Furikake Party
Yes, that's better.
Many years ago, my friend Brett returned from a semester in Japan bearing gifts, which he presented during a reunion of our high school clique. Most of our attention was turned toward the bizarre candies, the T-shirts with interesting approaches to grammar, and the comic books ranging in subject matter from quirky to traumatizing, but the item that made the biggest splash for me was an innocuous little packet of mysterious dried flakes. Its taste eludes my description to this day; the best I can do is relate something one of my friends said upon eating it, which was "It's like soy sauce, only better."
Today, I know that this is called shiso, known to scientists as perilla, and nicknamed "Japanese Basil" or, far less appetizingly, "Beefsteak Plant." It's a variety of furikake, which is any dried seasoning intended to be put over rice. But back then, all I knew was what Brett told me: take rice, shape it into a ball, and sprinkle it with whatever this was. And it was delicious enough that I didn't need to know anything else.
Until I ran out. I searched all throughout Cincinnati and Chicago looking for it, but without any real way to describe it to people I couldn't find help. Brett suggested I try Chinatown, on the grounds that there may be a Japanese influence there.
There wasn't. Here's a conversation I recommend you never have:
Me: Hi, do you sell shiso?
Shopkeeper: What's that?
Me: It's some sort of herb that you sprinkle over rice.
Shopkeeper: That sounds Japanese.
Me: Yes, it is.
Shopkeeper: I'm Chinese.
Me: I know that, but do you know where I could find some around here?
Shopkeeper: This is Chinatown.
That day marked my worst flareup of Ignorant White Person Syndrome. Several people gave me the kind of stare you'd get if you went up to Spike Lee and asked him if he was Tyler Perry. And after all that awkwardness, it turned out there was a Japanese gift shop two blocks north of my apartment that sells shiso. I even knew the place existed, but never went inside because I didn't think they sold food. Anyway, if you're in Chicago and you want some shiso, check out J Toguri Mercantile near the Belmont Red Line. But call them (or me) first to make sure I haven't been there recently*; after all the trouble I went through finding this stuff, I treat it like I'll never see it again. And by that, I mean I buy every packet I see and eat it so slowly I'm surprised nobody has sent Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle after me.
Right then, tangential backstory's over. So, you can find sushi rice at pretty much any grocery store with an international section (though not Trader Joe's, for some reason). Keep in mind that "sushi rice" is actually a blanket term for several varieties of Japanese medium-grain white rice. Packaging intended to be seen by anglophones often helpfully just says "SUSHI RICE," but it might also be called kokuho, koshihikari, nishiki, or calrose.
Now, you can just sprinkle some shiso over sushi rice and call it a day; I don't expect to get tired of that anytime soon. But it's not really a full meal. So the last time I went on a shiso run, I grabbed some other furikake as well:
Trader Joe's sells little packages of seaweed strips for about a dollar apiece. They're marketed as a light snack, but they work just fine crushed in the hand and sprinkled on as a topping (question everything). I use the ones that are laced with wasabi flavoring. Not only does that save me from having to keep perishable wasabi on hand, it solves my two biggest complaints about concentrated wasabi paste: that no matter how well I think I've mixed it around, every bite yields either far too big a mouthful or none at all, and that stinging vapors waft into my eyes when I microwave it. Be warned, however, that the major appeal of this seaweed comes from its crunch. Don't microwave it and don't refrigerate it, or it'll turn into an unappetizing mush. Take anything you don't use and put it in a sealed bag with the dessicant packet that comes included.
Iri goma is roasted sesame seeds. It's... pretty good, I guess. I don't know, it's sesame seeds. Use it if you can find it, don't lose sleep if you can't.
Ume-boshi is pickled plum. It's normally found in a larger ball form, but because of a combination of its attention-grabbingly tart taste and the relative difficulty of cutting said nuggets into smaller chunks I prefer to work with dried shredded pieces of it when incorporating it into a larger meal. Sometimes shiso is sold with ume-boshi flakes mixed in; if you find this, buy all of it. Also, I didn't realize before purchasing this that "chazuke" is actually a seasoning packet meant to be added to boiling water to make a soup, but I found that it's still perfectly good poured over rice (question everything). Just don't use a whole packet on a dry bowl of rice. Use a third or half of a packet and seal the rest up with your seaweed.
So, once all of the tasty bits have been haphazardly tossed over the rice, you'll find that a little more substance is necessary. I like to fry up a little tofu and dice an avocado. The end result will look a little something like this:
The rice is green because I was feeling particularly fancy and used bamboo rice, which is just sushi rice soaked in bamboo juice. This is one of my favorite rices (or maybe I just think it tastes better because it's green), but it may be prohibitively expensive (thanks mom!).
So there. Another perfect meal. It's cheap, easy, delicious, vegetarian (but still very popular with my omnivorous friends), healthy (or at least low in fat), and its ingredients will keep in your pantry and refrigerator almost indefinitely. Except for the avocados, but you should always have avocados. Finding the ingredients is literally 90% of the work.
Happy experimentation!
*Just to be clear, don't ask J Toguri about me. They have no idea who I am. Just ask if they have any shiso. Always focus on the shiso.
I had ume-boshi sushi at a restaurant once and I've wanted to try and make it ever since (but have never found pickled plums when I've thought to look for them). Alas, stores with international sections are few and far between in northeast Connecticut.
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