A drunken samurai’s way of Asian food and wine matching

From the chapter: Cooking up storms

Woman drinking wine by Kitagawa Utamaro.

Some curious, yet totally sensible, thoughts concerning why certain foods, and food and wine combinations always seem to be so "right" for us once occurred to me when reading about the period of Shojin Ryori in late 19th century Japan.

Influenced by the austere lifestyle of samurais and Zen Buddhists, Shojin Ryori was basically a vegetarian temple approach to cooking which placed emphasis on food of five colors (green, red, yellow, white and black-purple) and no less than six different tastes (hot, sour, salty, sweet, bitter and “delicate”).

Still profoundly influential in Japanese cooking today, Shojin Ryori probably amounts to one of the most successful formalizations of a specific cooking style ever achieved. Think of it. The French had Escoffier, and we've had Julia Child. But how many of the French still consciously cook like Escoffier, and how many Americans actually follow Julia? Certainly not a vast majority, like you still find in Japan.

You could surmise that it's the Japanese temperament and culture that lend themselves to such an enduring formality, but I would proffer an even simpler explanation: Shojin Ryori looks, and tastes, and even feels "right." How many of us have no idea of what we're eating in a Japanese restaurant, but appreciate the outward beauty and intrinsic balance in the food nonetheless?

There are many other foods, of course, which exemplify this sense of universal rightness. For Italians it's pasta, tomatoes, olive oil, Parmigiano, porcini, and when the season arrives, truffles. Why do Germans swoon over white asparagus, Russians crave their borscht, and Cajuns pick their brides by how they make a roux? Some things are just that important.

What all of these foods have in common is a taste that is more than sweet, sour, salty and bitter—the four basic sensations felt on the palate—but also round, complex, almost titillating to all the senses, including that of sight, smell and sound. Earthy qualities—which you certainly find in the intriguing shapes of mushrooms, gnarly oysters, and seaweeds—tend to be very much a part of this.

In fact, more and more foodies have become accustomed to talking in terms of umami, originally coined by a Japanese scientist to define a "fifth taste" (although more pedestrian terms such as "savory" and "delicious" are just as accurate) which occurs in foodstuffs or dishes high in glutamates, i.e., amino acids. But even if this doesn’t quite compute, it is enough to know that umami significantly boosts the sensory perception of foods by doing more than touching the palate. It also sets off responses that tweak our curiosity and appeal to our sense of aesthetics.

Try recalling the first time you tasted a red wine of exceptional depth. I think, for most wine lovers, you don't really put a finger on it. You just know that what you're tasting is rich, savory, memorable. Point being, we can intellectualize why red wines are more savory than whites, but in cultural contexts I'm not sure if it's all that necessary.

I once read an article by David Rosengarten, who talked about a Frenchman who recommended a Sancerre⏤the flinty-smoke scented, light and lemony dry white wine of the Loire River region—with charcuterie, the sausage meats of that region. "But why?" asked Rosengarten. Because it is a priori, said the Frenchman—it stands before reason. If that is not rightness, I don't know what is.

In Alsace, on the French side of the Rhine, the charcuterie is served with sauerkraut, and the a priori choice of wine might be the dry yet flowery scented, crisply acidic, and occasionally headily alcoholic (in the ripest years) style of Riesling produced in that region. It makes sense because the Riesling fragrance everywhere in the world hints at sweetness, while the crisp mineral acids and generous alcohols of Alsatian style Rieslings match the sweet-sourness of the sauerkraut, helping the palate digest the spicy fattiness of sausages. More importantly, all the sensations, given by both wine and food, combine to create a perfectly delicious whole—better than the parts eaten, or drunk, separately.

Lately I've been finding this phenomenon—that delicious harmony of disparate elements—in places with far less gastronomic history than along the rivers of France or Germany. I often used to wonder, for instance, what to drink with sticky sweet, spicy, vinegary, barbecued baby back pork ribs, which I’ve tried with just about everything except kava and peyote tea (I’m not that brave). Crisply balanced Rieslings have always been a problem because they aren't always strong enough to handle fatty, gristly ribs. The soft sweetness of most White Zinfandels ends up tasting redundant with sweet-spicy pork ribs. Fruity red Zinfandels have worked pretty darned well, but you have to be careful about picking the right ones because sometimes their tannin levels are too much when the marinades are spanking hot or on the sweeter side. All of which, for years, left me wanting more…

Then once, sitting at a hoity-toity chef’s counter in Chicago, I tested a plate of sticky, spicy baby back ribs with a genshu ("cloudy" or “rough filtered”) style of saké called Rihaku Dreamy Clouds. This authentic, creamy textured Japanese saké was typically full in alcohol (15.6%), lusciously fruity (without being too sweet), buoyantly balanced, and totally without the rough tannin or souring acid of red or white wines. This was a "wine,” all right, but made from rice, not grapes. Perhaps even better, it seemed to have all the elements needed to take sticky baby back ribs to places I never thought possible. Maybe it was the time of year, or maybe just the time of man (paraphrasing Joni Mitchell), but it just worked. I had no problem downing the entire bottle by myself.

Sakata Kintoki, attributed to Katsushika Hokusai

So I tested the theory of high amino acid rice wines' ability to gel with food in another restaurant—this time, in a jam-packed Italian restaurant located in an Orange County, California shopping mall, of all places, where I could not help but be intrigued by a simple dish of risotto cooked in a mildly truffled mushroom broth, topped with sharp shavings of Parmigiano. It suddenly occurred to me: This dish is saturated with umami, why settle for the predictable match of Chianti Classico or Pinot Grigio? Why not one of those new, dryish, ice cold styles of ginjo or daiginjo style sakés, which offer just as much of the minerality or silkiness of any wine made from grapes, to match the earthy, creamy taste of mushroom risotto? I happened to have a slightly chilled bottle of daiginjo in my bag (don’t ask), so I asked my waiter for a white wine glass. And the saké flowed⏤literally, for me⏤like a babbling brook.

It wasn't the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, that I experienced the fact that sense of balance and savory components trump factors such as acid, tannin or alcohol in food and wine (in this case, saké) contexts. Another Shojin Ryori-ish moment, in the middle of an Orange County shopping mall.

Finally, there is my loosely conceived, personal theory of wine/food matching that I call Musashi, or “Drunken Samurai.” Musashi was a legendary figure from 1600s Japan whose self-taught style was the opposite of the formal, geometric, almost scientifically defined style of Kenjitsu (Japanese sword fighting). But it was precisely this unorthodox, unpredictable style that made Musashi virtually unbeatable as a swordsman.

How many of our best food and wine experiences have been just as unexpected, totally unpredicted, yet in the end triumphant? Old rules like white-wine-with-fish, and even new rules like red-wine-with-fish, often fall by the wayside when we are actually enjoying such things at the table. Why? I think it is because we have a tendency to want to pigeonhole elements of food and wine combinations, forgetting that the ultimate test is how delicious everything really tastes, not how they’re supposed to taste.

Like the time I tested Hawaiian style poke—raw tuna tossed in soy sauce, sesame oil, chopped sweet white and green onions, coils of fresh seaweed, and splashes of chili pepper water—with a glass of slightly sweet German Riesling, alongside a glass of fuller tannin, richly oaked (i.e., "California style") Oregon Pinot Noir. Every saw, old and new, tells us that German Riesling has all the balancing elements needed for salty/sweet/oily/spicy foods such as poke, yet it was the slightly bitter, oaky and drying Pinot Noir that kept saying to my palate, I taste better. This was because red wines such as Pinot Noir are what they are—earthy, harmonious, velvety textured and savory sums of their parts, rather than definitions of their parts.

Or more simply put—delicious.

Shojin Ryori Buddhist chef, Toshio Tanahashi .

SOME SURPRISING ASIAN FOOD/WINE MATCHES

Wine may not be indigenous to the cultures and gastronomies of Asia. But there are now more than enough variations of wines made around the world today to find some perfectly delicious, if not surprising, matches for nearly every Asian style dish. If you love wine, and you love Asian foods, all the more reason to try them.

Asian Foods with German Riesling (Dry to Kabinett level sweetness)

Quintessential German style Rieslings—penetratingly scented, juicy rich, light and fine as silk, with a whispering sweetness balanced by perceptible acidity—are usually the first wines cited for Asian foods. Think of how you might make a healthy stir-fry—balancing toothsome squares of tofu or meager strips of meat with at least equal amounts of crisp vegetables, a trace of an oil balanced with soy, lemon or rice vinegar, salt and cracked pepper, a touch of a chili sauce or multi-spice seasonings, and served with fragrant jasmine rice. You can't go wrong when you figure in a fragrant, deftly balanced German Riesling, whether bone dry (if balanced with lush fruitiness and minerality), “half-dry” (balancing slivers of sweetness), or slightly sweet (Kabinett style).

It may be understandable why someone would say that Asian cooking is not good for wines in general. Badly balanced cooking—and badly balanced wine, for that matter—is not good for anything. But when principles of harmony and balance are executed in your stir-fry, and are just as intrinsic in the qualities of your wine, then you’ve got yourself a perfectly delicious, and dramatic, match.

Asian Foods with Viognier

White wines made from the Viognier grape are actually an unorthodox choice for Asian style foods for two reasons—they tend to be low in acid and full in alcohol, not unlike Chardonnay, although usually with less blatant oak influence. But unlike Chardonnays, Viogniers tend to be extremely fragrant—billowing with exotic fruit, if not honeysuckle-like perfumes and suggestions of violet, white pepper, the occasional lavender. The finer styles of California grown Viognier are amplified by plush, mouthwatering, almost sweet (even if the wine is technically dry), dense and silken textured flavors. In recent years, earlier picked American styles of Viognier that are minimally oaked (or see no oak at all) have been making even better fits.

Chinese cooking in particular—such as duck in hoisin plum sauces, chicken in gingery or citrusy syrups, and savory sauced napa cabbage, choy sum, mustard greens, and other toothsome vegetables—can be tilted towards sweetness balanced by a mild bitterness and saltiness. In Southeast Asia, fish is often coated with curries and coconut milk, strong pastes made from coriander root and peppercorns, or stuffed with scallions, fatty pork, garlic cloves and even spicy hot Serrano chilies. In these food contexts, the aggressively full, hefty, peppery qualities of Viognier are often superior to the more feeble alcohol and higher acid qualities of Riesling.

Viognier doesn't work, however, in cases where dishes are overly sweet, or numbingly spicy-hot—that is to say, badly balanced Asian cooking. But when full flavored Asian dishes are prepared correctly, a good, balanced, multifaceted Viognier can contribute an exotic grace note of its own to the overall experience.

Asian Foods with Zinfandel

Zinfandel is unorthodox; then again, so was Musashi.

It is the jammy, lusciously cherry/berry-like, black peppery spiced aromas and flavors of first rate California Zinfandel—especially those of moderate or at least rounded tannin structure—that make the varietal a sensible choice with barbecued pork or beef ribs coated in sweet/spicy marinades (especially when Asian chili seasonings or sauces are used). A proper Zinfandel has the red wine tannin to handle fatty, charred meats, yet enough of a cushion of fruitiness to enhance, rather than fight, the hot spices.

But peppery spiced Zinfandels are also surprising with aggressive forms of Southeast Asian cooking, such as grilled coriander chicken served with sweet/salty/spicy dipping sauces (nam jeem), raw beef with pepper salt, beef stir fried with spicy ginger, and hot pot dishes such as eggplant (cooked with ground pork, coriander, dried shrimp, garlic, and shallots) served with fried beef jerky. Whenever there is a presence of peppercorns, some vinegary zest, or slightly hot garlic, chile and gingery sensations, a zesty, peppery, fruity Zinfandel, even at 15%-16% alcohol levels, finds a surprisingly seamless food match.

I have lots more to say about Zinfandel elsewhere, but I'll say this right now: Level of alcohol is usually overrated when it comes to judging food compatibility of wines. Balance and umami connections are far more important factors, which you can find in even the biggest, yet savory and fruit driven, Zinfandel.

Asian Foods with Southern French Varietals & Blends (Syrah, Grenache, Mourvèdre, Carignan and/or Cinsaut)

The entire premise of balancing Southern French grapes in blends—Syrah utilized for its floral, spicy, structural fullness, Grenache for its plush, mildly peppery red fruitiness, Mourvèdre for its dense, meaty texture, the zesty acidity and red cherry profile of Carignan, and Cinsaut for its own plush, kitchen spiced strawberry/rhubarb-like qualities—draws comparisons to the way an Asian or fusion chef balances ingredients and sensations that touch all parts of the palate. Beef or pork ribs in sweet, salty, peppery, vinegary, spicy hot, and even downright sticky sauces tend to be problematic for Bordeaux varietals, but not so much for Southern French inspired blends, which are actually executed to great effect all around the world where warm Mediterranean climates are found (U.S., Australia, South Africa, Spain, et al.).

The advantage of Southern French blends is that their tannin is moderated enough so that they don’t taste so bitter in relation to sweet, sour, salty or spicy sauces, yet retain enough red wine phenolics to digest fatty meats. This opens the door for the peppercorn-like components natural to Syrah and Grenache to find pleasing flavor bridges in dishes that make use of chiles and other spicy ingredients. And while you would think Pinot Noirs have  a soft enough texture to balance Asian style meats, this grape lacks the peppery spice connection that Southern French blends and varietals have in this food context.

Then, of course, there is the factor of umami—specifically, the reaction of salt and acidity when activated by foods high in amino acids (such as mushrooms, aged cheeses, seaweeds and natural stocks)—which can effectively reduce bitter tastes in both wines and dishes. It is the balance of restrained tannin, natural acidity and spicy, perfumed fruit profiles that make Southern French varietals and blends seamless matches with many Asian dishes.

In the presence of high umami ingredients, typically spicy, sweetly fruited, earth toned Southern French reds tend to taste “milder,” while dishes become more savory. In fact, pure varietal Syrahs—particularly the fruit forward (as opposed to hard and tannic) styles of Australian Shiraz, and many of the bigger style Syrahs coming out of California’s Central Coast or Southern Oregon—seem to help the palate achieve umami-related sensory adaptations with considerable ease. It’s no surprise that one of the dominant styles of cooking done in Australia today is strongly Asian influenced (or is Asian); and the Aussies have no problem, philosophically or sensory related, consuming their biggest Southern French Syrahs and blends to go with this cuisine!

Asian Foods with Round, Acid Driven Italian Reds (Barbera, Sangiovese, Dolcetto, Nero d'Avola or Aglianico)

The range of red wines made from indigenous black skinned grapes of Italy, now grown up and down the West Coast, can be astounding from a culinary perspective. Each has its charms—Dolcetto a zesty black fruitiness, Barbera an even sharper edged, palate sticking fruitiness, and Sangiovese (i.e., Chianti, and reds of Montalcino and Montepulciano) a mildly zesty, lanky, cherry fruit complexity, Aglianico a floral concentration and Nero d'Avola a compacted phenolic intensity—and all are marked by qualities of slightly elevated acidity, low to medium tannin, and earth related characteristics manifested in multiple ways, from burning leaves and licorice to roasted meat and leather-like nuances.

Given these structural and aroma/flavor advantages, there are few wines that perform as well with Chinese or Southeast Asian style hot pots of beef or pork; especially when punctuated by peppercorns, garlic, scallions, and the licorice-like tastes of star anise, cilantro or coriander, and sacred basil. Then there is the seemingly vast range of small production Italian and California wines that utilize these varieties as blending elements—Sangiovese with Cabernet Sauvignon, Sangiovese with Tempranillo, Barbera with Nebbiolo, Zinfandel with Barbera, and on and on. While unorthodox, the good thing about these imaginative “Italianate” blends is that they fit in with many of the unorthodox styles of fusion cooking being done all around the world.

To wit: If Asian cooking is untraditional with wine, the best wines for Asian foods may very well be the most untraditional blends.

Into the Realm of Good Sense

There is no reason to fear wine with Asian foods as long as your choices are based upon the premise that the highest percentage chances of achieving a balanced match are found in

• Crisply balanced, moderately scaled whites, or

• Sweetly fruit forward, savory reds (whether light or big) that are also round or fluidly textured (no matter what the tannin level), and (especially) spice toned.

To that, you can probably add sweetly aromatic, mineral toned, smoothly dry or off-dry pink wines, not to mention crisp, snap-crackle-and-pop sparklers.

When you think about it, if you can find wines to match the most difficult Asian foods, you can probably find just as many to match more of the foods we love to eat, but aren’t normally consumed with wine; such as spicy marinades, salty chips and creamy dips, generously mayo-ed salads, souped-up ramen, and even fully loaded hot dogs or cheeseburgers. If you think umami or take an unconscious Musashi point of view with most of them, you probably won't go wrong.

If wine is to ever become an American staple, we should treat it as such—by recommending it with most of our foods without fear. These days, there is certainly more than enough variety of wines at our disposal to do exactly that.