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Ten years ago, I was sitting on the patio of a now defunct Chicago restaurant when I was served a plate of flash-fried brussels sprout leaves that later changed the way I cook. Yes, flash-fried anything is delicious. But it wasn’t just the crispy leaves reminiscent of freshly popped corn that got me. It was the spicy, umami-packed, orange-flecked seasoning on top of them. It was like nothing like I had tasted before.
The seasoning was togarashi. And soon thereafter it would become the marquee finishing spice on so many of the dishes I cooked.
Togarashi itself means "chili pepper" in Japanese, but most of the time when you buy togarashi you are looking at Shichimi togarashi, a blend of seven spices. (If you just want straight heat, you should look for Ichimi togarashi, or straight chili pepper.) Schichimi togarashi always includes the dried red chili pepper, and usually also contains sesame seeds (sometimes both black and white), a little dried orange peel, dried seaweed, and a hint of ginger. Depending on who makes your blend, you may also find hemp seeds, garlic, yuzu, or poppy seeds thrown in the mix. Think of it as a spice blend with a trifecta of flavor—heat, citrus, and umami. (Be warned, though: the heat definitely takes center stage. A pinch goes a long way.)
Still, crucially, Shichimi togarashi offers a different kind of heat from that of the saucy Asian chili pepper condiments like Sriracha or sambal oelek. It’s not as in-your-face right from the beginning. It's a slow flavor build—and burn!
Ten years ago, upon my first introduction to the stuff, it could be difficult to find in the States. Luckily, my local fishmonger carried the blend before I could find it anywhere else. He would give me a small unmarked plastic soufflé cup of togarashi to experiment with each time I picked up a filet or two for dinner. Now, it doesn't have to be a a clandestine operation. You can order it from the Japanese brand House on Amazon.
So, what did all of those years experimentation lend me? I learned that it makes the best spicy mayo—one that's not just hot and creamy, but also bright from the citrus and deeply savory and a little nutty from the seaweed and sesame. I often slather it on salmon burgers—and I have a sneaking suspicion that the day I become brave enough to attempt fried chicken at home it will make a dynamite dunk. Just add a few shakes to the mayo, stir, and taste before adding more until you achieve your desired spice level. You can doctor it from there with other ingredients like sesame oil, chili oil, and lime if you wish.
An obvious application is in pasta salads or noodles. You'll often find togarashi as a table condiment at Japanese restaurants and that’s because it’s a killer addition to any ramen, soup, or noodle dish.
But truly I find myself grabbing for the speckled seasoning the most as an addition to simple vegetable dishes. It’s my secret weapon on roasted broccoli and, of course, brussels sprouts. A sprinkle is really all you need to amp up the flavors, and it’s an easy add if you want something more interesting than just salt and pepper.
I also love sprinkling it on homemade kale chips. I toss kale pieces in oil and let them get nice and crispy in the oven, finishing it with a toss of salt and togarashi before serving. P.S. it's also great on chips of the potato variety—and french fries. And popcorn!
And togarashi’s not just for dinner. I mix avocado, a touch of lime and a sprinkle of togarashi to make the ultimate avocado toast in the morning. The lime adds that pop of acid, working in tandem with the orange peel in the spice mix to add brightness. Try it on a fried egg too—and thank me later.