Salt of the Earth

A quick note on the joys of baking in salt.

Provided one has access to salt, of course, there are few more economical ways to transform one's range of flavors. The salt-- as I now understand it-- has little to do with seasoning; it instead forms a specialized temporary oven molded around the food inside. It thus allows the food to season itself.

In other words, it's a bit like cooking in the ground, except that the salt provides a cleaner indoor cooking surface than, say, sand. But the principle is the same: the salt forms a tight seal that retains moisture and distributes heat evenly.

There are two basic ways to bake in salt (again: as I understand it). The first achieves what might more readily be called a salt crust, rather than a salt oven. You mix kosher salt with beaten egg whites, and spread this around a seasoned piece of meat or fish; as it bakes, the egg causes the salt to stiffen into a firm cake around the meat. This protects it from direct heat and locks the moisture and aromatics inside.

The second method, which we tried last night for the first time, involves more salt but less difficulty. (The recipe is adapted from Eileen Lo's The Chinese Kitchen, a book I'm enjoying more and more each time I use it). The basic principle here is to stuff the chicken loosely with aromatics, wrap the bird in lotus leaves, and then suspend the leaf-wrapped bundle in hot salt. If the package is tight enough, you have the basic principle of a luau. But again, this is something that doesn't require you to dig a hole outdoors, or risk having sand drift accidentally into the dish. If a few errant flecks of Kosher salt fall onto the chicken, so much the better.

The prep:
It's best to use a small chicken here. Tidy up a 3 1/2 pound chicken, and massage it with 1/4 cup of Kosher salt. Let this rest while you preheat the oven to 450°. You'll need two additional 3- pound boxes of Kosher salt; empty one of them into a dutch oven large enough to accomodate all the salt and the bird. Empty the other box into a baking pan. Heat both in the 450° oven for 1/2 hour or so. Meanwhile, soak a piece of dried tangerine rind (available in an Asian grocery, although in a pinch any aromatic rind could, in theory, work) in hot water until it softens.

Rinse the salted chicken and pat it dry. Then rub it, inside and out, with a mixture of powdered ginger dissolved in Chinese cooking wine-- about 1 tsp dissolved in 2 tablespoons. Then insert a generous slice of fresh ginger and some crushed scallions into the cavity. Wrap the whole thing tightly in interlocking lotus leaves.

I couldn't get lotus leaves. So I didn't have the chance to figure out the art of wrapping the bird (do you need string? how fragile are the leaves?). But I did get banana leaves, which offered a much different flavor combination: instead of the earthy funk of lotus leaves, there was the more tropical perfume of banana. This substitution was, in the end, serendipitous, since it opened up the possibility of further substitutions. (I could imagine, for instance, a combination with lemon grass and ginger on the inside, and with banana leaves on the outside. But why not a cilantro, lime, onion, and chili combination as well? What other kinds of broad leaf could be used; and how would it taste without the leaves at all?).

Cooking:
When everything's ready to go, make an indentation in the bed of salt in the dutch oven and place the leaf-wrapped bundle in it. Then pour the other tray of hot salt over the package to cover it. Bake the whole thing in the 450° oven for an an hour and ten minutes, and then let it rest for 15 minutes, or even longer.

When ready to serve, dump off the salt, and then remove and unwrap the package. You serve the chicken cut into pieces, accompanied by a mild dipping sauce made from ginger, scallions, soy sauce, peanut oil, and Chinese vinegar. The cutting style depends on your preference: you can carve it up in European fashion; or serve it hacked up neatly with a cleaver; or, once it cools slightly, you can simply pull the meat off the bone.

The jury's still out about how best to accompany such a dish. It might perhaps best be served as an appetizer, since the flavors are complex but quite mild. Last night, for instance, the dish was overwhelmed by the others we served alongside it.

Alternatively, this salt-baked chicken would match nicely with clean flavors that would foreground its earthy complexity : steamed Chinese vegetables, for instance, might work nicely.

What is most exciting about this whole experiment is that it's not simply a dish; it's a method. It thus goes without saying that salt-baking can be adapted to prepare all kinds of foods: whole fish (with or without the leaf wrap); beef, pork, chicken, lamb. Lee How Fook's in Philadelphia's Chinatown (11th and Race), for instance, serves a legendary salt-baked spareribs dish. There are numerous recipes for salt-baked snapper, which I will try one of these days. And here's a link to a blog post on salt-baked potatoes, even. I wonder if salt-baked eggs might work.