Seitan at home

Prior to encountering seitan in How To Cook Everything Vegetarian, on page 668–when Bittman says everything, he means it–I’d met it once before, in a Chinese restaurant on University Avenue in Berkeley, California. (The name of this place eludes me. Nor could I find it on the net.) Technically it was more than once, as I lunched there often, always ordering the same dish: Spicy Stir-Fried Chicken. It was delicious, and I devoured it with gusto many times before realizing it wasn’t chicken at all. In fact, there was nary a bird about the place, a fact made plain on the signage and menus, all of which included the word “vegetarian.”

Taken near Berkeley’s upscale Fourth Street Shopping District many years ago, in the Before Time. This is near our house, but we rarely go there. I forget why we were there that day. It was close to Christmas, and cold.

The “chicken” was made from seitan, as was every other protein-based dish in the place. I had no idea what seitan was and didn’t care. Anything that good was worth eating, and I lunched there regularly until a new job on campus meant moving to a building far from the restaurant.

Proust had his madeleine. I have seitan. So…instagrammable.

Seitan is incredibly easy to make at home. It begins life as something called vital wheat gluten. I ordered mine from Kalyustans, whose package helpfully explains it comes from the “protein in the endosperm of the wheat berry.” Vital wheat gluten–I’m not sure when it becomes seitan–is then ground into a granular beige substance.

Add water, and within seconds you have a bouncy handful of doughy stuff that, after a twenty-minute rest, is poached in either water or broth. Violà, seitan.

Bittman offers two broth recipes in his book. I used neither, opting to concoct one myself.

Dried lobster mushrooms aren’t what you’d call a larder ingredient. I get that. These were bought months ago, for a special occasion that never transpired. The kombu has been in there even longer.

All to say, don’t fret. Use what you’ve got in your fridge, within bounds. Be practical. Obviously you don’t want to make broth from wilted, slimy, or otherwise ailing vegetables. Nor should you use anything sulfurous, like cabbage or turnip, as they tend to take over, and there’s enough of that happening elsewhere.

Symbolism? Me? Never.

Carrots, onions, garlic, leeks, scallions, and fresh mushrooms all make nice broths. Should you have corn cobs or pea pods (I write this in early September, the tail end of gardening season), they make delicious additions as well.

If you have a favorite broth recipe, use that. Avoid broth cubes, as even the finest ones may be overly salty for this application.

It tastes better than it looks. Believe me.

If you have none of these things, water is fine, too, but even that is running short these days. The world is a mess. But you knew what.

I could lie and tell you I know why there are so very many dried mushroom pictures. But….I don’t know. The past week was a corker.

My adventures with seitan have extended no further than Asian cuisine, where they’ve met with wild success (read: even John liked them). To this end, the next post will share stir-fried Seitan with Spicy Chinese Mustard Pickle.

A final note: it must said that seitan is made from gluten, a much villianized and wrongly maligned ingredient. But gluten is dangerous, even deadly, for Celiac sufferers. If you or somebody you cook for has celiac, or is wheat intolerant, seitan is not for you.

 

 

More Berkeley in before time; this is a house off Telegraph, about a mile from the UC Berkeley campus. I took this one morning before seeing my then-dentist, whose office was just off campus.