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She sows shiso by the seashore

A little local foodism as Cornucopia goes into its second week
food_glenda1
Red and green shiso leaves right from my garden, along with a sprinkling of their tiny flowers and buds. Photo by Glenda Bartosh

Anyone who knows me or regularly reads this column knows I'm highly allergic to the whole foodie thing. Still, with Cornucopia unfolding at Whistler, I can't help but give at least one small nod to the foodism movement that Ann Barr, Paul Levy and friends unleashed back in the 1980s.

One thing that makes the original impulse bearable is that as Barr, Levy et al codified the pursuit and capture of certain foods and food experiences as status symbols, they maintained an edge of naughty monkey business.

In The Official Foodie Handbook (circa 1984), Barr and Levy included cheeky little items, like the derisive sidebars on The Pepper Bore and The Vinegar Bore — you know the ones, urging you to try the latest purple peppercorn from an obscure valley in Pettapeta or that fantastic kombucha vinegar with a hint of durian dregs.

Then there's the section on foodie casualties, including a detailed schematic on saving a foodie's life with the "punch to the paunch," a.k.a. the Heimlich manoeuvre, as well as answers to embarrassing questions like, does a foodie have to cook? (not necessarily).

I also like that Barr and Levy paid homage not just to gastronomiques but more scientifically minded "Foodies" like Benjamin Thompson, who, in 1800, invented the predecessor to modern ovens.

On that note, here's a quasi-scientific, semi-foodie introduction with a common touch to a terrific herb of Asian provenance that's popular in Japanese and Korean cuisine — one you likely haven't discovered yet and is unusually delicious, both of which are typical foodie cred.

Shiso, according to my favourite down-to-earth food scientist, Harold McGee, is the leaf of Perilla frutescens, a relative of mint native to China and India. Also known as "perilla" or "beefsteak plant," it was taken to Japan in the eight or ninth century where it gained the name "shiso."

According to McGee, its distinctive aroma is due to a terpene called perillaldehyde, which has a fatty, herbaceous, spicy character. Depending on which shiso leaf I munch, I can find hints of lavender, anise, and, sometimes, lemon.

Shiso comes in several different varieties, including red or purple varieties. These contain anthocyanins, which give them their distinctive purplish colour and a mildly astringent sensation. Some have no perillaldehyde; these taste of lemon or dill. Japanese people use shiso leaves and flower heads in salads, and with seafood and grilled meat. Purple shiso is used to colour and flavour the popular pickled plum, umeboshi. Koreans obtain both flavour and cooking oil from perilla seeds.

Even though it's a member of the wide-ranging mint family, shiso is a bit exotic and hard to find, like so many foodie trophies. If you buy it in a store like Fujiya Japanese Foods in Vancouver, it is pricey — another foodie criterion. But it's nothing like, say, a bottle of white truffle oil that can set you back a couple of hundred bucks.

Actually, much of my inspiration to write about this delicious herb is that, even though I'm no great gardener, I've just harvested two shiso plants, one green, one purple, which blossomed into little giants despite, or maybe because of, my benign neglect. This alone tells me here's yet another worthwhile grow-your-own B.C. herb — and, yes, it does bud — that really delivers without much effort.

I don't think I fertilized them even once, but I harvested so much shiso for months that I could share some with the sushi restaurant where I first tasted it, as most Westerners do. This one was Gastown's trendy and very good Sea Monstr Sushi, where they use it in an exquisite squid and sour plum roll — ika ume shiso maki.

I also gave some to a neighbour, one of the founding chefs of the popular Nuba restaurants, who flipped over free shiso because it's usually so expensive. This triggered a brainstorm: Why not start a shiso grow-op to supplement my meager freelance income? And what better way to develop customers than through this food column?

Since I'm no expert on shiso and wanted to pop any foodie-mystique balloon surrounding it, I dialed up a couple of long-time Whistler locals who would know a lot more about it than I do in a down-to-earth way.

Much of this information came from my longtime pal, Pauline Wiebe, who almost has Japanese blood flowing in her veins, starting with her dad, who spent years at school in Kobe. Plus she's been plugged into Whistler's Japanese community for decades, hosting many a Japanese homestay student.

When I suggested I might try drying my shiso leaves, Pauline's advice was go for it. Dried shiso is big in some Japanese condiments used for flavouring. Pauline calls them sprinkles, but more accurately they're known as shiso fumi furikake and yukari, both made with dried shiso flakes, the latter used for onigiri (rice balls).

Here's an easy homegrown Whistler recipe from Pauline that nicely shows off shiso. Using any kind of white fish that's sustainable, make little packets (or papillotes, in foodie language) by placing each individual serving of fish on a piece of aluminum foil big enough to wrap it along with a slice of matsutake or pine mushroom and a whole shiso leaf on top — nothing else. Bundle up your packets and bake them at 325 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes, depending on the thickness. Serve with lemon and soy sauce ("You are stylin' as long as you have Japanese rice to go with it," says Pauline).

I was also glad to learn from Yuka Yamamoto, a florist at Senka Florist on Nesters Road who has lived at Whistler 19 years, that you can successfully grow shiso at Whistler. Yuka had excellent results — she easily grew a bushy green shiso plant in a planter on her patio from a little bedding plant she bought at Fujiya, which sells shiso plants every spring.

Yuka's culinary tips: shiso goes with anything plum, especially the plum pickles (umeboshi) noted above, or chop it finely into a salad.

As for now knowing that you can grow shiso at Whistler, I guess my big grow op plan just got busted. But better a good food tip in circulation than another bad business idea.

Glenda Bartosh is an award-winning journalist who nibbles on shiso leaves for a snack.