Awesome Sauce

Something green, something grilled. Fresh takes on salsa verde and Portuguese red wine.

“Hi! How ‘ya doing today?”

Long brown hair swished across the cashier’s tanned arms as she slid bread, mushrooms, and yogurt across the barcode scanner. I turned my head to look behind me. There was no one else in line, just bags of tortilla chips and cereal boxes stacked to the ceiling at the end of the supermarket aisles. I turned back around. Did I know this woman? I had just moved back to California, to Los Angeles, after seven years in New York. It seemed unlikely. Yet there she was, still looking at me expectantly. Smiling.

“I’m… good?”

“Awesome.” The last syllable hung in the air, expanding like the edges of her smile. My furrowed brow of suspicion, honed in New York City, relaxed a bit. The cashier worked through my pile, sliding onions, spinach, and chicken broth to a gangly teenager, who packed my items carefully into paper bags. I slid my credit card. She handed me a receipt. “Do you need help taking your bags out to the car?” Words spoken by a New York City cashier, never. I’d clearly been away too long.

The first time I returned California the harshness of New York had worn me down. There were the endless winters with the dirty snow and salt stained boots and toes that never warmed up. Winters bled right into stifling summers with reeking garbage and hot subway air blowing up out of grates on the sidewalk. Then there were my customers – my first job out of college I sold fancy water to restaurant managers who sometimes fed me great meals I could not otherwise afford but also would yell to my face, and occasionally slip a hand around my waist I would rather not be there.

In California, at least, the sun would always shine and a customer would tell me no with a smile. I didn’t care if it was fake.

Grilled pork and veggies with Vietnamese Salsa Verde

For a second time, I left California, years later, I came back. This second time returning, now I know, most of the time, the smile is real. At the coffee shop, for the youthful baristas in their black t-shirts slinging almond milk matcha lattes and cold brew coffees, every day is awesome. At the eye doctor, even my blinking is “perfect”. It is the kind of place where your landscaper, coming from another job up in the mountains, might bring you an apple pie from the famous Julian Pie Company after knocking on the door before it opened to snag one fresh from the oven.

I’ve been back long enough this time to know to take my AirPods out when ordering fish at the seafood counter in the supermarket. There might be a pun on offer from the meat guy (“Making shrimp risotto for yourself? How shellfish.”), or, as happened last week a question:

“How are you going to cook it?”

I had just asked for a whole fillet of wild salmon, thinner than the farm variety, with a deep pink, almost crimson flesh. I realized I wasn’t sure. I was thinking about the basil in the garden and a half bunch of flat leaf parsley in the fridge. I had been thinking of the sauce first, something like an Italian salsa verde. The actual fish cooking method, I hadn’t decided on.

“Good question. Maybe the barbecue? But I also might slow cook it in the oven on a lower temperature, sometimes that’s better for this kind. Less likely to get dried out.”

He wanted to know if I barbecued, how I would do it: on a fish grate, foil, or directly on the grill? Direct on the grill, usually, I told him. Dry the fish with paper towels, get the grill really hot, and oil it well, it won’t stick.

“Next time, let me know what you end up doing. How it turns out.” He meant it. And next time I will tell him, about the barbecued salmon and the salsa verde. It’s that kind of place, where even the supermarket is awesome.

Vietnamese take on Salsa Verde

Recipe

Awesome Sauce or Vietnamese Salsa Verde

Salsa verde is a pungent Italian sauce traditionally made with parsley, red wine vinegar, capers and anchovies. You can spoon it over a filet of salmon or skirt steak, pass a bowl around the table to go alongside a roast chicken, you can drizzle it over a pile of grilled veggies, or punch up a plate of tomatoes and burrata. Don’t stop yourself at parsley. This is a great way to use a bumper crop of basil and half used bunches of leafy herbs in the fridge. Try mixing in cilantro, chives, or even a bit of fresh oregano. If you have access to South Asian herbs like Thai basil or culantro, try those. Leave out the anchovy and you have a lovely (vegan) herb oil, milder than salsa verde but just as useful for a quick dressing or sauce.

I’m going a bit rogue here. As much as I enjoy anchovies, I might like the taste of good Vietnamese fish sauce (also made from anchovies) even more. Swap the traditional red wine vinegar for lime juice, and chopped pickled peppers for the capers, and the taste here sits somewhere between continents. In other words, awesome.

• 3 cups packed leafy green herbs (parsley, basil, cilantro, etc.), leaves and tenders stems only

• 2 cloves garlic, peeled

• Juice of two limes

• ½ cup (125 ml) fruity extra virgin olive oil

• 1 T. fish sauce

• 1 T. chopped pickled peppers (optional)

• ¼ tsp. salt

• ¼ tsp. ground black pepper

• Pinch of sugar (or more to taste)

Put all ingredients in a blender or food processor. Pulse until combined. Give it a taste. You are going for a balance of leafy greens with salty, sour, sweet and spicy (to your preference and only if you are using the peppers). If it is too salty or sour, try a pinch more sugar to balance out the flavors. Spoon this liberally over just about anything.

To Drink…

Xisto Ilimitado, Luis Seabra Vinhos 2019, Douro, Portugal

This salsa verde is a terrific example of the sum of the whole being far more than the parts. I often think of Portuguese wines, particularly reds, in this same way. It is not unusual for a Portuguese wine to blend five or more varietals to achieve balance. Most of these, with names like Touriga Nacional and Tinta Roriz, are not commonly known to those outside of the country. Young winemakers, like Luis Seabra, are trying to change that.

Part of a new generation of winemakers in the Douro Valley, Seabra’s wines see minimal intervention and aim to showcase the terroir of the place, much as a great Burgundy. His Xisto Ilimitado 2019 is blend of seven grape varietals from three subregions of the Douro, all rich in schist soil. The bright red fruit is fresh and focused, with a lovely, mildly herby, violet finish. This will pair very well with milder game, pork, or yes, that platter of grilled veggies smothered in awesome sauce.

Click here for a list of where to buy in the United States via the importer, Ole & Obrigado. Starting around $30.