Beef Poached in Rasam Broth

The mists of time (i.e. early October) saw your intrepid hostess driving to her local pharmacy. While waiting to fill her (ex) oral surgeon’s munificent 10-pill scrip, she hit the local bookshop, her intentions pure. You know, just window shopping.

We all know where this is going.

There on shelf sat a copy of Nopi, the Yotam Ottolenghi/Ramael Scully collaboration, singing its siren song. Twenty-six dollars later, your hostess lugged it home, triumphant, only to become too sick to fire up her frying pans.

Over the next three weeks she paged through her acquisition in varying states of fever, agony, and utter confusion. At some point–she knows not when–“Sea Bass With Potatoes In Rasam Broth” presented itself. In her addled state, Ms. IK thought it a fine idea to prepare the rasam. Dimly she recalled some thinly sliced top round steak in the fridge. What if she poached the beef in the rasam?

Nearly a month later, memories of tomato sauce, spice jars, and a cutting board float in the recesses of her consciousness. More clearly recalled is the second oral surgery, transpiring rather urgently mere hours later.

It may be unwise to prepare dishes under such circumstances, but our hostess was in the skilled hands of Yotam Ottolenghi and his sidekick, Ramael Scully. Meaning the rasam was wonderful. Your hostess, now in a haze of doxicycline and narcotics, resolved to revisit the recipe as soon as she could. Provided she survived.

 

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Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid, writing in Mangoes and Curry Leaves, define rasam as:

A peppery tamarind and toovar dal-based liquid like a much thinner and more tart tasting sambhar…A staple of Tamil cuisine, it is usually eaten early in the meal, poured over rice.

initially they find rasam akin to “acidic pepper water.” Gradually, “It started to grow on me, and now I love it.”  Barbara Kafka, writing in Soup, A Way of Life, concurs, describing rasam as “addictive.”

“Addictive” is certainly my experience of rasam, which I don’t find the least bit acidic.

I realize this recipe, particularly the ingredient list, appears long and rather intimidating, especially for those readers living far from Asian markets. If you’re a fan of Southeast Asian or Chinese food, do make this. Once you’ve assembled the ingredients, rasam is a matter of tossing everything into a frying pan. Really–I made rasam while seriously ill. How hard can it be?

Let’s discuss some of the more unusual ingredients.

The beef–not a bit unusual, but…. I buy thinly sliced top round at my market. You can use any thinly sliced, quickly cooking protein: beef, chicken, fish, pork, lamb, or tofu. Or pour the rasam over rice or noodles.

Tamarind: tamarind is a fruit that grows in pods. Used as a souring agent in Asian cuisines, tamarind has a sweet-sour flavor that’s hard to quantify. If you enjoy citrus, especially lime, chances are good you’ll like tamarind.

Above: Tamarind in the pod.

Tamarind is sold in numerous forms, but is most commonly available in large blocks. The tamarind found in jars as a paste or puree tends to contain additives and should be avoided. Tamarind is widely available; look in your market’s “Asian” or “Import” aisle. If not, tamarind is easily found online. Any way you buy it, tamarind keeps virtually forever.

A block of tamarind, above. While winning no James Beard photography awards, it gives you an idea of what we’re discussing.

To use tamarind: break a piece off the block and drop it into hot water. The water should be at least double the amount of tamarind, but don’t go crazy over this. Tamarind is not strongly flavored; provided you use small amounts–treat it like you do fresh ginger–you won’t ruin a dish. I usually break about 1/2 ounce off and drop it into 2 cups of warm water. Allow the tamarind to soften 15-30 minutes, lift it out, and rub it through a strainer into the water. You’ll be left with strings and seeds. Discard these and add the cloudy water to whatever you’re cooking.

Tamarind, out of the pods, soaking in warm water.

Curry Leaves: If you cannot find fresh curry leaves, don’t fret. Dried are fine. So is curry powder.

Sunflower oil: a neutral oil like peanut or canola will work well, too. Don’t use olive oil here. Not photographed because bottles of sunflower oil aren’t all that compelling to look at.

Garam Masala: In the NOPI recipe headnote, Ottolenghi says five different spices are used to make rasam at the restaurant, adding:

“to reinstate the original, use 1 teaspoon each of ground black pepper, cumin, coriander, caraway, and yellow mustard seeds.”

I followed his advice.

Rasam only improves with time. Ottolenghi suggests allowing it to infuse for a few hours if possible; I find it’s even better the next day. Do know if you taste rasam while it’s cooking, or even just as it’s done, it can taste bitter. Give it a few minutes to find itself. It will, I promise.

You can strain the broth before serving if you prefer. Myself, I like eating the solids and hate washing strainers.

The “featured image” depicts carnivorous and vegetarian servings.

Enough yakking. Let’s do the recipe thing.