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You can just make herby green sauces like chimichurris and gremolatas out of whatever you’ve got on hand. In this case, the garden has provided plenty of parsley and basil, plus gobs of Asian herbs: garlic chives, mint, Vietnamese coriander, shiso, lemongrass and even a fresh lime leaf from a tender new shoot on my potted lime. This fragrant salsa is ideal for pairing with grilled fish or, as I did, on a sandwich of thinly sliced grilled sirloin steak and a schmear of stinky, gooey taleggio cheese on buttered, grilled baguette. If only I’d thought to include sweet/sour and funky pickles (kicking myself!) this would have been a pretty interesting spin on a bánh mì — the soft, pungent cheese standing in for pâté in the role of “exclamation point.”
It’s no secret that when it comes to cooking, I’m a strident advocate for flying by the seat of one’s pants. Here’s the great thing about it: even if this type of freestyle jazz makes you a little nervous, everything is secretly under control because we’re still following a scientific formula. The flavors, aromas and textures of foods are all dictated by some combination of organic chemistry, plant physiology and molecular physics. To oversimplify, this is why coriander works so well with Thai, Mexican and Uzbek food.
Samin Nosrat’s celebrated book and television series, SALT FAT ACID HEAT is a crystallization of the math and ubiquity of this approach to cuisine, but you can also learn a lot about cooking (and botany!) by just smelling everything. Then ask yourself, what is the main idea of this dish? Is it a crunchy, sweet thing, or a soft, gravy-soaked thing? The Japanese language has already grappled with this through heavy deployment of onomatopoeiae.
There are so many ways of an herb sauce — chimichurri, gremolata, pesto, pistou, chermoula and zhug may come from different corners of the globe, but they all speak the same language. Their shared id is that they are fresh and grassy (not woody), pungent from something garlicky and are pulverized into spoonability; usually, they also have some spark of bright acidity or chile heat.
How to use this:
Viet-Cajun is kind of the obvious direction with this kind of culinary mashup. Just spitballing here, but why not add this herb salsa to an oily, spicy crab boil, right before serving (bonus points if you shake it up in a plastic bag); use it to garnish pot-au-feu (or pot-au-phở, amirite); or stir it into dirty rice, which, if you think about it, is basically larb pilaf. You could also mix it into mayo to smear on a po’boy/banh mi. Makes about a cup
Ingredients
2 cups mixed herbs
1 clove garlic, minced or finely grated
Pickled green peppercorns (optional)
Salt and pepper
Lemon zest and juice
Avocado oil (optional)
Instructions
Finely chop the herbs, garlic, pickled peppercorns (if using), salt/pepper and the lemon zest. If you’re doing this with a food processor, go ahead and add the lemon juice and a little oil (as needed) and pulse a few times until a thick, chunky paste forms. Otherwise, chop everything up with a knife and then move the mixture to a mortar and pestle or suribachi, add a squeeze of lemon juice, and pound and scrape the mixture into a paste. Use immediately, or store in a container (pour oil over the top of the sauce to prevent oxidation), refrigerate and use within a few days.