Words Words Words (like escabache, for instance)

I Am Not Wikipedia

Wikipedia provides fairly succinct and straightforward definitions of both escabeche and vinaigrette. Feel free to use those to describe your own recipes if that's your thing. I have my own definitions. I think mine are a little more practical than the Wikipedia definitions, which are more concerned with the historical significance of the terms.

So, when I say vinaigrette I mean any simple acid-based sauce or dressing. The acid can be any vinegar or citrus juice. Vinaigrettes usually contain one or more oils and some combination of herbs and spices. As far as I'm concerned, hot and cold vinaigrettes are still vinaigrettes. (I realize that "one or more oils" might sound a bit odd, but flavoring oils— like sesame, lemon, or hazelnut oils—and some infusions—like commercially available chili, basil, and garlic oils—tend to be a bit too stout to use as the sole oil base in a vinaigrette.)

When I add vegetables to a vinaigrette and cook the mixture to produce a sauce that I will use to marinate or dress a protein, I call it an escabeche. I could call it lumpy vinaigrette, but it just doesn't sound as appetizing. I know, strictly speaking escabeche is used only for fish, and it's usually chilled before use. I don't care. I need the term and choose to co-opt it in this fashion. So sue me. (Litigious pedants should note, however, that the Persian root for escabeche is sikbag, which means simply "acid food.")

What "Chicken" Means at My Place

A few years ago, while experimenting with ways to make grilled chicken breasts taste more like food and a little less like charred paper, I came up with a fortuitous pairing of a sweet chili marinade and a tomato and onion escabeche that I originally intended for use with red snapper. My daughter liked it so much that she began asking for it every week. Originally, I'd come home from shopping for groceries and answer her, "What's for dinner?" with, "Chicken on escabeche." Later, she started recognizing some of the ingredients and would ask, "Are we having chicken?" Occasionally, she has asked, "Can we have chicken for dinner tonight?"

The first time she asked that question, I countered with, "How do you want it," and was answered with a dumbfounded stare. "You know, the sweet one with the tomatoes." I'm not certain where the transition occurred, but at some point chicken came to mean that specific dish. Any other chicken dish—even a plain old roasted chicken—required an adjective to distinguish it from chicken, which implied the exclusion of non-breast meat and the inclusion of one specific escabeche.

Chicken (grilled marinated chicken on escabeche)

Yes, that's on, not en. Serves three.

dramatis personae

three chicken breast halves

the marinade:
one cup water
one quarter cup white wine vinegar
one quarter cup Sauvignon blanc
three chilis arbol, crushed
one quarter cup light brown sugar
one tablespoon salt (or one teaspoon—see preparation notes)

the escabeche:
one third cup extra virgin olive oil
one small white onion, chopped
pinch of sea salt
three garlic cloves, minced or crushed
one chili arbol, seeded and minced
one large or two small bay leaves
one quarter cup cheap balsamic vinegar
two tablespoons apple cider vinegar
one teaspoon fresh thyme leaves
one pint cherub tomatoes, halved

quality of ingredients

I usually buy split, boned, skinless chicken breasts. If they have chicken at the butcher's counter, I can occasionally find chicken that has never been frozen. Otherwise, I try to find the packages that are still frozen with no signs of having been previously thawed. Sometimes I just have to settle for the least freezer-burnt meat I can find. Freezer burn on chicken breasts creates whiter portions on the edges of the meat, usually where the breasts are thinnest.

Cheap Sauvignon blanc is a good generic marinating wine. It's available in most grocery stores, is fruity, mildly sweet, and not too tart.

The escabeche cooks long enough that it really doesn't matter what type of onion you use. After simmering in hot olive oil for ten minutes, onions all taste pretty much the same.

Use fresh bay leaves. You'll get ten times the flavor over the bay leaves. Dried thyme is strong enough but I find the taste of dried thyme a bit metallic.

See quality of ingredients under Composing a Symphony for guidance on garlic.

preparation notes

The marinade will be plenty effective in about forty-five minutes if it contains enough salt. One tablespoon should suffice. If you plan to marinate the chicken overnight, cut the salt down to a teaspoon to keep from oversalting it. Mix the ingredients in a ziplock bag (no need to seed the chili, you'll be throwing out the marinade once it's done its work). Trim any excess fat from the chicken breasts and drop them into the marinade. Express the air from the bag, seal it, and put it in a large enough bowl to catch the liquid in case of an accident. Refrigerate the marinating chicken for forty-five minutes. Remove the chicken breasts to a plate and discard the marinade. Blot the breasts dry with a paper towel and cover them with plastic wrap while you make the escabeche.

Heat the olive oil over a medium flame until it just starts to shimmer. Pour in the onions, garlic, chili, and bay leaf and sauté until the onions just start to reach translucency. Turn down the flame to low and allow the mixture to simmer for about ten minutes.

Add in the vinegars and bring the mixture to a boil. Mix in the thyme and tomatoes. This is your escabeche. Remove the escabeche from the flame and pour it into a bowl. Cover the bowl with a plate.

Unwrap the chicken breasts and bias cut them into 3/4-inch strips. I usually cook these in a grill pan (over medium high heat, about two minutes per side), but you could also grill them on an actual grill.

Pour the escabeche into a large serving platter and either remove the bay leaves and discard them, or set them off to the side (nice looking but inedible). Arrange the strips of chicken on top of the escabeche.

Serendipity—Salmon and Tomatoes and Orange Juice

Actually, the experiment was a combination of items that I know work together. The sum total of these combinations, however, left not only me but also my wife doubting the choices. The result was one of those fortuitous combinations that somehow manages to be more than the sum of its parts: sweet, rich, and savory with just enough acid to be bright without being downright sour. We all enjoyed it (Girltzik complimented the dish several times during the meal and twice afterward.) All in all, I have to say this was another first-time success.

As is often the case, this particular experiment began with me shopping for one thing (the ingredients for the chicken dish described above) and finding an attractive other. In this case, the grocery store whose aisles I was perusing had some beautiful sockeye salmon fillets on display. Bright, gelatinous, incarnadine—I have no will power where such things are concerned.

Because I was already shopping for the chicken dish, I had escabeche on the brain (not as uncomfortable as that probably sounds). Rather than completely revising my shopping list, I began mentally calculating changes I wanted to make to accommodate the richer, sweeter flavor of pan seared sockeye salmon. I immediately shifted from chili arbol to chipotle. The transition to orange juice and mexican oregano also seemed like obvious choices. Some of the other modifications I made to augment these initial transitions. Ultimately (right up to serving time), I was a little nervous about the combination of orange with tomato. My experience said both ingredients (in separate dishes) would work with salmon, but I honestly couldn't imagine how well the tomato-onion-salmon combination would marry with the orange-chipotle-salmon combination. For the life of me, I couldn't think of a dish I'd ever tried that contained both tomatoes and orange juice.

Charred sockeye with tomato-orange escabeche

This was just enough salmon for the three of us, but the quantity of escabeche would have been okay with enough salmon for four (translation—I threw out about a half cup of escabeche after dinner).

dramatis personae

one pound sockeye salmon fillets (skin on)
one quarter cup plus two tablespoons olive oil
two or more chipotle peppers, seeded and halved (see preparation notes for quantity)
two cups orange juice
one quarter cup white wine vinegar
two tablespoons light brown sugar
sea salt
one small onion, coarsely chopped
three garlic cloves, minced or chopped
one large or two small bay leaves
one pint cherub tomatoes
two teaspoons dried Mexican oregano

quality of ingredients

If the filets don't glisten, they've dried out. Sockeye salmon should be vermilion approaching red. If the salmon smells fishy or if the flesh is beginning to separate, it might be too old. This can be misleading with salmon. If the fishmonger has carefully removed all the bones, the meat might have separated along the rib line. If the meat is beginning to separate into flakes; however, it's definitely past its prime.


Chipotle peppers are the only choice. Anything else is just wrong. If you can't find them in your produce section, buy the canned chipotles.

Mexican oregano (which is actually more flavorful after drying) is pretty easy to find in Texas grocery stores. I'm not sure if that's true elsewhere. If not, substitute a teaspoon each of fresh minced peppermint and oregano.

preparation notes

I haven't separated these ingredients into marinade and escabeche sections because this preparation involves a bit of crossing over.

Place the filets face down in a wide bottomed bowl and pour a cup and a half of the orange juice over them. To the remaining one half cup of OJ, add the white wine vinegar, the light brown sugar, and a pinch of salt. Pour half of this mixture over the salmon filets, too, and set aside the remainder for later.

The fancy-shmancy foodie word for this ingredient will be infusion. We're going to make a quick chipotle infusion with the olive oil. This is incredibly simple. In a non-stick sauté pan, heat a quarter cup of olive oil over medium heat until it just begins to shimmer. Place the seeded chipotle chilis in the oil, insides down. Two chilis (three, if they're from a can) should be enough to just taste a little smoky bite in the final dish. If you like your chipotle dishes to be more assertive, use four chilis (six, if you're using canned chilis). Let the chilis infuse the hot oil for about ten minutes, and then remove (I use chopsticks) and discard the chilis.

Turn up the flame to medium-high and add in the onion, garlic, bay leaf, and a pinch of salt. Sauté these until the onions just start to reach translucency. Turn down the flame to low and allow the mixture to simmer for about ten minutes.

Add in the reserved orange/vinegar mixture, and bring the mixture to a boil. Mix in the Mexican oregano and tomatoes. This is your escabeche. Remove the escabeche from the flame and pour it into a bowl. Cover the bowl with a plate.

Heat two tablespoons of olive oil to the smoke point (just a wisp, not a black cloud). Place the salmon filets in the oil skin side up. Do not towel off the orange juice; it's going to caramelize. The trend in upscale dining establishments in the past decade has been to serve salmon medium rare. Personally, I don't see the appeal. I like raw salmon in some preparation, but not in the middle of my cooked salmon. With that in mind, cook the salmon filets for five minutes on the flesh side, turn them over, and cook the skin side for four minutes. While the flesh side is down, do not lift or move the filets as this will cause the just-forming caramel to flake off.

If you prefer medium-rare filets, cook the filets for three minutes on the flesh side, turn them, and cook them for another minute on the skin side.

Place the filets on a platter skin side down. Pour the tomato-orange escabeche over the filets. Remove the bay leaves and discard them or place them to the side of the platter. This is a damned fine looking dish already, so you don't need to bother with any extra garnish.