石狩鍋 - Ishikari Nabe (Miso Winter Stew)

The first week of January is one of my favorite times of the year, and possibly my only favorite part of winter.  Normally I'm an autumn girl.  Give me cider, foliage, crisp apples, and a fresh harvest any day!  Yet back when I lived in Japan I started a tradition with myself that I've kept up more or less most years since.

This time of year I like to take a day or two to unplug from everything and do a kind of mental & physical detox (yes, I know "detox" is a ritual not a scientific or medical fact).  But New Year is all about ritual, isn't it?  It's about starting over.  There's a Japanese tradition of cleaning out the house just before the New Year so that you start with a nice clean home.  So extending that, in a sense, to mind and body appeals to me as well.  As part of that I often take a trip the first weekend of January to someplace that is, simply, away.  I turn off everything, I disengage from everyone.  I am mindful of what I eat -- moreso than usual -- to make sure there is as much fresh, healthy food as possible.  It's purely ritual, yes, but one that brings me peace and a sense of newness for the year.  It's my own deeply personal Thanks-giving.

It started almost by accident one year when I took a trip to a little hot spring resort in a forsaken part of northern Japan called Aoni Onsen.  From where I lived* -- a place already deep in the frozen, forgotten north -- I had to take a bullet train, three local trains, two buses, and a snowmobile to get to the inn.  By design it is lodged up in a snow-covered mountain that has no electricity.  Everything is cooked by fire, seen by kerosene lamp.  It's a perfect spot for a little soul-searching, and the food!  The food!  I did it the first year, 2006, because I wanted to get away and travel at this time of year is comparatively cheap since everyone's already done their holiday traveling.  I loved the experience so much that I kept it up afterward for as long as I lived in Japan, and then in B&Bs or other remote locations once I returned to the States.  So when I think of this time of year I inevitably think of starkness.  Of a steamy bath by snowfall and candlelight.

Something else that I associate with this time of year is miso stew.  If you've ever been to any place that served sushi or Japanese food (even teppanyaki), you've probably had "miso soup" that consisted of powdered miso flavoring and reconstituted tofu.  Usually it's vaguely beige, lukewarm, watery broth with little bits of seaweed floating around in it.

What I'm talking about here is something heartier, something winter-ready.  What I'm calling miso stew is in Japanese called nabemono, or just nabe (nah-bay).  It's "stuff" (the mono part) that's simmered in a donabe, or earthenware pot.  You could also call this dish hotpot.  Around this time of year I make  Ishikari nabe, or Hokkaido-style hotpot, at least once a week.

To give you some context, Hokkaido is as far north as it gets in Japan before the chain of islands turns into Russia.  It's enormous, cold, full of cows and potatoes, and not very densely populated.  Think of it as the Maine of Japan.  It's known for dairy, spuds, a life-changing cookie and -- to help everyone deal with the weather -- beer and sake.

Ishikari is a river that passes through Hokkaido, and the salmon stew that shares its name features the kind of cold-weather foods one would expect from a such a place.  I love it because it's one of the few soups out there to feature salmon, one of my all-time favorite foods.  You can make it with anything, though, you're certainly not limited to salmon or even fish at all.  Below you'll see a large list of things one can make into nabe.

Remember the drill?  Scroll to the bottom for the concise, picture- & commentary-free recipe.

*Trivia:  as of this posting, the Wikipedia article for Ohasama, Iwate is the one that I wrote back in 2006.  I'm probably also the only person to read it since it was written.

Ishikari Nabe - Miso Winter Stew

Traditionally, nabe is prepared tabletop in an earthenware pot called a donabe.  There is nothing in the world preventing you from using a regular soup pan.  If you do use a clay nabe pot, just be sure to always keep the bottom dry (to prevent cracking) when you turn on the heat.  I bring mine up to heat slowly just to be extra careful, but you don't have to.

Mine is technically a "two-person" pot, but honestly I find that one pot will last me most of a week.  I can and will eat nabe every day if given the opportunity.

In terms of what you put in the soup, nabe is all about your own tastes.  For Ishikari nabe in particular there seems to be a consensus of salmon, potato, tofu, spinach, and mushrooms (particularly enoki) as the base.  In addition to these there can be any number of seasonal foods.  A partial list of options I found based on a dozen or so different recipes in both English and Japanese were: corn, carrot, daikon radish, leeks, scallions, shrimp, parsnip, rutabaga, cabbage, napa cabbage, bok choy, burdock (called gobo in Japanese), shrimp, and even chrysanthemum (shungiku).  Your instincts here about what would go in a winter stew will serve you well.

For this recipe I had salmon plus a small handful each of: carrot matchsticks, shredded leek, cubed red potato, sliced parsnip, cubed firm tofu (rinsed & drained), a mushroom blend, and spinach.

Place the salmon into the pot first:

Surrounded by all of the goodies except for the spinach:

The stew base is miso soup, Real Style.  Miso soup has two main components: a fish stock called dashi and a soybean paste called miso (hence the name).  You can buy miso paste sometimes even in regular grocery stores.  It tends to hang with around the wonton wrappers and tofu.  Now, I happen to buy my miso paste with the dashi (fish, usually tuna) flavoring already in it.  If you'd like to make your own dashi, there are several options:

1. Boil up some leftover fish bones/heads to make a true seafood stock (hardest, best flavor);
2. Do it Japanese-style with tuna flakes and seaweed (medium difficulty, close second-best flavor); or,
3. Use the instant stuff, called hondashi (easiest, but artificial flavor).

Just a few of the options.

If making a separate dashi isn't in your schedule (understandable), you can also opt for the instant miso soup found in the Asian section of most grocery stores:

Keep in mind when you go to buy instant miso soup (the stuff that's "just add water") or miso paste (where you have to add the seafood stock) it comes in two flavors:  white (shiro) and red (aka).  The instant soup mix is also likely to have some stuff floating in it, like seaweed and dehydrated tofu.  The instant's not that bad, really, and honestly I've used it on many a lazy afternoon.  When I use instant I like to mix half white and half red for variety.

If you're going the miso paste route, then about 2 tablespoons of shiro (white) miso is what I used.  You'll need to mix it up with some hot water to dilute it before putting it into the stock.

Hot water makes it easier to dissolve.

Allllmost there...

You can also do this in the soup ladle without using a separate bowl, but that's harder to photograph.

Cover your ingredients with dashi (if using) or water (if dashi is already in your miso paste or if using instant), and add in the miso flavoring:

Be very, very sure the bottom of your pot is totally dry before you switch on the heat in order to prevent cracking.  I do the opposite of the normal simmer approach:  I start on low heat for 10 minutes to warm up the pot (again, to prevent cracking) and then turn it up to a medium or medium-high for another 20 minutes or so.  Usually about 30-40 minutes of total stovetop time is more than enough.

Fish is done when it flakes apart.  It doesn't actually take 30 minutes for the fish to cook all the way through, so if you like your veggies crunchier or if you have sushi-grade fish (i.e. safe to be eaten raw -- be sure to check first!) you can shave off some cook time.

Next I take it off the heat and toss a handful of spinach on, then re-cover it.  (Note:  donabe lids get really hot, so use a potholder.)

About 5 minutes is all it takes for the steam to wilt the spinach to my liking.  If you like yours more thoroughly cooked, go ahead and toss it in with the rest of the veggies at the beginning.

And that, my dears, is that!

It was realllllly hard to get pictures of this without the lens fogging.

This can be served over pretty much any kind of noodle.  Udon and konnyaku noodles are popular choices (also called shirataki, konnyaku noodles are gaining popularity here Stateside lately).  Just be sure to boil the noodles separately and ladle the stew over it, or else they'll soak up all the liquid and you'll have a noodle dish rather than a stew with noodles in it.   I often have mine just alongside plain rice, or sometimes I mix the two together like a savage.  Either way it's delish, and truly one of my all-time favorite comfort foods.  I could eat this every day for the rest of my life and die happy.  Really.

Look at all those colors!

I've seen some recipes add butter, milk, or sake at this point to add some depth to the flavor and as a nod to the dish's Hokkaido roots.  I never do, but nothing's stopping you if you want to.

I added a little pinch of scallions at the end, just for fun.

Ishikari Nabe - Miso Winter Stew

Ingredients (adjust amounts and options to your taste):

• Used in this recipe:
• salmon fillet (skin can be left on if desired)
• 1 small red potato, cubed
• 1/4 cup diced firm tofu
• 1/4 cup mushroom blend
• 1/4 of a parsnip, peeled and cut into disks
• 1/4 cup fresh spinach (could sub frozen)
• 1 small leek, shredded
• 1 scallion, diced
• 5 baby carrots, cut into thin matchsticks
• 2 tablespoons miso paste with dashi flavoring + water
• could sub dashi/seafood stock + miso paste, OR
• instant miso soup mix + water
• Additional options:
• frozen corn
• daikon radish, peeled and cut into disks
• cabbage, napa cabbage, or bok choy
• burdock root (gobo)
• enoki mushrooms
• rutabaga
• chrysanthemum (shungiku)
• sake
• butter
• milk

Directions:

1. Place the salmon filet in the bottom of the pot.  Pile all veggies except for the spinach on top.
2. If using miso paste:  dissolve the miso paste into hot water. 
3. Cover the vegetables with water or dashi stock (if using), and add either miso paste or instant miso soup mix.  Cover.
4. After ensuring the bottom of the pot is completely dry, turn the heat on to low for 10 minutes to allow the pot to warm up.  
5. Turn the heat up to medium and allow to cook for an additional 20 minutes, or until liquid is boiling and fish is thoroughly cooked.
6. Remove from heat, add spinach, and re-cover. Beware of hot lid if using donabe. Allow spinach to wilt, approximately 5 minutes.
7. Serve over noodles or with rice.

Saba no Miso ni (Miso Poached Mackerel)

How often would you say you eat hamburgers?

If you're anything like me, the answer is "once a year, max."  There are people out there, no doubt, who eat them weekly.  Maybe even daily.  Most folks probably fall somewhere between the two.  It sort of straddles the line between a special occasion food and the quintessential fast food.

Just so with sushi.  When I lived in Japan I'd have it a few times a year, usually at work parties or when I'd hit up the local literally fast food joint in town.  Here in America, though, you'd think sushi was a nightly phenomenon considering how it's on just about every single Japanese restaurant menu (and features at a growing number of Chinese and Korean restaurants as well).

As you might guess, most of the recipes I miss most from Japan never appear in restaurants over here, even the exceedingly rare ones that are actually owned by Japanese people (so far I've found only one and it's in Porter Square in Cambridge).  Among my favorite recipes that don't make the cut are Japancakes (I'll be sure to introduce you to these soon) and mackerel.

Saba no miso ni (サバの味噌に) is mackerel that's been poached in a kind of miso-based sauce.  Unlike south Asian recipes, which are largely spice-based, Japanese recipes are more sauce/liquid based (think soy sauce and cooking wine).  Poached mackerel is one of those homey, everyday dishes that really take me back.  It's also phenomenally easy to make, so I thought it'd be a nice place to start for Japanese recipes, especially since Japanese cooking has just become the second cuisine to get cultural heritage status.

As usual, scroll to the bottom for a concise recipe.

Mackerel Poached in Miso Sauce

Total real time:  If I count cleaning the fish, it took about an hour.  If yours is already cleaned, then you're looking at about half an hour, 15 minutes of which is simmer time.

Weirdest ingredient:  Mirin.

Mackerel can be a rare find in grocery stores, depending on where you live.  When I see it on sale near me it's almost always an as-is fish that I have to clean myself.  A whole mackerel, if you will.

 Well, not any more.  Now it's full of holes.

I won't cover how to clean the fish yourself.  If you get one from a place that will clean it for you, then by all means do that.  Otherwise I think probably there are a hundreds of better places to learn it than from me.  The one thing I will emphasize, though, is to double-check for pin bones (the small ones that are -- get this -- pin-sized) because you don't really want to be chowing down on those later.  A pair of kitchen tweezers or sanitized needle-nosed pliers will make this job a lot easier.  Even really good markets will miss a few, so be sure not to skip this step.

Now, one of the very first things you will notice is that mackerel is the fishiest-smelling fish that ever fished.  Seriously.  It has a funk to it, even when fresh.  Doc came home three hours after I'd cleaned the fish and he still, er, observed that the kitchen had the tang of a fishmonger on a full moon.  The reason for the fishy funk is that mackerel, like salmon and sardines, is among the oilier kinds of seafood out there.  That oil is the good kind that keeps your coat shiny (when consumed in moderation, like every other thing).

The way to reduce that funk is to briefly swish the fish (teehee) in nearly-boiling water.  What I do is bring a pot of water to a boil and then add a generous splash of cold water to bring the temp down a bit.

It's about to get a really, really hot bath.

Let the fish soak in the hot water for about 10-30 seconds, just long enough for the fleshy bit to start turning white.  You'll notice I've left the skin on.  That's on purpose.  It's delish.

Ding!  Time to take it out and pat it dry.

Don't let it cook all the way.  Less than a minute is enough.

For comparison: the bottom one has been bathed, the top one has not.

I did four filets (each about half a pound) and by the end the water was gross.  Be sure to rinse the pot out well when you're done.

Ew.

Okay, so now you've got a bunch of (or perhaps just one) filet(s).  Wrap them up in paper towels while you get the sauce ready to roll.

Snug as a... fish.

The sauce is super easy.  What you want are equal parts mirin, sake/rice cooking wine, miso paste, and sugar.  Mirin is one of those things that you might think you'd never find, but surprisingly I find it in the Asian section of almost every grocery store I go into.  It's usually right there with the rice vinegar and cooking sake.  If you have to improvise you could double the sake and add a bit more sugar, but mirin's a really lovely thing to have on hand when cooking fish if you make it often.  It's got a smoothness and viscosity to it that regular sake lacks.

When making miso soup there is a kind of method of dissolving the miso paste carefully into the soup liquid using a ladle and your chopsticks.  We're not making soup here, though, so dumping all these things into the pan is a-ok in my book.  Just whisk them all together and give it a taste.  If it needs salt, add a splash of soy sauce (a little will do, miso's pretty salty on its own).  If it's too sweet, add a splash of rice vinegar.

For four filets I used 3 tablespoons each of mirin, sake, miso paste, and sugar.  You can go light on the sugar if you want, but keep in mind a big part of the purpose of the sugar is to counteract the saltiness of the miso/soy sauce, so just taste it as you go and add sugar gradually.

Left to right: ginger paste, mirin, rice vinegar, soy sauce, sake (aka rice cooking wine).

Bring it up to a light boil, then turn it down to a simmer.  At this point, if fishy tastes/smells really bother you you can add ginger (in slices or in a paste), garlic (likewise), and/or a few sprigs of green onion.  These are entirely optional ways to help de-fishy your dish.

When it's all whisked up and simmering it's time to add your mackerel filets.  

Ready, captain!

I didn't have whole green onions on hand, so that's what that green bottle to the left of middle is up there.  Handy as heck, let me tell you.

Before putting your fish in the sauce, score a little X into the skin.  This helps the sauce permeate the whole filet.  Plus it looks awesome.

X marks my dinner.

Go ahead and place the fish in the simmering sauce.  Now, most recipes I've seen talk about pressing the fish into the sauce with a lid for 15 minutes or using tinfoil to jury-rig one.  I don't like doing extra dishes, nor do I like wasting tinfoil, so I just flip the filet after about 7-8 minutes.

Notice the depth.  It doesn't need to be covered, hence flipping halfway.

When it's done the flesh will be flakey and the skin will have lost its sheen.

Ding!

How easy is that?  About 1/3 of the filet was more than plenty for my dinner.  

I served it over Japanese rice (the sticky kind used in sushi) topped with a splash of the miso poaching sauce from the skillet.  Playing alongside are soup and veggies.  Pretty standard everyday dinner.  Yummo!

How average!

Up next:  yellow lentils (basic dal).  

Quick Reference Recipe

1. Carefully check a cleaned filet of mackerel for pin bones, removing any with kitchen tweezers or a sanitized pair of needle-nose pliers.
2. Briefly swish the mackerel filet in water that is just below boiling in temperature.  Remove fish after the flesh just begins to turn white, less than one minute total.
3. Dry the filet and wrap in a paper towel while preparing the miso sauce.
4. In a small skillet on medium-high heat,  mix equal parts mirin, sake, and miso paste (typically around 1-3 tablespoons of each, depending on depth of skillet and number of filets).  Add sugar to taste; suggested amount is roughly equal to mirin/sake/miso.
5. Taste the sauce, adding soy sauce if more salt is needed and rice vinegar if too sweet.
6. Add a few slices of ginger, a clove of garlic, or a few sprigs of green onion if desired.
7. When sauce is boiling, reduce to a simmer and add mackerel, skin side up.  Score skin with an X.
8. Periodically spoon sauce over the skin.  After 8 minutes, flip the fish over carefully.
9. Simmer for an additional 7-8 minutes or until thoroughly cooked.
10. Repeat with any remaining filets.