table talk / By Joseph Byrd

Secret Ingredients, Part 2

The mysteries of anchovies, grits and tomato sauce enhancements

(Aug. 7, 2008)  I have food prejudices like most people, but I have always felt uncomfortable with them. A half century ago, I watched with envy as patrons of the Grand Central Oyster Bar indulged in what looked like having sex in public; it would be decades later that I enjoyed my first oyster, and years more before I fell in love with our local Kumamotos.

Many of our dislikes come from unpleasant first experiences. As a Southern boy, I despised okra and lima beans for their texture — slimy on the one hand, chalky on the other. But often those early traumas can be overcome by new environments. Al dente baby okra in jambalaya is delicious. Sorry, I have no such exemption for limas.

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More often, bad cooking turns us against an ingredient. In my case, eggplant: Mama always sliced it thick, floured and fried it. It tasted bitter and had a watery cellulose texture. Later, exposed to sophisticated Mediterranean preparations like moussaka and eggplant parmesan, I changed my mind.

We are not helped by the fact that American supermarkets are seldom the place to find the highest quality ingredients. Thus, the first topic in this second column on “secrets” is Things You Think You Don’t Like But Haven’t Really Tried.

Let’s start with anchovies. Actually, I’m with the “cons” on that. Only the most salt-obsessive souls thrive on those overcooked brackish little fish corpses that come in elongated tin coffins. True, they have one useful culinary function: They can be minced or processed and used as a kind of fish flavoring or anchovy paste, in place of salt. But that isn’t practical for most people.

So don’t buy them. Instead, hold out for really good Sicilian anchovies, usually jarred, like Agostino Recca. Sadly, they cost $6 for a small jar. But they redefine the ingredient. You can actually taste the texture and delicate flavor! We’ve had them in Caesar salad, on pizza and on focaccia.

Another common dislike is grits. But hominy grits are one of the great American foods. Sometime in the early 20th century they developed a reputation of being white-trash cuisine. Along with buttermilk and salt-cured ham, they are fodder for Southern vacation anecdotes. Grits don’t keep well in a steam table, so what most travelers experience is the instant variety.

As with cheap anchovies, an inferior product called Albers Quick Grits (with the convenience of cooking in just five minutes) has contaminated several generations. No wonder people don’t like them! They are a kind of hominy mucilage with neither flavor nor texture. Still, cooking columns and magazines are always coming up with ways to make “grits” exciting: “Add cheddar cheese and jalapenos, bake and cut into tasty squares …” Forget it. Real grits don’t need it.

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