Tofu.
Don't delete it just because it says "tofu."
Oft-promised and long-awaited: the (much-requested) (I’m serious) issue on tofu.
Tofu is a simple thing, so this is one of those science-light issues; it should only take you about 6 minutes to read, meaning that even if you’re a tofu hater, it probably won’t kill you to read the whole thing, just in case the key to changing your mind in buried somewhere herein. Just here for the recipe? Scroll down to the bottom for Crispy Cacio e Pepe Tofu, and look out for a bonus edition on Thursday that’s going to be recipe-only: no science, no text, just a literal 15-minute dinner for four. And if you’re here for the links, sorry, but there’s no separate section, today; instead, they’re peppered throughout. Peppered. Get it? Peppered. Like Pepe. Which means “pepper.” It’s funny. xo.
But first, a Reader Q.
Q: “I love Brussel’s sprouts that I get in restaurants, but when I make them at home they always turn out soft and bland, never crispy or browned. Heeelppp meee.” - J.P., St. Louis
A: A few things to try. One: if you’re making them in an oven, stop. Unless you have a convection oven AND you have blanched/parboiled the Brussels first (which is admittedly not hard, but is a tedious extra step for someone without a full-time prep cook), it’s really hard to get the dry heat of a regular home oven to crisp and caramelize the sprouts. What more often happens is that by the time the very centers are tender, the rest of the interior is overcooked and mushy, and the outsides are leathery and tough. Two: if you’re pan-roasting them on your stovetop, try adding more fat - like, a lot more, for a depth of at least a quarter of an inch. When you sear a sprout, cut-side down (as you should!), the cut edge makes complete contact with the pan - but only for a few minutes. The heat eventually makes the centers of the sprouts begin to bulge, lifting them from the pan; adding a nice thick layer of hot oil or melted butter, however, fills in that air gap and ensures the Brussel is making direct contact with the high heat. Three: like I said, cut-side down; you want to pan-sear your sprouts halved or quartered, not whole - even if they’re tiny - because you want that surface contact to maximize caramelization. Restaurants use convection ovens and wood-fired high-heat ovens and deep-fryers to achieve caramelization even on whole sprouts; at home, we need to improvise, and that means cutting. Four: cook over medium-high to high heat, turn on your range hood, and be patient: it might get a little smoky, but you don’t want to stir-fry or actively sautee your sprouts. To get a good crispy-browned edge can take 8-10 minutes of direct, undisturbed contact with the pan/oil. Five: don’t crowd the pan; use the biggest one you have, and make sure the sprouts are arranged in a single layer. Any deeper and the sprouts will steam, making their exteriors wet, and water impedes browning; the sprouts will overcook before they dry out enough to get deliciously crispy and brown.
Tofu.
Whoever you are and however you like to classify your dietary habits, I think that to love tofu you have to embrace this basic premise: tofu is not a meat substitute. I know so many people who snap shut their jaws at the mention of tofu. “Why would I eat that? I eat meat.”
If I may dust off my soapbox: enough.
Yes: dozens of companies make and sell tofu-based meat and dairy substitutes. Some are punchlines (poor Tofurkey), some are okay, and some are even good. Tofu can be treated as an animal-product substitute! Still: tofu, like a person, is more than just its ability. Categorizing tofu as a substitute for meat or dairy discourages omnivores to embrace it, disregards its origin story and rich culinary history, and limits the lens through which we view its potential.
Tofu is actually a little like cheese - it is pressed bean curd, made by coagulating the proteins in soy (-bean) milk, which probably sounds not very unfamiliar to anyone who knows how cheese is made - but it’s also not a cheese substitute, and I think it’s unfair to compare based on similarity alone. (Applesauce and whipped potatoes share some commonality, but good luck serving the former with gravy.) Tofu is tofu: it’s mild (bordering on bland) and has a range of textures, from “custard” to “scrambled egg” to “feta cheese” (still not a cheese substitute). It’s really high in protein and healthy fats - like some meats and cheeses! - but will never have the texture of muscle fibers, the butterfat-creaminess of cheeses, the palate-pleasing umami of meat. It can be a great placeholder for those things in your diet, but it will never mimic them. And it’s time to stop scoffing at it for what it isn’t - a food with the ability to play “meat” on your palate - and start embracing it for what it is.
So: what is it?
To reiterate: tofu is pressed bean curd, not unlike how cheese could technically be called “pressed dairy curd.” Soy milk (which is not actually a milk - those only come from animals; it’s a blend of soybeans and water) is treated with heat and acid to trigger enzymes that separate the fats and proteins from their liquid suspension. The liquid thickens and eventually those fats and proteins coagulate together to form curds, which can be scooped out and pressed together. This compacting process squeezes out excess water: the more you squeeze, the dryer and more firm the final product is. Tofu is sold and marketed in various stages of compaction:
Silken tofu: the least-pressed and with the highest water content of all of the tofus, it’s so soft that it just barely holds shape. Texture is not unlike a flan or baked custard: firmer than a pudding but softer than fully-set Jell-O. Silken tofu is made by stopping the production process very early, when the soy milk has thickened but firm distinct curds haven’t yet formed, so it has a much more uniform and silky texture than other types of tofu (hence its name, although it’s also sometimes sold as Japanese-style).
Regular tofu: if you ever see a package without a qualifier on the label - it just says Tofu - then this is what you’re getting. The curds were formed but minimally pressed, so this also has a pretty high water content. Texture is like scrambled eggs or a cheesecake: it can hold its shape, but is tender enough to be spreadable. Curds are visible.
Firm tofu: more compaction, less water. Texture is like fresh mozz: still tender, but has some chew and can handle a bit of manhandling in preparation. Curds are visible.
Extra-firm tofu: even more compaction, even less water. Texture is remarkably similar to feta cheese: while it’s still “wet,” it’s dense and almost crumbly. Curds are still visible but there’s notably fewer gaps between them.
Super-firm or pressed tofu: highest amount of compaction, lowest amount of water. It’s harder to find plain versions of super-firm, but if you ever see “Marinated,” “Smoked,” or “Baked” tofu sold in small vacuum packs, this is what you’re getting - it has just been seasoned and prepared first. It has a smooth, curd-less texture, like a good cheddar cheese.
Bonus: sprouted tofu! This isn’t a texture designation: it indicates that the soybeans were allowed to germinate for a few days before they were processed into soy milk. It doesn’t taste or smell remarkably different, but is easier to digest and has a slightly different nutrient report. Can be sold in any of the above forms.
Why do I care?
Maybe you don’t! Or maybe you already knew all of that. But. It was remarkable to me that every single request for an issue about tofu was just that: “Can you do an issue about tofu?” No specific asks about recipes or methods or trouble-shooting. So my inference was this: “We really want to like tofu, but we kinda really don’t.” And if the first step toward romance is accepting that tofu is not a meat substitute, then the second step is understanding that tofu has a lot of water, because water really sucks.
That’s unfair to water, but in a lot of culinary applications, it’s an unavoidable truth:
» Water impedes browning, which develops flavor.
» It impedes the crisping that occurs when heat is applied.
» It dilutes the concentration of internal flavor compounds.
» When a food (like tofu) is saturated with water, it prevents external flavor compounds from penetrating. Imagine a soaked sponge; it can’t absorb any more water, right? A brick of tofu, fresh from his packaging, is a soaked sponge: you can drown it in a marinade or sauce but because it is already saturated with liquid, penetration is going to be minimal. And in food, “minimal” is usually boring.
You can’t become a lover of tofu if tofu doesn’t taste good - and so many people complain that it doesn’t. But that isn’t tofu’s fault. It’s water’s fault. Inherently, tofu doesn’t taste like much of anything; it is super bland, with only a vaguely milky, starchy flavor. And we actually eat - and enjoy, and embrace - lots of foods that are bland, because they make such excellent blank canvases. Just as we’d never eat a completely unseasoned chicken breast or pot of quinoa, we can’t expect tofu that hasn’t been treated and seasoned properly to wow us. So: understanding tofu’s water content, and what to do about it, matters.
What do I do about it? Some methods, tips & tricks
(For this week, this is also the Links section.)
“Tofu” could be an entire cookbook unto itself - there are so many potential applications and flavor profiles. Rather than tossing several specific recipes at you which may or may not appeal to your individual palates, I’m instead focusing on methods of preparation. That way, whatever your tofu hopes and dreams are - maybe you need vegan meal ideas; maybe you just want to eat less meat; maybe you already use tofu but think it could use a flavor or texture boost - you should be able to take the handy info below and make it work in your kitchen.
A quick note: unless I say otherwise, all of the methods below are for regular, firm, and extra-firm tofu. Pressed or super-firm is already so processed (and so frequently pre-seasoned) that I find it less universal; it is the rotisserie chicken of the tofu world - just buy, slice, and eat. Silken tofu is lovely and delicate, but because it can fall apart if handled too vigorously or heated too quickly, it’s best to follow specific recipes. (If you really want to give it a try and aren’t sure where to start, try this no-recipe: carefully drain a block of chilled silken tofu and cut it into quarters, place each quarter in a tiny dish, then pour 1 teaspoon of soy sauce and 1 teaspoon of sesame oil over each one; top with chili oil, some crushed peanuts, some scallions, a squeeze of lime - whatever you like. Eat it super cold with a spoon. It’s a delightful little snack or appetizer.)
How to remove the water.
Press it. You can use a tofu press, most of which I find pretty effective and pretty over-priced. If you go through a lot of tofu (or hope to!), I think they’re worth an investment. Otherwise, you can rig your own: set your block of tofu between two flat surfaces (plates or Tupperware lids, for example); place that stack inside a large container to catch the runoff (a baking dish works); and then place some sort of weight on top of the top plate to gently press down on the tofu to encourage drainage (a couple of cans will do it). Put the whole thing into the fridge for at least an hour; overnight is best.
Freeze it. If you have time, this is hands-down the most effective way to remove water from tofu. Freezing causes water to expand and crystalize, and those growing crystals push the protein molecules around, breaking some of their strands and creating holes. If you’ve ever frozen a piece of meat, you know that the end result isn’t always great: it loses a lot of water as it thaws and as it cooks, because those broken protein strands can no longer hold it in, and the finished meal is noticeably dry. Bad news for your turkey breast but pretty sweet for your tofu: the result is a pleasantly airy, spongy tofu that’s not only totally sapped of flavorless water but is also ready to be totally saturated with whatever sauce or marinade you want to use. Just drain the tofu from the package, cut it as desired (you don’t have to cut it - it just thaws faster), freeze it overnight, and then thaw it. The water will weep out during thawing - you don’t even have to press it (although you can, if you really want to).
Rip it. Even if you’ve pressed or thawed your tofu, but especially if you don’t have time for either: rip your tofu into chunks with your hands rather than slicing it with a knife. A torn, craggy surface has more surface area than a tidy cube does, and that surface area will evaporate more water during dry-cooking methods like stir-frying or oven-roasting. As a bonus, more surface area = more space for sauces and seasonings to cling. Sliced or cubed tofu also has a uniform thickness, whereas hand-torn tofu does not at all, which will result in pleasant texture variations: creamy here, crispy there, chewy in between.
Slice it & towel it. While hand-torn tofu mathematically maximizes the total surface area of the tofu, sometimes you’ll prefer to maximize the flat surface area that can come into contact with your hot pan or your grill grates. In those instances, slice it thin, and - again, even if you’ve pressed or thawed it - take advantage of those expanses of flat surface and place them onto something that’s super absorbent, to draw out even more water. Just spread the slices onto a stack of paper towels for ten or fifteen minutes.
How to work with the water.
I loved this recipe from Kay Chun & NYT when I found it a few months ago: she adds 1/4 pound of crumbled firm tofu to 1 pound of ground chicken, and the additional fat and moisture from the tofu girds against dryness in otherwise-lean chicken meatballs. It’s a trick that works like a dream: the tofu is visible but entirely undetectable on your palate, and whatever you’re making is noticeably juicier while not feeling at all watery. It works with all ground meats - chicken, turkey, beef, pork, lamb - as long as you keep the ratio of tofu to meat about the same, and it works in every format you’d use those proteins: meatballs large and small, burgers, meatloaf, filling for dumplings. Because the crumbled curds of tofu do slightly mimic the shape and texture of bits of ground meat, it’s also a nice addition to looser preparations: larb, ground taco filling, things like that. Tofu Sloppy Joe, anyone?
What else can I do with it?
There’s not much you CAN’T do with tofu. It can be eaten raw or cooked, treated in the myriad ways listed above, and can tolerate both wet and dry heat, so you can throw it into a soup OR onto a ripping hot grill. Just remember that in most preparations, you want to remove some of the water - or even “as much as possible,” depending upon how much time you have.
Consider adding tofu to recipes not in place of meat, but in addition to. You don’t have to literally incorporate it into the meat, as in Kay’s meatballs above: just add a little to your recipe for soup, pasta, stir-fry, burrito bowls, whatever. If you’re trying to love tofu, one of the best ways to start to enjoy it is by preparing it as a part of something you already love and know how to make well.
There’s a wealth of stuff that I did not address here, a category I’ll call “vegan substitutes.” Just as you can buy dozens of types and brands of meat and dairy imitations made from tofu, you can also make most of them at home. If you’re after methods for making vegan cheeses, dressings, yogurt, pudding, scrambles, or burgers, just Google them! You’ll find a wealth of hits, and they’re all pretty easy to make. I’m not including them here simply because there are so many, and each with a unique method. The tips listed above will elevate any tofu recipe you’re trying to conquer, though - promise.
What can’t I do with it?
Again: not much. But, something that’s worth knowing: proteins do not love extended exposure to acids; over time, the acid denatures the proteins and they begin to uncoil and even break. If you’re making a marinade with citrus juice, for example, or a sauce or dressing with vinegar: season the tofu for no more than an hour before cooking. If you’re making something ahead of time - maybe a cold salad with a sparkly, bright acidic dressing for tomorrow’s lunch - just keep the tofu separate, and add it just before eating. After 8-12 hours in an acid bath, the tofu will begin to turn to mush, and after 4-5 days it can loose its structure entirely.
Recipe.
Crispy Cacio e Pepe Tofu
These are crazy delicious: eat them as a snack, feed them to your kids with ketchup instead of nuggets, swap them in for croutons, tuck them into soft tacos, add them to a cheese board (they are exceptional with wine).
Ingredients:
one package (12-16oz) firm (or firmer) tofu, water removed (see methods above) and torn into bite-sized chunks
1/4 cup olive oil, plus more for serving
2 T cornstarch
1 T garlic powder or granulated garlic
1.5 T of cracked black pepper, and more for serving
1 cup of finely grated Parm or pecorino (or similar hard, salty aged cheese) - if you’re grating your own with a Microplane, double the amount because it is so feathery and light - and more for serving
1 tsp fine-grained salt (like pink or sea salt) - aaaand more for serving
Method:
Place the dried, torn tofu bites into a large bowl.
Preheat oven to 425F. Line a sheet pan with parchment paper.
Combine remaining ingredients except the cheese in a separate small bowl, and whisk together to form a slurry. Once the cornstarch has completely dissolved into the oil and seasonings, fold in the grated cheese and stir to combine.
Pour over the chunks of tofu and toss lightly with your hands to fully coat. Do this gently to keep breakage to a minimum, but you’ll wind up with some smaller bits - that’s ok. Those are gonna be the tastiest, crunchiest ones.
Transfer the cheesy tofu to the parchment paper and spread the chunks out in a single layer. FWIW: you can fit two full blocks of tofu crumbles onto a single sheet pan, so feel free to double the recipe.
Bake at 425F for about 35-40 minutes, pausing to flip the larger chunks halfway through.
Remove from the oven and allow to cool for 5-10 minutes; tofu will be crisp when it emerges from the oven but will get even crunchier as the cheese cools.
Sprinkle with extra salt and pepper; drizzle with good olive oil (truffle oil would be a delight, here); shave extra cheese on top. Enjoy. xo.