7.
ASIAN EGGS
The ancestor to the chicken was possibly a bird living in the jungles of Malaysia that the Romans named Gallus domesticus—used for sacrifices and cockfighting long before the animal became food. The earliest records of raising egg-laying hens date back to 1400 BCE (in Egypt and China), and it’s likely that the Chinese were the first to take the culinary egg seriously. I am both Malaysian and Chinese, and in my family, our love for eggs is deep and abiding. In the course of working on this book, I consulted my mom innumerable times. My dad excitedly took the phone at one point to tell me about the hard-boiled egg he ate from an eggcup during his first year at Leeds, in England, where he went to college. “Isn’t that strange!” he exclaimed. “Did you know they do this? An egg in a little cup!” He grew up eating soft-boiled eggs from a bowl (this page); his mother, my grandma, would steam eggs with pork in our rice cooker (this page). Everyone’s ways of eating eggs are a little strange to everybody else.
What do Asian people do with eggs? The answer, essentially, is everything that people do elsewhere, plus a few more out-of-left-fielders: They eat them even before they come out of the chicken. “Unlaid eggs,” in-utero eggs from slaughtered chickens that you might see in your chicken pho, are called kinkan in Japan, reng khai in Thailand, and eyerlekh in Yiddish, stewed along with whole hens. Balut are embryos, partially formed birds, boiled and eaten in the Philippines since at least 1830, when it was a delicacy for the nobility, and in Vietnam, where it’s called hot vit lon. “Virgin boy eggs,” a delicacy from Dongyang, in eastern China, is a springtime delicacy of eggs steeped in the urine of prepubescent boys, preferably under age ten. And there are all manner of preserved eggs (this page), like Chinese century eggs and salted eggs whose yolks are put into mooncakes eaten during the lunar festival. Quail eggs are, in Chinese medicine, more nutritious than regular chicken eggs, so sometimes you’ll find them floating, hard-boiled, in herbal soups. Asians also basically already wrote this book. In 1785, Banpou Ryouri Himitsu Bako was published in Japan, a specialized book of egg recipes that included 103 ways to cook eggs, including a boiling recipe that somehow reverses the yolk and the white. What else do Asian people do with eggs, you ask?
Korean Steamed Eggs
We steam them!
These steamed eggs are essentially unfussy savory custard. I once watched my friend Lauren make the quickest, easiest egg dish for dinner: just a bowl of beaten eggs, scallions, jalapeño, and fish sauce, cooked entirely in the microwave. In Korea, this is apparently a thing! Called gyeranjjim, it’s traditionally steamed or cooked in an earthenware pot and eaten as a side dish. “At restaurants sometimes they give it as ‘service,’” Lauren adds. “A free treat.” This microwave version is fluffy, simple, and hearty—ready in the span of a pop song.
Makes 2 servings
3 eggs
½ cup water
2 scallions, sliced
1 tbsp fish sauce
½ jalapeño chili, finely chopped (optional)
1 tsp sesame oil
1. Lightly beat the eggs in a microwave-safe bowl. Mix in the water, scallions, fish sauce, and jalapeño (if using).
2. Nuke on high for 3½ minutes. Poke the center with a spoon or chopstick to see if it’s still liquidy. If so, nuke for 1 more minute. (Alternatively, to steam: steam the bowl over medium heat for about 15 minutes.)
3. To serve, drizzle with sesame oil.
Guira Cuckoo
Steamed Salted Egg with Pork
During the production of this book, I spent a lot of time texting with moms—in some cases, other people’s moms. Flora Ying is the mom of Chris, Lucky Peach’s editor in chief, and a fellow Chinese person. Flora published a version of this steamed egg-and-meat situation in issue 8 of our magazine, but because that was more meatloaf than egg loaf, I was left curious about the eggier version: It’s one that I also ate growing up. When my Hakka grandma stayed home with us during summer vacations, she would stick an enamel dish filled with uncooked meat and egg into the rice cooker, on top of the rice, and it was magically ready when the rice was ready. This version calls for raw salted duck eggs: You can make your own, or look for them, refrigerated, in Asian supermarkets.
Makes 4 servings
½ lb ground pork
¼ tsp white pepper
1 tsp soy sauce
1 tsp cornstarch
¼ tsp minced fresh ginger
2 raw Salted Duck Eggs
+ sesame oil, for serving
+ chopped cilantro and/or scallions, for garnish (optional)
1. Mix the ground pork, white pepper, soy sauce, cornstarch, and ginger together in a bowl.
2. Separate the salted duck egg whites from the yolks. Add the whites to the pork mixture and mix with a fork in a counterclockwise motion till thoroughly mixed.
3. Transfer the meat mix to a 7-inch round enamel pan and flatten it into an even thickness. Gently crumble the egg yolks and spread on top of the meat.
4. Set up a steamer. Steam until the pork is cooked through, 20 to 25 minutes.
5. To serve, drizzle a few drops of sesame oil over the top of the egg, and scatter with cilantro and/or scallions if using. Serve right away, while hot.
Chawanmushi
Chawanmushi, savory egg custard, is a traditional Japanese dish that’s very basic—just eggs, dashi, and minimal seasoning (sometimes only salt)—but with countless variations depending on small-yet-significant tweaks: the ratio of egg to dashi, what you cook in the custard, for example. This dish is often served as a replacement for soup—it’s considered in the same category as a soup—so the flavor of the dashi is just as important as the custard’s delicate texture. Make sure to use rich, freshly made dashi.
My homey tofu-and-shiitake mushroom chawanmushi is something I can whip up on a busy day with ingredients that are always in my fridge. I like to use soft tofu, so the custard and the tofu will have almost the same texture when they’re cooked, but you can also use medium-firm tofu, drained and patted very dry. If you like, you can upgrade the recipe by adding ingredients such as crabmeat, shrimp, gingko nuts, chicken…anything you like.
—Naoko Takei Moore
Makes 4 side-dish servings
2 eggs, at room temperature
1¼ cups dashi, at room temperature
1 tsp salt
1 tsp shiro shoyu (white soy sauce) or usukuchi shoyu (light-colored soy sauce)
6 oz soft tofu, drained and cut into large bite-size cubes
3 to 4 fresh shiitake mushrooms, stems discarded and caps sliced
1. Get a steamer ready.
2. To make the custard: Whisk together the eggs, dashi, salt, and shiro shoyu in a bowl until smooth.
3. Spread the tofu in a heat-resistant bowl, followed by the shiitake mushrooms. Gradually pour the egg batter through a fine-mesh strainer into the bowl.
4. Place the bowl in the steamer and cook over low heat until the custard is set (a skewer inserted in the center should come out clean), about 25 minutes.
Egg Drop Soup
We drop them!
I eat this once a week when I’m home alone for lunch, since it requires less than a moment of effort, delivers satisfaction, and leaves room for afternoon recipe tasting. It’s plainer than Chinese-restaurant versions, but super delicious, and ready in no time.
—Mary-Frances Heck
Makes 2 to 4 servings
5 cups chicken stock
2 scallions, chopped, green and white parts separated
1 slice (1¼ inches) fresh ginger
1 tsp white peppercorns
+ salt
1 tbsp cornstarch mixed with 1 tbsp water to make a slurry
3 eggs, beaten
1. Combine the chicken stock, scallion whites, ginger, and peppercorns in a saucepan and bring to simmer over medium heat. Reduce the heat and simmer until the broth is infused with the aromatics, about 20 minutes. Strain and return the broth to the pan.
2. Bring the broth to a boil and season to taste with salt. Whisk the cornstarch mixture into the broth and return to a full boil so the broth thickens. Reduce the heat to a simmer and drizzle the egg into the pot in three or four additions. When the egg floats, remove from the heat and ladle into bowls. Sprinkle with chopped scallion greens and serve.
Monk Leaping into the Ocean
In Hong Kong, this classic energy drink is known to soothe stomachs of the young and old, and pep up partiers looking for a second wind.
—Tienlon Ho
Makes 1 drink
1 cup boiling water
1 egg
+ sugar
1. Fill a glass mug with the boiling water.
2. Crack a raw egg into it.
3. Serve with sugar and a spoon. The water should be hot enough to make egg flowers when stirred.
Striated Prinia
Stracciatella
Italy does it, too!
You probably know stracciatella as the Italian version of chocolate chip ice cream: It’s gelato with chocolate that gets drizzled in as the ice cream churns, so the chocolate ends up in delicious, ragged shards. But stracciatella also refers to what is basically a cheesy egg drop soup, popular in central Italy. (Which came first, the soup or the ice cream, you’re wondering? As it turns out, the soup!) Their shared name derives from the Italian verb stracciare, which means “to rip to shreds.” Ripped-up shreds is exactly accurate, and this recipe has shreds of spinach too. Stracciatella (the soup) is a Roman staple around Easter, when eggs are traditionally most plentiful and most celebrated. But the soup is simple enough to make any time of the year—especially when you want something straightforwardly satisfying. It’s fresh, bright, and made from ingredients you most likely have on hand already. And it’s criminally easy! Say you’re sick and can’t muster the strength to make yourself chicken soup. You can make stracciatella.
Makes 4 appetizer servings
4 cups chicken stock
+ salt
8 oz spinach, stemmed and thinly sliced
2 eggs
¼ cup finely grated parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
+ freshly ground black pepper
1. Bring the chicken stock to a simmer in a saucepan and season with salt. Add the spinach and cook until wilted but still bright green, about 3 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, beat the eggs with the parmesan and a pinch each of salt and pepper.
3. Use a spoon to stir the soup around the pot and pour the eggs into the broth in three additions, stirring after each addition. The eggs will form wispy strands as they cook.
4. Ladle into bowls and sprinkle with a little more parmesan.
Stir-Fried Egg and Tomato
We fry them!
Stir-fried egg and tomato is a Chinese dish, I’m pretty sure, but I only know it from my youth in California and the home cooking of my Chinese-Malaysian mom, who was born and raised in Malaysia. If it’s not the official Chinese version, I apologize. This is chunks of tomato scrambled with eggs that have been seasoned gently but purposefully with white pepper, Shaoxing wine, and sesame oil. It’s boring sounding but actually revelatory, and seriously the easiest, best comfort food.
Makes 4 side-dish servings
5 eggs
1¼ tsp salt
½ tsp white pepper
1 tsp Shaoxing wine
½ tsp sesame oil
2 tbsp canola or vegetable oil
4 medium tomatoes (about 1 lb), chopped into rustic chunks
1 tsp sugar
2 scallions, sliced
1. Beat the eggs with 1 teaspoon of the salt, the white pepper, Shaoxing wine, and sesame oil—not too aggressively, and definitely not until they’re frothy—just so the whites and yolks are incorporated and the mixture is uniformly yellow.
2. Heat 1 tablespoon of the oil in a large nonstick skillet or wok over medium heat. Add the egg mixture to the skillet or wok, cooking until the eggs are just barely setting and pulling together, about 10 seconds. Transfer to a bowl and wipe out the pan with a paper towel.
3. Heat the remaining 1 tablespoon oil in the same pan over medium heat. Add the tomatoes and stir until the tomatoes start to look wilted (their peels will sort of shrivel) and they release their juices, about 5 minutes. Sprinkle the sugar and remaining ¼ teaspoon salt all over, and stir for another minute.
4. Return the eggs to the pan along with the sliced scallions and cook, stirring occasionally, until the eggs are cooked through, another minute. Serve right away.
Yam Khai Dao
The best part of yam khai dao, Thai fried-egg salad, is the texture of the eggs: It’s best when there’s a perfect ratio of crisp edges to tender whites to soft and/or runny yolks. Fried in a quarter-or-so inch of oil, the egg whites blister and get crispy before the yolks completely firm up. The depth of oil bastes the egg whites, leaving the yolk exposed. That’s why even though yam khai dao is typically made with chicken or duck eggs, I prefer quail eggs. With each bite of a fried quail egg, you get exactly that perfect ratio. Most Thai cooks fry their chicken or duck eggs to well done when they make this salad; with quail eggs, you can leave the yolks runny.
This is my own riff on this popular salad. You won’t see fried quail egg salad anywhere on the streets of Thailand: Frying 36 quail eggs is not exactly a walk in the park. If you’d like to use chicken or duck eggs instead of quail, there’s no shame in that. This salad is best enjoyed right away; it doesn’t keep well. Like most Thai salads, yam khai dao is not meant to be eaten as a stand-alone dish, but as an accompaniment to rice.
—Leela Punyaratabandhu
Makes 6 servings
36 quail eggs or 12 large duck or chicken eggs
½ cup vegetable oil
2 plum tomatoes, cut lengthwise into ¼-inch wedges
1 cup packed roughly chopped Chinese celery leaves and stems
2 tbsp Thai fish sauce
3 tbsp fresh lime juice
1 tsp finely grated palm sugar or ¾ tsp light brown sugar
3 to 4 Thai bird’s eye chilies, thinly sliced crosswise
1. Crack 36 quail eggs into a small bowl. Use a small sharp knife or pointed scissors to snip through the membrane, taking care to keep the yolk intact.
2. Heat the oil in a 10-inch skillet over medium heat. Line a baking sheet with double layers of paper towel and place it near the stove. When the oil is hot, gently pour one yolk and its white from the bowl at a time, dotting the pan with the 36 eggs (if using duck or chicken eggs, fry one at a time). Fry without flipping until the bottoms and edges are ruffled, crisp, puffed, and golden brown, about 2 minutes. Transfer the fried eggs to the prepared baking sheet.
3. Place the tomatoes and celery leaves in a medium bowl. Add the fish sauce, lime juice, sugar, and chilies and toss everything together. Arrange the fried eggs on a platter (quarter them if using chicken or duck eggs), and spoon the tomato mixture over them. Like any salad, this can be tossed or composed: If you choose to toss, be careful not to break the yolks. If you prefer to keep the platter composed, be sure to get equal amounts of the dressed topping and some egg in every bite.
Tea Eggs
We stew them!
To see what a country really craves, one need not look much further than its convenience stores. Bodegas, corner stores, and 7-Elevens are often stacked not only with packaged junk food but also with a few freshly prepared bites, be it pastries or hot dogs. In Taiwan, the convenience stores are always equipped with a steaming slow cooker of stewed, soy sauce–stained eggs. But they’re not just soy-stained, and they’re not just stewed. They’re tea eggs.
The difference? Black tea is steeped in a rich, salty bath of five-spice and soy sauce, giving it an herbal undertone to otherwise classic red-braised (or hongshao stewed) foods. And the eggs aren’t merely boiled and peeled—they’re hard-boiled first, then the shells are crackled all over. The result is a crackly pattern across the eggs once you lift them from the bath and peel them. Since eggshells are porous, the flavors have steeped throughout the egg, but the color has stained the surface in marbled streaks of brown.
When making it at home, best to do a big batch, then reheat and snack on them throughout the week. The color and flavor will only get deeper and better the longer the eggs soak in their tea brine.
—Cathy Erway
Makes 12 tea eggs
12 eggs
½ cup dark soy sauce
½ cup light soy sauce
¼ cup packed black tea leaves
1 star anise
2 tsp Chinese five-spice powder
1. Place the eggs in a large pot and fill with enough water to cover. Bring to a boil over high heat and boil for 5 minutes. Drain and plunge the eggs into an ice bath until just cool enough to handle. Using the back of a spoon, tap each of the eggs all over gently to crackle the edges, being careful not to rip the shells off.
2. Return the eggs to the drained pot and add 8 cups fresh water, the soy sauces, tea leaves, and spices. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a low simmer and cook, covered, for at least 2 hours to achieve a brown stain on the eggs beneath the shells.
3. Tea eggs can be refrigerated and reheated in their liquid over the course of up to 1 week in order to acquire a darker, more flavorful tea and soy stain. Peel and enjoy as snacks.
Shabbat Eggs
Iran does it, too!
The Saturday morning breakfast in most Jewish households in Iran features these darkly stained, slow-cooked eggs. Because, in Jewish tradition, Shabbat is a day of rest, cooking is forbidden from sundown on Friday evening through sundown on Saturday. So observant Iranian Jews set these eggs over the lowest heat Friday afternoon, and allow them to cook overnight. By Saturday morning, the onion skins impart a deep brownish color to the eggs’ shells, the whites take on a muted beige, and the long, slow cooking yields a creamy yolk.
These eggs are part of a breakfast spread that includes Persian flatbread like barbari or sangak, fried eggplant and zucchini—served cold as they were cooked on Friday—and sabzi khordan, the plate of fresh herbs like basil, tarragon, and mint ubiquitous at Persian meals and meant to be eaten along with the prepared dishes, with your fingers.
There are no fancy ingredients here, and it’s a far cry from the Shah’s opulent cuisine. This is haimish Jewish ghetto food that has made its way to the current day. And while the earthy tones of the eggs seem at odds with the modern taste for bright, barely cooked ingredients, for many Iranian Jews, the scent of eggs simmering on the back burner is the sweet smell of Shabbat.
—Tannaz Sassooni
Makes 6 Shabbat eggs
1 tbsp salt
8 cups water
+ skins from 1 or 2 yellow onions
6 eggs
2 tsp black tea leaves or 2 black tea bags
Combine the salt and water in a Dutch oven or slow cooker. Stir to dissolve the salt. Add the onion skins, eggs, and tea leaves. If cooking on the stove, place the pot over the lowest heat and simmer for at least 2 hours, up to overnight. If cooking in a slow cooker, cook at low for 2 hours, then hold on warm until ready to serve.
Onsen Tamago
We stew alongside them!
Onsen tamago translates to “hot spring egg,” a name derived from its original method of cooking in Japan, where volcanoes dot the landscape like sheep. Most Japanese hot springs hover at a temperature somewhere around 154°F, decidedly north of the point at which egg yolks begin to solidify (149°F) but just south of where their whites do (158°F). To make onsen tamago traditionally, eggs would be lowered into the water in baskets or rope nets and left there for thirty to forty minutes, perhaps while you steeped yourself nearby. The resulting egg has a barely set white that is more silky than runny and a completely soft-cooked yolk. My friend-in-egg-love Kee, also known as “A Bathing Egg,” tells me that in Tokyo, where he lives, people use tiny coolers to make onsen tamago. They’re essentially little ice chests: insulated plastic containers into which you pour hot water, with an insert that holds the eggs upright and off the bottom. You could also sous-vide your eggs for an hour at 154ºF in an immersion circulator—the perfect pseudo hot spring. Or you could follow this recipe.
Makes 4 eggs
+ ice
4 eggs, from the fridge
1. Bring 1 quart of water to a boil in a small, heavy pot, preferably an enameled cast iron Dutch oven. Add 4 oz of ice (5 standard cubes), turn off the heat, add the eggs, and cover the pot. The water should drop from 212°F to between 150° and 155°F. Let stand, covered, for 45 minutes. The water should not drop below 140°F; if it does, turn the burner to low and heat until the water reaches 154°F.
2. Drain the eggs and serve, or refrigerate for up to 2 days.
Double-Crested Cormorant
Tamago-Kake Gohan (TKG)
We put them over rice!
Tamago-kake gohan in Japanese means “raw egg over rice.” Along with grilled fish and miso soup, it’s one of the staples of a traditional Japanese-style breakfast, but it can be enjoyed at other times of the day, too. Most Japanese people, including myself, have a soft spot for tamago-kake gohan, and we even refer to it as “TKG,” with affection.
The most basic TKG is rice, egg, and soy sauce. But there are two main methods: Some people stir together the egg and soy sauce first, then pour it over the rice, while others drop the unbeaten egg over the rice and drizzle some soy sauce over it before breaking the egg yolk and letting it ooze over the rice. I own a special egg whisk stick designed specifically for perfect TKG! The tip of this stick is a small blade that can blend the yolk and white thoroughly so you won’t experience some gooey white-only part when you pour the egg over.
TKG continues to evolve. At grocery stores, you can find special sauces made only for TKG. In Japan, there are restaurants that specialize in TKG. Whether it’s a simple egg with katsuobushi (dried bonito flakes) or a decadent TKG topped with shaved black truffles, always make sure the rice is freshly made and steaming hot, for the best-tasting TKG. Here I’ve included ideas for simple toppings and more unique ones.
—Naoko Takei Moore
Makes 1 serving
1 very fresh egg (make sure it’s from a reliable source)
1 serving freshly cooked Japanese short-grain rice in a bowl
+ soy sauce
+ toppings (optional)
OPTIONAL SIMPLE TOPPINGS
+ minced chives or scallion
+ katsuobushi (dried bonito flakes)
+ shredded nori or ao-nori (dried green seaweed powder)
+ toasted sesame seeds
+ wasabi
+ sesame oil
OPTIONAL UNIQUE TOPPINGS
+ mentaiko (spicy cod roe)
+ la-yu (hot chili oil)
+ kimchi and mayonnaise
+ bottarga
+ parmesan cheese and butter
+ shaved truffle and butter
+ avocado and wasabi
1. Crack the egg into a small bowl. Make a small dent in the center of the rice, and pour the egg over the rice. Drizzle with some soy sauce. (Alternatively, crack the egg into a small bowl and drizzle with some soy sauce. Pour the mixture over the rice.)
2. Add toppings, if using. Enjoy by mixing (or not mixing!) the egg and rice.
Soboro Bento
When I was in junior high school in Tokyo, I had a regimented school life: dull uniforms, cramming for exams, and compulsorily going to school on Saturdays, even when kids in other parts of the world had no school. But the saving grace was our mother’s bento box, which we brought to school on Saturdays because there was no free-lunch program available on the weekend. It was the only chance to show off something colorful and special. Some kids brought store-bought sandwiches and onigiri, because their mothers were working and didn’t have time to make bento, which was kind of sad. Most mothers, however, were stay-at-home types, eager to please their children with the prettiest bentos.
The most popular bento at school was the tri-color soboro bento, a bed of rice blanketed with rows of soboro eggs (yellow), seasoned ground chicken (brown), and something green. “Soboro” is a topping for rice or vegetables—coarse crumbles made by mincing eggs, fish, meat, or tofu. My mom wouldn’t use beef because it was too expensive. For greens, you used sliced snow peas, green beans, or spinach. There was some red pickled ginger to accent the flavors, and also, if you got lucky, an apple wedge sliced to looked like a rabbit with long ears sitting in the corner of the box. Back when I was a child, that was the extent of kawaii figures. No Hello Kitty. No Mickey Mouse. Even so, it was your mother’s expressionist piece.
My best friend Peichun Wang’s mother made the best-looking soboro bento. The rows were so clean and the soboro was cooked to perfection. The yellow egg shone like the sun. The brown chicken soboro looked juicy. I would watch her eat the whole thing, working from the ground chicken and finishing with the egg, dexterously using her pair of chopsticks, not leaving a grain of rice or soboro in the bento box.
Soboro bento is easy to make. Scrambled eggs are already something you’re familiar with. Just scramble the eggs a little further until they turn into coarse soboro crumbles. I bunch together long kitchen chopsticks with a rubber band and use the dull end to scramble the eggs. The secret of a good egg soboro is that once the eggs are cooked, remove them from the heat and continue stirring. This is how you get the fine crumbles.
For a classic soboro bento, arrange the yellow, brown, and green into whatever pattern you like: diagonal, cross, tic-tac-toe, Mondrian.
—Sonoko Sakai
Makes 3 bentos
2 handfuls green beans, trimmed
3 cups cooked Japanese short-grain rice
+ Chicken Soboro (recipe follows)
+ Egg Soboro (recipe follows)
+ sesame oil
+ toasted sesame seeds
1. In a small saucepan of boiling water, cook the green beans to al dente, a couple of minutes. Drain and let cool. Julienne the green beans and set aside.
2. To serve, divide and pack the rice into bento boxes, and top with rows of chicken soboro, egg soboro, and green beans. Garnish with a drizzle of sesame oil and the sesame seeds.
Chicken Soboro
Makes 3 servings
1 (3-inch) piece kombu
1 cup water
1 tbsp vegetable oil
¾ lb ground chicken (use thigh meat with some fat)
¼ cup sake
2 tbsp mirin
1½ tbsp sugar
3 tbsp soy sauce
1 tsp grated fresh ginger
1½ tsp cornstarch mixed with 2 tbsp water to make a slurry
1. First, make a quick dashi: Soak the kombu in the 1 cup water for 30 minutes to overnight. Remove the kombu. The dashi can be made a day in advance and refrigerated.
2. Heat the oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add the ground chicken and cook until the meat is crumbly and loose, using a bundle of chopsticks or a whisk to break the meat apart to create fine even crumbles, about 3 minutes.
3. Season the chicken mixture with the dashi, sake, mirin, sugar, and soy sauce. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer and cook until 80 percent of the liquid is absorbed, 7 to 8 minutes. Stir occasionally. Add the grated ginger. Taste and adjust the seasonings if necessary. If the soboro chicken appears dry, add a few more tablespoons of dashi or water. Then stir in the cornstarch slurry. When you get a shiny coat, in about 1½ minutes, remove from the heat.
Egg Soboro
Makes 3 servings
3 eggs
1 tsp sugar
+ pinch of salt
1 tbsp vegetable oil
1. Combine the eggs with the sugar and salt in a bowl and mix well.
2. Heat the oil in a skillet over medium heat. Once hot, pour the eggs into the pan. Reduce the heat to low and scramble the eggs with a bundle of chopsticks or a whisk until the eggs become crumbly, about 3 minutes. Be very careful not to overcook or burn the eggs. Remove from the heat and continue stirring for a couple more minutes to create fine even crumbles.
Oyakodon
The Japanese use relationships to name rice bowls—I like that. Take oyakodon, my favorite rice bowl. It means “parent and child in a bowl.” You have chunks of amakara (sweet and salty) chicken, and runny eggs simmered in dashi, served over rice. If you make the rice bowl with duck and chicken eggs, that would make them itokodon, “cousin bowl,” but if you use beef and eggs, you are no longer family, so what you get is tanindon, “stranger bowl.”
Oyakodon is equally delicious at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The thing to be careful of is not to overcook the eggs. They must remain torotoro, trembling and barely set, to allow the custardy egg sauce to seep into the hot bed of rice.
Tamahide, a 250-year-old restaurant in Nihonbashi, Tokyo, claims it is the inventor of oyakodon. Tamahide began as an eatery specializing in shamo, a game fowl brought into Japan from Thailand during the Edo period (1603–1867). The bird was bred and pampered for cockfighting, and the losers were usually killed—taken out of the fighting pit and sent to the shamo restaurants to be made into savory delicacies that were a favorite of Tokugawa shoguns. Generations later, one of the chefs at Tamahide is said to have made the first oyakodon, using chicken and eggs simmered in broth and served with rice. It was delicious but the owners felt oyakodon was not classy enough to put on their regular menu, so they sold it as street food. The rest is history.
My mother made a communal-style oyakodon in a large cast iron skillet, so it looked like a large pizza. Mother had a habit of cooking for fifteen, even though we had seven in our family. Slices of oyakodon were served on dinner plates, American style, with mounds of rice on the side. I could eat two plates full in one sitting.
A traditional oyakodon pan makes a single serving. It comes with a unique handle that sticks straight up and allows you to slide the oyakodon right onto a bowl of rice, without losing any of its delicious amakara sauce. A few years ago, I finally bought my dream pan in Kyoto. I keep reminding myself that it’s there waiting for me to season it. But I love my large cast iron skillet and the pizza-size oyakodon that I can make with it. Oyako—mother and daughter—are so much alike.
—Sonoko Sakai
Makes 4 servings
2 cups short-grain white or brown rice
1½ cups water
1 cup katsuobushi (dried bonito flakes)
2 tbsp sugar
¼ cup soy sauce
2 tbsp sake
¼ cup mirin
1 onion, halved lengthwise and cut crosswise into ¼-inch slices
1 lb boneless and skinless chicken thighs, cut into 1-inch cubes
8 eggs, lightly beaten
4 mitsuba sprigs, leaves removed from stems (optional)
1 sheet nori, crumbled (optional)
1. Cook the rice according to the package directions. While the rice is cooking, make the oyakodon topping.
2. Bring the water to a boil in a small saucepan. Add the bonito flakes and simmer the dashi for 2 minutes. Strain the broth through a strainer. Measure out 1 cup of the dashi.
3. Transfer the dashi to a well-seasoned 10-inch cast iron or nonstick skillet and add the sugar, soy sauce, sake, and mirin. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Add the onion and chicken and cook, stirring occasionally, until the onion is soft and the chicken is no longer pink, 3 to 4 minutes.
4. Reduce the heat to medium-low, then pour two-thirds of the beaten eggs into the skillet and continue cooking until the eggs just start to set around the edges, about 2 minutes. Add the remaining eggs, cover, and let cook for 1 minute, until they look mostly set all the way through. Turn off the heat and let the oyakodon sit for another minute.
5. Slice the oyakodon and serve over the rice, a generous cup of cooked rice per serving. Garnish with mitsuba leaves and crumbled nori, if you like.
Chestnut-Collared Swift
