Day 8: In Which I Make All the Food

Before I started this project, I had what could only be kindly described as a vague understanding of how tofu is made. It pretty much went something like this:

1. Get soybeans.
2. Do something to them. (Mash them, maybe? Boil then mash them?)
3. Let them solidify.
4. Eat, because now you have tofu!

In very (VERY) broad strokes, that's correct. You take soybeans, you do some things to them, and then you have tofu; tofu is, essentially, coagulated soy milk that's allowed to thicken. But as I discovered yesterday, what happens between steps one and four is an incredibly long and involved process. I relied on this recipe; I'm sure there are a zillion different variations out there, but this one seemed easy to follow and, more importantly, stressed that I could make tofu with the basic equipment I already have in my kitchen. That was essential; while I don't mind buying cheesecloth, I didn't want to go out and purchase a tofu press.

The one thing I didn't have, though, was the coagulant. While the recipe claims I could use lemon juice or vinegar, I wanted to do this right, so I decided to hunt down nigari - it's a natural coagulant, magnesium chloride, extracted from sea water. Sounds fancy, right? Sounds hard to find, no? No. It was lurking in the Japan aisle of the biggest Whole Foods in the world. One stop after work, and I was ready to go.

So yesterday started with soaking some beans:



Dried soybeans are little, round, and yellow. Over the course of the day, they gradually softened and expanded, eventually taking the edamame-shape I'm more used to:



They were also ridiculously good to eat raw. It sounds weird, but they were sweet and kinda nutty (and I JUST REALIZED they would be super good roasted (so much so that when I finish writing this I'm totally going to go soak some overnight so that I can make them into a snack tomorrow!)). When they had fully expanded, I transferred them, little by little, into my brave little food processor, and ground them "until fine", per the recipe's instructions. I wasn't really sure what this meant; what I ended up with was something resembling soybean slurry:



Please note the artistic kitchen lighting.

So essentially, at this point, I had a lot of liquid and a fair amount of finely ground solid - about the consistency of grits. That all went into a pot of boiling water; I stirred and stirred and stirred, then lowered the heat and stirred some more. When it had cooked for the requisite eight minutes, I realized that I was all alone, and about to pour a massive pot of near-boiling soy...stuff into a colander that looked like it was dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein. The potential for disaster was high.




But I poured verrrrry carefully, and then couldn't take any more pictures for a few minutes because I was squeezing the life out of the solids in the cheesecloth. Thank God for silicone hot pads; I was able to wrap one around the outside of the cloth sack and force out all of the liquid I could. And I have to admit - when I lifted up the colander and looked in the bowl, I felt a little bit like an alchemist. Okay, I hadn't turned pewter into gold, but I had turned a whole mess of dried soybeans into legitimate soy milk, and it was damn good. I swear I'm not just saying that because I made it - it was sweet and rich and way better than the stuff that comes in a carton.





I also had a cheesecloth full of okara, the leftover solids. My understanding is that you can cook and eat this; if you find that that's the case, please let me know. I took a picture, realized that it smelled like warm, roasting tofu, and then threw it away.



Not gonna lie: by that point, I felt like I should have been done. But no. Back into the pot went all the soy milk; I heated it slowly, stirring constantly, until it reached 155 degrees. As soon as it did, I took it off the heat. I added half of my water/nigari mixture, stirred vigorously, and let it come to rest; I added the rest of the mixture, stirred more gently, and watched pretty much in amazement as the mixture began to thicken. It didn't look like anything in a picture. Envision, though, curdling milk, and you have the basic idea.

I covered the pot and let it sit for 15 minutes, then came back to ladle the whole mess into another gauzy colander. I folded the cheesecloth over, weighted the top with a couple of pounds of canned goods, and then went away - if I'd stayed in the room, I would have been too tempted to peek.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. I tiptoed back into the room, almost too nervous to look. What if it had failed? What if I had spent the better part of an afternoon immersed in the world of the soybean only to end up with a gloopy, bitter mess? I took off the weights, unfolded the cheesecloth, and -



HOLY CRAP. I MADE TOFU.

Did I squeal a little bit with glee and maybe dance around my kitchen? Yes, obviously, and then I immediately transferred everything to a bowl of cold water and let it soak for a little while longer. This time, I couldn't resist the urge to poke and prod - while the center was a little bit softer than what I'm used to, the edges were totally firm. And it tasted absolutely amazing; it was way creamier than store-bought tofu, with a slightly sour (but in a good way) tinge. Mostly, it tasted like warm soy milk smells. I know that doesn't sound appetizing, but trust me - it was all I could do to keep from eating all of it while standing beside my kitchen sink.

So then it was 7:00. I had a cheesecloth full of tofu and an empty belly. Luckily, I also had the makings for saag tofu. I chopped and sauteed half an onion, three cloves of garlic, and two seeded jalapenos in a splash of vegetable oil; after a few minutes, when the onion had softened, I added a couple teaspoons each of ginger, curry powder, and cumin. (As a warning, those proportions lead to a fairly spicy dish; when I make it again, I'll reduce the amount of cumin significantly.) After a minute or so of sauteeing, I added ten ounces of spinach, and gently folded it into the other ingredients into it while trying not to lose any leaves out the side of my pan. While spinach starts out huge, as it cooks, it loses volume; after a few minutes, I had a couple cups of dark green spicy goodness. That all went into the food processor along with a dollop - probably around 1/4 cup - of plain yogurt; a couple of pulses chopped it down and mixed in the yogurt nicely.

In the meantime, I broke up the tofu into bite-sized pieces, and carefully - CAREFULLY - transferred it to the pan with a little more oil, letting it cook until it was nice and brown on both sides. (As it turns out, I didn't need to be so gingerly, but after all of that, I didn't want to lose anything.)



Delicious! The final step was evening out the flavors in the saag itself. The spices were a little strong, so I added a couple teaspoons of sugar, which made everything perfect; I mixed the whole mess back in with the tofu, put some in a bowl over basmati rice, popped open a beer, and finally had dinner.



Super tasty - and, luckily, there's leftovers.

So there it is. Now I know. Was it ridiculous? Yes. Am I glad I did it? Absolutely. Will I ever again make my own tofu from scratch after May is over? Not even a chance.

Oh, and I also made bread and cupcakes. I told you it was the day of all the food.