I absolutely love the simple process of preparing the sesame seeds for goma-ae, the Japanese sesame sauce used to dress vegetable dishes. Heated in a skillet, the seeds start to release their aromatic compounds as they become golden and sleek with their own oil. Grinding them in a mortar and pestle, the aroma intensifies to the point of ensnaring the senses of anyone who happens to enter my kitchen. It is standing at my mortar that I feel most like a magician–a wizard of the transformation of plant parts into seductive seasonings.
A mortar and pestle may seem like a superfluous piece of cooking equipment when our kitchens are replete with countertop appliances that pulverize at the press of a button, but there is a sensory pleasure and somatic satisfaction that comes from doing it the old-fashioned way, with this most ancient, unsophisticated, and yet wondrous implement.
I had a few handfuls of sea asparagus leftover after making my burrata salad, so I thought I would try dressing it in goma-ae to serve alongside my morel chawanmushi. But before we dive into the recipe, let us for a second, consider the mortar and pestle.
Of Mortars and Pestles
Historians of technology often quote Kranzberg’s First Law (formulated by Melvin Kranzberg in a seminal essay in 1986): “Technology is neither good nor bad; nor is it neutral.” This is certainly true in the kitchen. Tools are not neutral objects. They change with changing social context. A mortar and pestle was a different thing for the Roman slave forced to pound up highly amalgamated mixtures for hours on end for his master’s enjoyment than it is for me: a pleasing object with which I make pesto for fun, on a whim.
-Bee Wilson, Consider the Fork
In her wildly entertaining and informative book Consider the Fork: A History of How We Cook and Eat, Bee Wilson proposes a different perspective on the history of food and cooking–by examining the developments in the technologies that made that cooking possible. As she points out, certain cooking technologies have remained surprisingly constant through history, while other have greatly changed, and yet others–the majority–appear and disappear like flashes in the pan, particular quirks that reveal much about the social and historical contexts that informed their invention, their rise to popularity and their ultimate demise.
One kitchen technology that Wilson sites as having stood the test of time is the mortar and pestle, which starts appearing in the archaeological record about 20,000 years ago, in shapes and forms that don’t differ all that much from some of the styles that you can pick up in specialty cooking stores today. What has changed drastically, though, is their use.
When I do use my mortar and pestle, it is a sign that I am feeling leisurely and want to experience a bit of kitchen aromatherapy […] the mortar and pestle is never necessary in a kitchen that also contains blenders and a food processor. It is a pleasure-giving device. […] This is in stark contrast to the earliest crushing devices, whose basic mechanism was more or less identical to my mortar and pestle, but whose role was entirely different: to render edible that which would otherwise have been impossible to eat. It was a tool on which humans depended for survival.
Why are home kitchens often still equipped with these prehistoric grinding technologies? Does it make the food taste better? In some cases, quite possibly. As chef and writer Samin Nosrat points out in a New York Times article, her food processor “would oxidize the fragile basil and the machine’s tiny blades would never properly break down the [pine] nuts”. Is it, as Bee Wilson opines, simply a question of enjoyment? The tactile pleasure of processing your own ingredients by hand. The intense aromas rising from the mortar as you break down the cell walls of your nuts, seeds, herbs and spices . The satisfaction that the sauce, paste or powder that you will then use to season your food was made by the work of your own aching muscles.
I believe there is a third reason why mortars and pestles are still used today: a romanticized nostalgia for simple rustic food, for tradition, and for the days prior to industrial food processing. One only has to watch the segment of Samin Nosrat’s Netflix docu-series Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat where La Nonna Lidia shows Samin how she makes pesto with the mortar and pestle passed down to her from her great grandmother to feel that yearning astir (and maybe also a pang of hunger and a strong desire to quit your day job and live out the rest of your days in a cottage in rural Italy).
I certainly won’t be the one to tell you that the flavour of your goma-ae will suffer if the sesame seeds are ground by machine instead of by your own manual labour, but if you have the luxury of time and the desire to get in touch with the sensuality of cooking, give your mortar and pestle a chance!
Joëlle
Serves 2-3
Crunchy sea asparagus, served with a nutty Japanese sesame dressing. A simple side dish that brings a hint of the ocean to your table in minutes.
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Ingredients
- 2 cups sea asparagus
- 3 tbsp white sesame seeds, toasted
- 2 tbsp soy sauce
- 1 tbsp mirin
- 1 tsp toasted sesame oil
- 1/2 tsp maple syrup
- 1/2 tsp sake
- 2-3 shiso leaves, chiffonaded (optional)
Instructions
- Steam sea asparagus for 1 minute, and transfer immediately to a bowl to cool
- Grind toasted sesame seeds in a mortar and pestle until coarsely ground. Add the rest of the dressing ingredients and mix. Set aside.
- Steam sea asparagus for 1 minute, and transfer immediately to a bowl to cool.
- Once cool, pour dressing over the sea asparagus and mix well.
- Garnish with shiso (optional) and serve.
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References
Nosrat, S. (2018, November 07). The Key to This Creamy, Thick Pesto? A Mortar and Pestle. The New York Times Magazine. Retrieved July 15, 2019, from https://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/07/magazine/pesto-italy-mortar-pestle.html
Wilson, B., & Lee, A. (2013). Consider the Fork: A History of How We Cook and Eat. London: Penguin Books.
