MORE YUZU MAGIC

I’ve posted previously on the flavor magic of yuzukosho and other yuzu culinary possibilities that are wildfiring from chef to chef around the world, as well as yuzu's non-cuisinal uses, but I never knew of the following use for the mystic citrus until a few weeks ago when I got hold of some sun-dried yuzu seeds at Hot Station, where the lady told me I could soak the seeds for a few weeks in mild alcohol (shochu, sake) and make a good organic skin lotion. She had a little jar of it there as a sampler, so I bought some seeds to try...

I used some unfiltered sake I had, left the batch for three weeks, shaking it every now and then as it thickened, the result being a bunch of yuzu seeds in a viscous gel-fluid, sort of like an undecided jelly, but not sticky. Some substance in (or on?) the seeds had semigelatinized the sake, and when shaken and filtered through a sieve, yielded a good quantity of a pleasant thickish gel for skin/face lotion etc. I’m now using the same seeds again to make a second batch, slightly less gelly than the first, it seems.

Echo and I each made our own experimental preparation - she used rose essential oil in hers - and are saving the rest (about a cupful) in the fridge. I added a few drops of apricot oil to mine, plus a drop of lavender essential oil (other good essential oils for the skin are eucalyptus, tea tree, clary sage, lemon, myrrh, patchouli...) to make a little test squidgerful (beside the big jar in the foto) to use on my hands after I’ve been working outdoors.

Echo says it’s great for rough heels and elbows as well, but my rough heels and elbows have never been a bother to me (or others, as far as I know). Anyway, the lotion feels great, is cheap (free if you got a yuzu tree), no artificial additives, preservatives (add some vitamin E for that) or coloring --  it’s smooth, soothing, dries fast, not tacky, goodfeel to rub on, dissipates quickly, seems to fill in some dermal gaps and lubes or something. Feels good later too, slightly astringent perhaps. I'll try a new blend as an aftershave balm and experiment with other formulations.

You can go ahead and make a million with this; I have to go get some firewood with my new hands.

CUISINAL EXPONENTIALITY

Yesterday afternoon after stacking some firewood, while eating lunch in which I had some yuzu kosho (lit. yuzu black pepper) on my rice I was going through my usual yuzu kosho-eating "boyoboyisthisgood" routine when I was reminded by the hot spiciness and psyche-permeating flavor that I had earlier resolved to mention yuzu kosho in these ethereal ramblings, which I am herewith doing.

If I were a betting man, which I haven't been since I finally edged into the winning column with a big night of poker some years ago, I'd be willing to wager a considerable sum that if you were to sit down for, say, a hundred years and try to imagine the flavor that would result from mashing together red pepper and yuzu, you couldn't do it. Not that I'd instigate such a long-term undertaking mind you, there are more productive things to do with your time I'm sure, like stack my firewood, but in any case, there's a simpler way to find out: just get a jar of yuzu kosho at the store of great tastes nearest you.

Concocted of red pepper and yuzu grated together into a succulent green paste that somewhat resembles genuine wasabi (Japanese horseradish), yuzu kosho has a puzzling deliciousness that, while spicy hot, is so tastebudding that at first you don't care at all about the puzzle. Nevertheless the puzzle is there in all its green transcendance, and sooner or later works its way into the deliciousness you try to figure it out as you chew and savor, but you can't even really identify the yuzu in the mix, though somehow it's definitely there, and even though the red pepper seems to contribute only its zingy heat.

In some magical fashion, red pepper and yuzu thus commingle to create a tasty gateway to another cuisinal dimension. In time, pondering that new dimension becomes integral to the deliciousness of yuzu kosho, which thus healthfully directs you savor and concentrate on what you're eating. On rice, in sauces, soups, chile, mixed in miso or mayonnaise (bet it would be good in a Bloody Mary, too), yuzu kosho is cuisinally exponential.

THE MAN WITHOUT A YUZU

It's not what you're thinking. It's not that either. I have all those. However, if you're a gourmetish person residing in the gourmet hotbeds of the US like the Bay Area and New York, to name a few, you know all about yuzu (Citrus junos siebold), though nothing of why I don't have a tree thereof. If you are such a person, you know that yuzu, specifically the rind and the juice, is a very hot item, the hot item, in the gourmet world these days.

Used traditionally in Japan pretty much only for the peel, a bit of which imparts to akadashi (and boy do they have it perfected, akadashi) that unforgettable, indescribable completion that all great things achieve. Strangely, though, yuzu isn't used for much other than that modicum of flavor genius for that particular application, you don't here encounter yuzu much outside of that, but I've always loved to the depths that magic essence added most perfectly, as I've indicated, to akadashi (can you get akadashi in NY?), and with that you are already well on your way to gustatory bliss.

But only in akadashi season, generally winter, of which akadashi is the very heart. Anyway, yuzu is now the hot thing in the aforementioned hotbeds, its uniquely (and I do mean uniquely) flavored peel and juice is used in high-priced sauces and sine-qua-non dressings and beyond-the-horizon cocktails and superbeautifying facials, you name it. If you don't believe me, just Google yuzu.

Here in Japan, though, yuzu is still pretty much just yuzu. There is a point to this ramble. I went out looking for a yuzu tree for a conveniently empty space in my garden; I also wanted a few tea plants (Camellia sinensis), for another sunny spot just right in the way things tend to become just right if you wait long enough.

I went to the usual nurseries where I get all the plants I don't want to wait for, life is short, but growing seasons are shorter-- after seven years I 'm beginning to get a few plums and apricots and peaches-- so I welcome a shortcut when one is available, and I asked the lady if they had any yuzu plants. She looked at me long, the way service personnel in puzzlement have a way of doing. Was my request so strange, so exotic?

They had fig trees, apple trees, even granny apple trees, plum, peach, apricot, kiwi, grapes, loquat, natsume, persimmon, four varieties of blueberry, you name it. We looked at each other till the answer forthcame, and it was No. Why? I asked. Because there's no demand, she responded. No demand? Yes, no demand. Everybody has them. No one buys them. Everyone except me, I forebore to say.

So it appears that I'll just have to cozy up to someone who has an extra yuzu growing around, and while you're at it, could you throw in a couple of unwanted tea plants? Without sounding too strange. That's a bigger challenge than you might think, for the only guy around without a yuzu.