Tag: fried
Lion’s Share
Lion’s mane are the Swiss army knives of mushrooms. What other fungi can more seamlessly blur the line between plant matter and animal flesh, encompassing both chicken and beef? Pressed and seared, they morph into fillets worthy of a high-end steakhouse, almost infuriatingly rich and juicy. Battered and fried, they’re equally compelling as crispy morsels of popcorn chicken. Given their commensurately luxurious pricing, I’m forever torn on how best to prepare them. Of course, after intense debate, I realized there’s no need to choose when you can have both.
Combining the two ideas has already proven wildly successful for the classic Southern comfort food, chicken fried steak. That is, traditionally, steak prepared in the manner of fried chicken, first seared and then battered and fried to a crispy, crave-worthy finish. Despite having neither meat nor poultry involved, the procedure is almost exactly the same.
When working with lion’s mane mushrooms destined for beefy glory, the key is to first sear them off plain, pressing HARD on both sides. Don’t be shy, don’t worry about hurting their feelings; you need to lean in with all your weight like they owe you money. It takes real pure brute strength to transform the fibrous fungus into something genuinely meaty. Unlike the original animal-based prep, they benefit from a long, slow marinade at this point to amplify the inherently umami flavors.
Cream gravy is essential for a properly composed plate. Flecked with coarsely ground pepper, you can whip it up in minutes, before the steaks even think of cooling down. Deeply bronzed, tender at the core, and clad in that signature craggy, golden armor, they can withstand a drenching ladleful, or two, of the velvety sauce. The seared interior maintains a dense, hearty chew, while the fried exterior shatters away in delicate flakes. It’s indulgent, a little excessive, and completely justifiable.
The beauty of lion’s mane isn’t just in how convincingly it imitates meat, but in the way it refuses to be limited by it. Why settle for chicken or beef, when one mushroom can do both, often in the same bite?
Stick To It
As much as I love edamame, I’m loathe to order them at a restaurant. They have to be something really special, perhaps charred with a smoky kiss from the wok, anointed with enough garlic to ruin any date, to merit real consideration. The fact of the matter is that in most cases, they’re merely the same green pods anyone could grab from the freezer, barely thawed enough to melt the ice crystals, and seasoned either with too much or too little salt; there’s never any middle ground.
Edamame, though admittedly perfect beer snacks as is, deserve so much more care. The bar is so low that the bare minimum of creativity hooks me like a hapless, hungry fish. “Edamame Sticks” did the trick, in just that one line. It was printed on a menu online with no further description, and no means of ordering, but when has that ever stopped me before?
Wrapped up in a thin sheath of wheat-based egg roll skin, chopped edamame are granted the thoughtful application of spices and aromatics that quick serves can never afford. Far from groundbreaking, the complement of garlic, ginger, soy sauce, and sesame oil are simply playing the hits that the crowd most wants to hear. Once fried, bubbling surface of the wrappers bronzed and resoundingly crisp, no one could deny these beans.
The only problem with edamame is when they’re served as a placeholder, something to keep your hands busy while you wait for anything better. Given even a modest intervention, sealed, spiced, and sent through hot oil, they snap out of their stupor. Apparently this is still too much to ask of restaurants sending out plain pods at exorbitant prices, but at least we have all the tools at our disposal to do better at home.
