquid reserved

4 (6-inch) corn tortillas, warmed

Arbol Salsa (see previous recipe) or your favorite salsa, for serving

6 ounces queso fresco, sliced or crumbled, for serving

Flesh of 1/2 ripe avocado, sliced, for serving

4 dried arbol chile peppers, for serving

Chopped green onions, for serving

Combine the clarified butter (or ghee) and vegetable shortening in a medium skillet over medium-high heat. Line a plate with paper towels.

Crack the eggs into a bowl, then add the onion and kosher salt, whisking until well incorporated.

Once the butter-shortening mixture is shimmering (about 340 degrees on an instant-read thermometer), pour one-quarter of the egg mixture into the skillet. Cook, undisturbed, for about 11/2 to 2 minutes; the edges will crisp and crinkle, and the underside will brown like a pancake. Carefully flip the egg over, top with the cracklings, then use a spoon to baste the cracklings with some of the fat in the pan. Cook for about 30 seconds to 1 minute, then transfer the egg to the lined plate. Repeat with the egg mixture to make 3 more puffy fried eggs.

Discard all but 2 tablespoons of the butter/shortening from the pan (you may not need to discard any), then add the beans. Use the back of a wooden spoon to lightly mash about half the beans, and add 2 to 3 tablespoons of the reserved bean liquid (or water, if needed) until the beans are thinned to the consistency of hummus.

Divide the warm tortillas among individual plates. Spread 2 tablespoons of the beans onto each one, then top each portion with a puffy fried egg, a spoonful or two of the salsa, some cheese, avocado slices, a dried chile de arbol and green onion. Serve right away, with more salsa on the side.

Makes 4 servings.

Notes

Ghee, a type of clarified butter, is available in the international aisle of some large supermarkets. To clarify butter, melt unsalted butter over low heat, without stirring. Let it sit for several minutes, then skim off the foam. Leave the milky residue at the bottom and use only the clear (clarified) butter on top.

To make fried chicken skins, heat 1 inch of oil in a deep skillet over medium heat. Cut chicken skin into 2-inch pieces, stretching them as flat as you can. Carefully place one in the oil; if the oil bubbles around it, add half the remaining pieces of skin and fry for about 8 minutes, turning them until they are crisp and evenly golden brown. Drain on paper towels and season lightly with salt. Repeat with remaining pieces.

Adapted from Guerrilla Tacos: Recipes From the Streets of L.A. by Wesley Avila with Richard Parks III

Rest assured that what seems like a huge amount of this sweet Indian-spiced snack will disappear quickly at any gathering. It was inspired by chef Preeti Mistry's love of Cracker Jack.

Using an air popper, as she suggests, reduces the risk of burnt popcorn bits. For the nuts, toast them in a pan on the stove top over low heat to prevent over-roasting that might occur once the Desi Jacks mix is in the oven. You'll need an instant-read or candy thermometer.

The recipe calls for Kashmiri chile powder, which is a bright, mild spice available at Indian markets. If you can't get it, do not substitute with the red chile powders in the grocery store. But you could use a combination of sweet paprika and ground cayenne pepper -- and adjust the amount, accordingly, because cayenne is much hotter. Ghee, a type of clarified butter, is available in the international aisle of some large supermarkets.

Desi Jacks

1 tablespoon cumin seed

1 cup shelled, roasted unsalted pistachios (may substitute almonds or hazelnuts)

2 cups roasted unsalted peanuts

2 tablespoons neutral oil, such as canola or bran oil

1 tablespoon Kashmiri red chile powder OR a combination of cayenne and sweet paprika

2 tablespoons kosher salt or coarse sea salt

16 cups plain popped popcorn

1/4 cup ghee or clarified butter (see note; can substitute melted unsalted butter)

2 cups packed light brown sugar

1 cup light corn syrup

Heat oven to 350 degrees.

Toast the cumin seed in a large, dry skillet over low heat for several minutes, until fragrant and lightly browned, shaking the pan occasionally to avoid scorching. Remove from heat and quickly grind to a fine powder.

In the same skillet, combine the pistachios, peanuts, oil, half the toasted ground cumin and half the chile powder, tossing to coat evenly. Season with 11/2 teaspoons of the salt. Toast on the stove top for 5 or 6 minutes over low heat, stirring frequently, until the nuts are a darker shade of brown. Let cool for 10 minutes or so.

Meanwhile, toss the popcorn with ghee, the remaining toasted ground cumin and chile powder. Taste and add 11/2 teaspoons of the salt. Transfer the mixture to a large, flat roasting pan.

Combine the brown sugar and corn syrup in a large, oven-safe saucepan over high heat. Bring to a boil and cook until it reaches 250 to 260 degrees; it will look like caramel. (This is a hardball stage for candy. Keep a bowl of water handy to test if you've arrived at the right consistency. Drop in a bit of the caramel; if it forms a ball you're able to pick up from the water, it's right.)

Fold in the nuts, then transfer the saucepan to the oven; bake (middle rack) for 5 minutes.

Carefully remove the saucepan from the oven, then pour the caramel over the popcorn in the roasting pan, tossing gently to coat and using a wide spatula to keep from squishing the popcorn. Sprinkle the remaining tablespoon of salt evenly over the mix, toss to incorporate. Let cool. Clumps will form; this is OK.

Finally, break apart any large clumps into bite-size pieces.

Makes about 25 cups.

Note: To clarify butter, melt unsalted butter over low heat, without stirring. Let it sit for several minutes, then skim off the foam. Leave the milky residue at the bottom and use only the clear (clarified) butter on top.

Adapted from The Juhu Beach Club Cookbook: Indian Spice, Oakland Soul by Preeti Mistry with Sarah Henry

photo

For The Washington Post/DEB LINDSEY

Desi Jacks

photo

For The Washington Post/DEB LINDSEY

Arbol Salsa

Food on 02/21/2018

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