Please explain tofu. It featured in three recipes in a recent edition of Feast, but I don’t know anything about it, or why I should cook with it. Can you help?
Shelley, Hertfordshire
Fuchsia Dunlop, one of the world’s great cheerleaders for Chinese cookery, often finds herself shaking her head at western preconceptions about tofu. “We tend to regard it as an ingredient that’s used almost exclusively by vegetarians,” she says, “but in China, and elsewhere in Asia, tofu is eaten by just about everybody.” That shouldn’t be at all surprising, considering this simple soya bean product is versatile, nutritious and a hugely rich source of protein. It’s very on-message with the west’s current dietary obsessions, too, so if anything, it’s odd that more of us don’t tuck into the stuff more regularly: “It’s a fantastic option for those trying to reduce the amount of animal protein they eat,” Dunlop adds, “be that for environmental, ethical or health reasons.”
Put (very) simply, tofu is made from dried soya beans that are soaked in water, milled into soya milk, then strained, heated and coagulated, usually with mineral salts or gypsum (AKA fertiliser – yum!). The resulting curds are wrapped in muslin and pressed, leaving a block that can be cut into cubes, slices or strips. No wonder the British-Thai cook John Chantarasak compares the process to traditional cheese-making. “And, like cheese, tofu varies hugely in texture, from silken to extra-firm,” he says, “and the kind you use depends entirely on the desired end result in any given dish.”
He’s not kidding about the variety out there, either. Plain white tofu, which comes in firmish slabs, is the most familiar over here – Dunlop describes it as “delicate and a bit like ricotta”. But there’s also “soft and custardy” silken (or flower) tofu; smoked tofu; fermented tofu, which usually comes in well-flavoured, often chilli-spiked oil and which Dunlop calls “the Chinese equivalent of ripe blue cheese” … I could go on, but you probably get the picture by now.
According to Chantarasak, who hung up his apron at London’s Som Saa last year to set up his own venture, AngloThai, the Thais adopted tofu, or toa-hu as they call it, from China as long ago as the 13th century. It’s now so ingrained in the cooking culture that, traditionally, it’s a key ingredient in one of the country’s most famous dishes, pad thai, though it features only very rarely in versions made here; it’s also a regular in mee krob, the popular crispy noodle street food. “Firm tofu is very forgiving,” Chantarasak says. “Cut it into cubes and stir-fry, then serve tossed with seasonal greens, garlic, oyster sauce and soy, or add it to curries and braises.”
Silken tofu, as the name suggests, is much more fragile, so that’s best simply steamed: “Thinly sliced spring onion, ginger and a light dressing of soy, sugar and sesame oil are all you need to turn that into a great meal with a bowl of rice,” Chantarasak says.
Let’s leave the last word to Dunlop, whose 2003 masterpiece, Sichuan Cookery, was reworked and republished as The Food of Sichuan late last year: “Tofu is not at all deserving of its western reputation as just a poor substitute for meat,” she says. “As entry points, try mapo tofu or sour-and-hot silken tofu, which are both deceptively easy.” They’re ridiculously quick, too – 10 minutes max – so there should be no holding Shelley back now.
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