When I first made the acquaintance of tofu, it did not go smoothly. A first grader with a soft spot for animals, I had only recently learned where meat comes from. After internalizing this barbaric truth, I announced to my parents that I had converted to vegetarianism.
A few days later my dad had an announcement of his own. He laid before me a plate of what he called “bean curd,” more widely known as tofu. The dish he served me consisted of slices of a soft white material that, upon investigation, was as bland as it was colorless.
Dad didn’t want me to waste away for lack of protein simply because I didn’t want cute animals to die, he explained. A noble cause, to be sure. And he was a capable cook, most of the time. Alas, preparing tofu is a special skillset that requires a specific mindset. His downfall, common among tofu rookies, was to treat tofu as a meat substitute, rather than its own animal. He cooked it like a steak, pan fried with salt and pepper, and called it good, which it was not. Dad’s beancurd could not have been more devoid of flavor, texture, or any other typical indicators of deliciousness. As a budding young foodie I’d rather have been waterboarded than consume such an affront to the senses. After a few more similarly horrific attempts at bean curd, I broke. My vegetarian journey came to an end. Since then incalculable numbers of cute animals have died, all because my dad couldn’t cook tofu.
It turns out that there are, in fact, ways to prepare tofu so that it tastes like meat. But in dad’s defense those avenues were not available, because the way to make tofu taste like meat is to cook the tofu with meat, so it will absorb those meaty flavors. Asian chefs know this. Think Chinese mapo tofu or Korean soondobu. But it turns out there are also ways to cook tofu that taste nothing at all like meat, but will nonetheless make even the most hardened carnivore forget about meat altogether.
My friend Brad would sooner shoot tofu with his 9mm then eat it. At least, those are his vibes. He’s the kind of guy to whom a steak would taste extra delicious if there was a weeping vegan at the table for him to sneer at. But when I found myself in his hometown of Houston, and emailed him for a restaurant recommendation, I was blindsided by his hyper specific instructions. With so many meaty options in the vicinity, including Texas bbq and some very large steaks, Brad insisted that I visit a certain Vietnamese restaurant, and order the tofu.
“That peppery broth,” he emailed wistfully, recalling the luscious liquid that contained the golden cubes of crispy tofu. “And the mushrooms and celery. I miss it so much!” Considering the source, I was intrigued, and had no option but to visit Van Loc and order the clay pot tofu.
It arrived simmering at my table. Shards of cracked black pepper coated lengths of celery, whole shiitake mushrooms and delectable cubes of deep-fried tofu that had somehow absorbed the penetrating aromas of the broth without losing its pleasing resistance to my canines.
There was so much black pepper that the dish was spicy in the absence of chili pepper heat. This makes sense given Vietnam is the world’s largest producer and exporter of black pepper, while chili peppers, though popular in Asian food, are from the Americas.
Elsewhere in the pot, humble pieces of celery took a rare post at center stage, their flavor balanced artfully with the earthy gravitas of the mushrooms. Shiitake mushroom is the most authentic variety to use in clay pot tofu, but it’s not mandatory. I recently made a batch with wild-harvested oyster and morel mushrooms mixed with cultivated criminis. (Full disclosure: I also added sliced jalapeno, non-authentic but oh so good.)
This recipe begins with the preparation of the crispy tofu. And if it ended there as well, few would complain. Because of the corrupting delectability of these golden cubes, the wise cook will often double the quantities of tofu, egg and cornstarch called for, so that after the inevitable attrition due to snackers and nibblers, a satisfactory quantity of cubes will remain for the pots, where they will soak up that serene, peppery broth.
Clay Pot Tofu
While “Clay Pot” is in the name and and procedure, you don’t need an official clay pot to prepare this. You just need a vessel that is small, oven safe, and has a lid.
Serves 2, with plenty of leftover fried tofu
Ingredients
1 16-oz brick of firm tofu, drained
1 egg
6 tablespoons cornstarch (or sweet potato or tapioca starch)
3 cups fry oil (I like wagyu beef tallow)
2 tablespoons toasted sesame oil
2 large cloves garlic, minced
3 green onions, chopped
1 jalapeno, sliced thinly (optional)
1 medium onion, sliced into thin rings
1 cup of whole shitake mushrooms (or other kinds of mushrooms), cut or whole depending on their size. If using dried mushrooms, soak them in three cups of boiled water, and don’t discard the soaking water.
2 celery stalks
1/4 cup soy or ponzu sauce
1/4 cup rice vinegar
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon white pepper
2 tablespoons fish sauce
jasmine rice for serving
Procedure
Cut the tofu into cubes of about an inch per side, and place them in a medium-sized bowl. Heat a quart of water with 1/4 cup of salt. When it boils, pour the hot brine over the tofu. Let soak for 15 minutes. Drain the brine and pat dry all of the faces of each chunk of tofu with a paper towel.
This technique is but one of several ways of removing water from the tofu, which is essential for making it crispy. You can also freeze the cubes, which will give them a durable, spongy texture that makes it easy to squeeze out the water, and renders them extremely pleasing to eat.
However you remove moisture from the tofu cubes, place them into a mixing bowl, beat the egg and pour the beaten egg over the cubes. Stir them gently by lifting from below to thoroughly coat all faces of every cube. Add the starch and gently stir it in to coat the cubes.
Add two tablespoons of toasted sesame oil to the fry oil for extra flavor, and heat it to the point where it sputters angrily when you flick in some water (about 350 degrees). Submerge the tofu cubes in the hissing oil. Don’t overload the fryer or let the pieces touch, or they will adhere together
Remove and drain the fried chunks. Keep them in safe place, away from snaggers, snackers and tangy sauces.
Add two tablespoons of the fry oil to a wok or pan on medium heat, and fry the garlic, onions, green onions and mushrooms.
Break each celery stalk backwards and pull the strands out of each half. Then cut the de-fibered halves into two-inch pieces, and add them to the wok. Cover and simmer for about five minutes on medium heat.
Whisk together the soy sauce, fish sauce, rice vinegar, black and white pepper and sugar, and add it to the stir-fry. Add one cup of water, stock or mushroom soaking water, taste, and adjust seasoning with soy sauce, ponzu sauce, black pepper, sugar, sesame oil and rice vinegar, until it tastes how you want it.
Add the tofu to the wok. Gently stir it together. Stir fry on high heat for two minutes, then transfer the tofu, mushrooms and celery to the clay pots, and pour in as much broth as you can. Put the lids on the pots and place them in a pre-heated oven at 350 degrees, and bake for ten minutes. Serve the simmering pots. Be careful not to let anyone burn themselves. Eat the contents straight from the pot, or spoon them over jasmine rice.