Editor's note: Amid restaurant closures due to the coronavirus pandemic, please consult our list of local eateries offering takeout and delivery, updated frequently.
Consider the refrigerator — that insulated food theater — your kitchen’s protagonist. Only in the past 100 years of humanity’s 200,000 have we relied on it to keep cucumbers crisp, beer cold and meats frozen. Long before Frigidaire, there was fermentation, a gurgling, preservative technique dating to 7000 B.C. Rotting fruit sun-baking into hooch, or wild yeast spores parachuting into milled grains: Is that how fermentation started? However it happened, most cultures preserve foods naturally to prevent them from spoiling, from lacto-ferments like Mediterranean yogurts and Eastern European sauerkraut to Penicilium mold-infused French cheeses. Managed microorganisms, bacteria, yeast and mold produce taste — along with texture-changing enzymes — and extend a food’s shelf life.
The Korean expression “hand taste,” akin to “homemade,” speaks specifically to the personality of ferments. Hand taste is always different, like terroir. It conjures up the unique atmosphere of a particular kitchen on a particular day, the mold and yeast spores married with the cook’s personal touch. Hand taste is fermentation’s unique fingerprint. These local examples exemplify hand taste; each batch will be different, more or less sour than, and with a different structure, from its siblings.
Photo by Justin Chesney
Injera, Nile
Nile does what very few Ethiopian restaurants in the U.S., much less Richmond, are willing to do. They make their 100% teff grain injera, a spongy, sour pancake-like flatbread, daily.
Teff is more expensive and more nutritious than wheat flour. Rich with protein, it is blended into injera batter. Injera makes a tangy counterpoint to piquant, sun-dried berbere seasoning. Scooping up spicy doro wat with the three-day fermented bread is hand taste overload in its most toe-curling form. —Genevelyn Steele
Photo by Justin Chesney
Corned beef sandwich, Perly’s
Crunchy, salty and tender beats the heart of Jewish culinary love. The fermentation situation at Perly’s includes sauerkraut, pickles and pastrami, but what peppers their menu is corned beef. Preserved in a salt brine, corning a brisket with spices transforms a tough working cut into melt-in-your-mouth magic. Enjoy it with kraut on a classic Reuben, in a potato knish with braised cabbage or slung through a brunch hash. The unconventional “Jewish egg roll” tucks sauerkraut, corned beef and kishka, a fermented blood sausage, into a comfy fried wrapper. —GS
Photo by Lauren Baldwin
Labneh, Natalie’s Taste of Lebanon
Labneh, a Lebanese kefir cheese, is traditionally made by draining the whey from yogurt. With a tangy flavor profile and creamy texture, it’s often eaten as a dip or served with the Arabic spice blend za’atar as a breakfast staple. The lactic acid in labneh, as well as most fermented dairy products, makes it a spell-binding part of a marinade for chicken, lamb or beef kebabs, helping to break down proteins at the molecular level and delivering perfect tenderness. It’s an off-the-menu item at Natalie’s, so be sure to ask your server. —John Haddad
Photo by Lauren Baldwin
Curtido, Pupuseria El Salvadoreño
Pupusas, the Salvadoran street food, are as comforting as a grilled cheese. These griddled corn cakes stuffed with melty white cheese, beans, pork or the edible flower loroco are compelling on their own, but when topped with curtido, a lightly fermented cabbage relish, they become addictive. Instead of a quick pickle, this pupuseria’s curtido is a full-on probiotic party in a side salad. Slivers of sweet onion, cabbage, carrot, citrus and saffron — which gives the long ferment a distinctive yellow hue — demand you tong seconds from the glass jars accompanying the hot pupusas when brought to the table. —GS
Photo by Justin Chesney
Chaat, Lehja
According to fermentation guru and author Sandor Katz, “Yogurt is the most popular fermented milk in the world,” and it’s an essential part of many international cuisines. The chaat, Indian street food-style snacks, at Lehja features a tangy, spicy and creamy yogurt sauce that pulls the whole dish together. Chef-owner Sunny Baweja says making homemade yogurt is a daily ritual at Lehja. There’s more than a bit of alchemy involved in the process, a combination of precise temperatures, living cultures and careful attention to detail. Using part of the previous day’s culture creates a tie to the past. —JH
