Brazilian Curry Sauce
Plus the Sticky Toffee Pudding Incident
When I was eighteen my family took a trip to the Cotswolds. We mostly walked along grassy pastures and ate at little village restaurants. One night we ordered a dessert we’d never heard of: sticky toffee pudding. It’s strange to think of a time when STP wasn’t an obsession for us, but all great love stories start somewhere. We ordered one to share.
Moments before dessert arrived, my brother left to use the loo. My family has a strict and often annoying “no-one-starts-until-everyone-is-seated” policy, which meant my mom, my dad, and I were left salivating as we stared at the date-studded cake in a glistening puddle of caramel, its little sidekick orb of vanilla gelato melting creamily sauceward.
What happened next was a combination of lack of self-restraint and pure opportunism. My brother is a prolific prankster, and each of us had been his victim numerous times. In my memory, the three of us locked eyes and telepathically communicated this inspired thought: Wouldn’t it be hilarious if he came back from the bathroom and we’d completely finished this sticky toffee pudding? In reality, I’m sure one of us proposed it aloud. But I know it’s what we were all thinking, and let me tell you, we have never put forth a more united front.
My brother returned from the bathroom and I watched his chipper anticipation turn to confused disappointment upon seeing the scraped-clean plate. I was filled with the joy known only to the pranked-upon who finally succeed in pranking the pranker. He congratulated us, acknowledged the quality of the hijinks – the sheer unthinkable cruelty of parents and an older sibling willfully depriving the runt of the litter of his sustenance! – and we laughed about it over a second sticky toffee pudding.
(At this same restaurant, it should be noted, I attempted to order a drink, as I was of legal age for the first time in my life. I consulted no one. I simply told the waiter what I’d heard my father say at restaurants: “I’ll have a Beefeater martini, straight-up, extra dry, with a twist.” My dad looked the waiter in the eye and said, just as simply and with a sardonic smile, “No, she will not.” I was mortified. My chances with the cute waiter were ruined, as nothing renders a person more infantile than watching their foiled attempt at obtaining alcohol unfold in real time. He was also clearly 10 years my senior and lived in the Cotswolds. It never would have worked.)
My mom has been making sticky toffee pudding at home ever since that trip, and each time I taste it I’m transported to that warm little restaurant filled with my family’s poorly-stifled laughter. I’m eighteen again, delighted by a new iteration of my family’s dynamics. (Mostly delighted, that is.) I love that taste has the power to transport me not just to different places, but also to different versions of myself.
That’s how my planning for the second supper club started. Wanderlusty and starved for experiences outside of my house, my workplace, and my own head, I started thinking about the first year I lived in New York City after college. About the time my dear friend with excellent taste in all things suggested we go to a Greek restaurant called Kefi on the Upper West Side. The awning was bright blue, the walls were sand-colored, and the dining room was warm and packed in a way that felt so European to me. I remember my first taste of a resiny Greek wine, the lemon-scented whole branzino, and the tiny sheep's milk ricotta dumplings in a tomato sauce with rich, oily sausage and pine nuts. I loved every second I was in that place. From that day forth I had a go-to restaurant to take anyone I considered important. I had a foothold in a city that, until that point, had felt unmanageable. For me, Kefi was more than an excellent restaurant: it represented freedom and belonging. It ushered me into a more confident version of my young self.
I found the recipe for the sheep’s milk dumplings and decided I needed to taste it again. I wanted to visit that place and time in my life – and I wanted to bring my supper club friends along with me, in my own dining room. I called stores to locate sheep’s milk ricotta. I dispatched my husband to Sophia’s in Watertown to get fresh loukaniko flavored with orange and fennel. I doubled the recipe and made hundreds of tiny dumplings and simmered the sauce so long that it perfumed the whole house. When my friends around my table tasted it, I watched their eyes. (I hope this was not creepy for them.) I think they were transported, too.
But that’s not the recipe I’m supposed to be telling you about today. I got ahead of myself. You should make that dish, but I’m not going to tell you how in this post. Let’s focus up. Come with me to Oakland, 2011.
Boca Nova’s Scallops with Brazilian Curry Sauce
Boca Nova was my trendy late-aughts dream of a restaurant with high ceilings and mismatched glass light fixtures that said, “I’m quirky yet competent.” It was in Oakland’s Jack London Square, which I found very literary. You could sit outside under an umbrella with a negroni and watch the sun set over the ocean if you wanted to. There was a sea scallop dish with Brazilian curry that blew my mind the first time I went, and from then on I went for just about every special occasion while I lived in Berkeley for grad school.
I found the recipe for that Brazilian curry sauce in late winter 2014, when I was back in New York in a frigid garden-level apartment. (The developers had forgotten to put insulation in the walls and ceiling, so believe me when I tell you that it was an exceptionally cold winter for me.) I simmered the curry sauce. I seared the scallops. And when I tasted the results, I was in California again, soaking up the last of the sun’s warm rays, the ghost of White Fang close by. When I made this with shrimp for June’s supper club and brought it outside for everyone to taste, I was deeply pleased by the little noises folks made in surprise (hopefully of the pleasant variety). It’s really unexpected. It’s savory, sweet, spicy, creamy, and fresh at the same time. One clubber actually drank the sauce at the bottom of their bowl.
Basil and mint are so fresh and delicious right now that I think it’s worth turning on your stovetop and making this dish. You’ll have plenty of leftover sauce to freeze or use on other seafood, chicken, or tofu.
Brazilian Curry Sauce (makes 1 quart)
Source: SFStation (I’ve lightly edited the text for increased specificity and clarity.)
5 cloves of garlic, minced
5 jalapeños, finely chopped, up to 2 de-seeded if you are spice-averse
1 tablespoon sliced ginger
1 tablespoon butter
¾ cup maple syrup
¼ cup soy sauce*
1 quart heavy cream
1 bunch mint, leaves and tender stems
1 bunch basil, leaves and tender stems
*I have used gluten-free tamari and full-sodium soy sauce; both worked
Special equipment: blender, sieve
In a 4-quart saucepan, melt the butter. Add garlic, ginger, and jalapeños and cook over medium-low heat until soft and very fragrant. Add maple syrup, soy sauce, and cream. Bring to a boil and then turn down to a simmer. Let simmer, stirring occasionally, until reduced by 30%. (This can take me 30 minutes or more. The cream leaves lines on the side of the pan as it evaporates, like water in a riverbed during a drought, so you can monitor approximately how much it has reduced by until you hit 30%.)
Meanwhile, prepare an ice bath: fill a large bowl with ice, then nestle a slightly smaller bowl inside it. (The smaller bowl must be able to fit all the sauce in the pan plus the additional volume of two bunches of herbs, so use large bowls.) Make sure the whole setup is stable enough that ice water won’t leak into the nested bowl.
Pour the hot reduced sauce in a blender and add the basil and mint. Puree until smooth. Pass blended sauce through a sieve into the smaller bowl from your ice bath. Place that bowl back into the ice immediately after straining in order to keep the green color of the herbs. (I like to stir it gently while it’s in the ice bath to make sure the sauce is evenly and quickly cooled.) Season with salt and pepper to taste, though I find salt unnecessary because of the soy sauce.
To finish:
1.5 lbs of day boat sea scallops
1 small carrot
4 red radishes
1 lime
2 teaspoons olive oil
Vegetable oil
Micro-greens (optional)
Salt and pepper to taste
Julienne the carrot and slice the radish into thin rounds using a knife or a mandoline. Place into a small bowl and set aside.
Place a large sauté pan on high heat and add just enough vegetable oil to coat the bottom of the pan. When the pan starts to lightly smoke, add the scallops. Turn them over carefully when they are golden brown and turn off the heat. Let them rest for 1 more minute and then remove from the pan to rest.
To serve: Spoon 2 oz. of curry sauce on each plate. Place 3-5 scallops on top. Toss the sliced radish and julienned carrots with the lime juice and olive oil and garnish each scallop. Place a pinch of micro-greens on top of each scallop to finish.
—------
Happy eating and gathering,
Katie