Sometimes the truth takes a moment to sink in before finally ringing true. Like when Chloe suggested that a sandwich is basically America’s version of sushi. At the time I happily took it as a compliment on the chicken sandwich I’d just made for her. But the more I got to thinking I realized she had quite a point. Both sushi and sandwich represent pinnacles of compound complexity, both being composed of myriad pieces, each one of which requiring a different process to create.
Her sandwich, for example, contained a blend of light and dark meats that I’d hand-peeled from a high-end rotisserie chicken, and then refried in olive oil with slivers of new garlic. That chicken is a huge multi-step process all of its own, just to become a single layer in a matrix of complex components. Similarly, pickles are an ingredient that require a recipe of their own. Chloe’s sandwich contained a sliced sweet pepper that had been pickled in the same jar as freshly roasted jalapenos. It had absorbed the menacing flavor of the jalapeno without the punch, making you cringe like you are about to get smacked, but you get kissed by sweetness instead. As it happens there is a place for pickles in sushi as well.
My first cooking job ever was as a sandwich maker. I excelled. At about the same time I took my first cooking class, a ten-week course on sushi-making. That was 38 years ago, but the many lessons of that job and that class have remained fresh in my mind. Such as never to argue with a waiter who is high on cocaine. Or in the case of sushi making, the never-ending chore of hand-fanning the rice — to drive off the steam and cool it faster — whilst simultaneously paddle-fluffing the rice with the other hand. Once cooled, we would gently cut in the seasoned vinegar, using precise paddle motions that were developed to avoid crushing the grains of rice.
On the surface, making a pot of rice may not have much in common with breadmaking. But both processes share paramount cultural and nutritional importance in their respective societies of origin. Rice is the dietary backbone of Asia, and there are countless regional variations on how it is prepared and served. And in America, bread is considered the greatest thing since sliced bread.
I remember the frustration I felt during week 2 of my sushi class. After mastering rice making the prior week, I was ready to start rolling up fish. Instead, we pickled daikon radish and ginger. In my youthful state of impatience I did not appreciate the absolutely essential importance of the pickle. In sushi. In sandwich. In every other bite you take.
Whatever the context, the job of the pickle is always the same: to add a burst of acid with which to cut through the richness of the bite, like a sip of wine in a mouthful of cheese.
I would be remiss not to discuss the condiments. In the world of sushi, of course, soy sauce and wasabi rule. And they aren’t afraid of mayo. On the sandwich we have mustard, which confers a fire similar to that of wasabi, and mayo as well. All told, both sushi and sandwich can have pickles, proteins, mayo, and mustard/wasabi, all held together by culturally appropriate complex carbohydrates.
Every non-rookie sandwich maker knows the bread must be toasted in order to not be made soggy by the condiments and pickles. But sometimes that crusted bread can cut the inside of your mouth. I have a trick that solves this problem in breathtaking fashion.
Put two slices of bread in a toaster oven, one atop the other so they are pressed together like an empty sandwich. This results in the outer sides of each slice getting toasted, while the in-facing sides remain untoasted and soft. When it’s time to make your sandwich, reverse the orientation so the toasted sides face in, so you can lather them with mayo and other condiments like you do. The toasted sides won’t get sogged by the condiments, while the side of the bread slices that meet your mouth is as soft as the day it was sliced. Props to Steve Elliot of Lifeline Farm in Victor, Montana, for teaching me this life-changing trick.
Speaking of life-changing, today’s recipe is for the jar of pickled carrots and peppers that added so much pizazz to Chloe’s chicken sandwich. Whether it’s sushi, sandwich, steak, salad, soup, taco, scrambled eggs, take-out…the contents of this jar are as versatile as hot sauce, but crunchier. Alas, teaching you how to pickle is more responsibility than my lawyers will allow me to take on. However, on the off-chance that you already know the basics of pickling, or can read the instructions on a box of mason jar lids, I want to present you with the recipe. Follow it if you can.
Pickled Peppers and Carrots The peppers will deliver sweet and spice, while the carrots give their earthy crunch. Altogether, the contents of this jar can improve nearly any meal. For each quart jar: 1 tablespoon mustard seeds (brown or yellow or preferably mixed) 1 teaspoon salt 2 tablespoons sugar 2 cups carrots, cut into disks 4 jalapeno peppers, stems removed, flame roasted until the skins blacken if possible 4 sweet peppers, stems removed Brine: Equal parts water and cider vinegar Notes: Add the mustard seeds, salt and sugar to the jar (s) first. Then the carrots and peppers. Heat the brine (2 cups per jar) and pour it into the jars. Process in a waterbath according to the instructions included in a box of mason jar lids.