Devoting space in the fridge for condiments can be a challenge. But in recent years, chili crisp, a crunchy clutter of savory ingredients with shifting ratios of textural tidbits to oil that originated in China, has been an increasingly common addition. Jars from the women-led Jing Gao of Fly by Jing and David Chang’s Momofuku are ubiquitous at markets, while food author James Park recently released a 50-plus-recipe cookbook, “Chili Crisp.”
Mutable in its abilities, from spoonfuls that zhuzh up any dish to drops that leave tastebuds tingling, the umami-packed condiment boasts plenty of character.
Ocean Moore holds jars of ingredients used for his homemade chili crisp. (Photo by Abigail Grey Johnston)
As a kid, Ocean Moore spent countless afternoons in his family’s store, Oasis World Market, a small grocery in Blacksburg that specializes in Asian ingredients, originally located on the first floor of their house. “Me and my two younger siblings, we grew up in there,” Moore says. “We were always running around, helping out, kind of, causing mayhem, eating stuff off the shelves.”
Moore gravitated toward the peanuts, sneaking them straight out of the red-lidded jars of Lao Gan Ma chili crisp. The peanuts would inspire Moore to incorporate another nut — marcona almonds — in his own small-batch chili crisp, an earthy, pleasantly spiced, vermillion combination of peppers, spices and garlic that he calls Gan Bei, a Chinese equivalent to “cheers.”
Ocean Moore of Gan Bei (Photo by Abigail Grey Johnston)
Moore starts each batch of Gan Bei with a blend of four different dried chiles sent to him from friends in Chengdu, a city in the Sichuan province of China. Dried, fermented mushrooms add a savory umami, while Chinese cinnamon, star anise and cumin lend aromatic spice. Dried orange zest and pu-erh, a fermented tea traditionally produced in the Yunnan province of China, offer floral notes, while Sichuan peppercorns provide a subtle, numbing spice. (The combination of dried chiles and Sichuan peppercorns creates the flavor called ma la — ma meaning the numbing sensation of the peppercorns and la referring to the spice of the chiles). For crunch, Moore relies on traditional fried garlic and shallots, plus toasted almonds. The resulting crisp is a unique blend of tradition and novelty, much like Moore himself.
The son of a Chinese immigrant, Moore says that when he was younger, he didn’t enjoy Chinese food. “My mom would cook really good Chinese food, but I always rejected it around that time,” he recalls. “I wanted stuff like Lunchables and other terrible processed foods.”
It wasn’t until Moore left home that he began to appreciate his heritage. After high school, he moved to Seattle and cooked mostly European-inspired New American food, but the Chinese culture and food scene in Seattle awoke something in him. “I kind of embraced myself a little more,” he says.
Relocating to Richmond in 2020 to be closer to family, Moore worked at The Stables and Brenner Pass before landing at Nokoribi. But after suffering from seizures, the cook, 27, decided to take a step back from the restaurant industry. In August, Moore began selling his chili crisp for $15 a jar. He says the response and encouragement have been rewarding, and he hopes to introduce pop-ups to showcase his takes on Chinese dishes.
“I could never claim to cook super authentic Chinese food,” says Moore, who notes that he’s still reconciling all parts of his identity. “But it is really cool that we have access to the information, access to ingredients, and that people are able to play around with it. It’s all about making good food.”
Sealed With a Crisp
Score the compelling condiment from these local purveyors
Photo by Eileen Mellon
Mar Mar
Growing up in West Virginia during the 1960s, attending Catholic school and of Filipino heritage, Liza Lazaro-Matz describes her upbringing as unique. “[My mom] was working in the hospital, and my older siblings were still in the Philippines,” she says. “I’m the fifth child of seven and the first one of my family born in the U.S.”
It was at a Vietnamese restaurant in Centreville where Lazaro-Matz first encountered a chile-garlic oil that would later inspire her to make her own. “I just loved it, and every time I would go in, I’d ask for little container.”
A part-time lumpia roller for Richmond Filipino eatery Auntie Ning’s and a volunteer cook for nonprofit SevaTruck, Lazaro-Matz introduced Mar Mar — a nickname bestowed by her daughter — and its flagship Chili Garlic Crunch earlier this year. Heavy on Thai chiles, the result is a thick, almost paste-like, garlic-laden condiment. Adding it to butter, mayo and meatballs, Lazaro-Matz says, “I envision doing other products; one is the hotter version and a salad dressing.”
The iconic Lao Gan Ma serves as the base for Soul N’ Vinegar’s chile oil. (Photo courtesy Lao Gan Ma)
Soul N’ Vinegar
The first chili crisp Soul N’ Vinegar chef-owner Michelle Parrish tried was a jar of Lao Gan Ma she purchased from Tan-A supermarket. “I think I was like, ‘Oh, this person’s photo is on this jar, it’s gotta be good,’” she recalls. Her guess was quickly affirmed. “I remember going back that day or the next day and buying a bunch of jars.”
On shelves since 1984, Lao Gan Ma, the brand credited with starting the chili crisp sensation, now serves as the base for the house-mixed chile oil at Parrish’s East End eatery. Combining vinegar, sesame, agave and chile flakes, the final product is a thin, nut-free topping that’s served with spring rolls and offered as a $1 level-up to any menu item, although Parrish suggests the falafel wrap in particular.
"This is like a sauce, it’s sweet and sour, like our version of chile oil dressing or vinaigrette,” Parrish says. “I like to add chile oil to a lot of different things, like tossing it in salad, so I [said] we should just have it for an option; a lot of people ask for extra.”
Photo by Tameka Peters
Royal Pig
In recent months, Royal Pig chefs and co-owners Adam Stull and Vanna Hem introduced King Kaiju, a bar fare-focused pop-up concept. Two ingredients incorporated into every dish on the menu: chile oil and chili crisp, from fries topped poutine-style with a fried egg and dollops of chili crisp to a Khmer dog with a slather of funky pork belly dip and a swizzle of chile oil.
“This is the first time we are doing a straight-up chili crisp; our chile oil, we’ve used the recipe for years,” Stull says. While the Cambodian restaurant relies primarily on chile oil for a punch of flavor, its chili crisp is all about texture and heat, made with Sichuan peppercorns, fermented soybeans, garlic and loads of ginger and scallion. “People respond really well to it,” Stull says. “I think it’s a bold flavor [that] they’re not used to … They take a bite, and they’re like, ‘What is that?’ and want more.”
