If you finish every dish, night after night, with a dash of salt and pepper, or red pepper flakes for flare—it's time you met yuzu kosho. The Japanese paste easily made from combining yuzu, chiles, and salt drops a flavor bomb on everything it touches. Fish, steak, noodles, soups, and desserts go from zero to hero with teaspoon-size dollops of the stuff. It's the closest thing you'll get to a silver bullet condiment that'll instantly impart depth to your dish. Chefs know it—they've been using it at their restaurants for years—and it's time you did, too.
Yuzu kosho is a pasty Japanese condiment made from fresh chiles (most often green or red Thai or bird's eye chiles) then fermented with salt along with zest and juice from yuzu, a tart and fragrant citrus fruit that grows in East Asia. The trifecta of chiles, citrus, and salt come together in a powerful and distinctive flavor that enlivens a dish—anything from sashimi to braised short ribs and cookies—instantly.
Justin Smillie of Upland, who was introduced to it by his mother-in-law's cooking, describes it as "The perfect marriage of citrus and chiles coming together." For Sterling Ridings, executive chef of Uchiko in Austin: "It's alive almost. It's just got so much pop to it, and it's so versatile."
When Johanna Ware, chef of Smallwares in Portland, craves it, she'll drop a tiny bit into miso soup to add acid and spice.
Yuzu kosho is at its best when it's cutting through the richness and fat of meat. It's why Sarah Pliner at Aviary in Portland made a mock kimchi with yuzu kosho to balance out braised short rib. Now she brushes in in a steamed bun filled with eggplant and sweet bean paste; it's the contrast of the tangy-spice that brings out the sweetness of what's inside the vegetarian bun.
It's also why, at Upland, Smillie goes through up to 20 pounds of yuzu kosho a week for the decadent duck wings he glazes in smoky bacon fat, rice wine vinegar, and yuzu kosho.
But it's not just for meat. Senior food editors Andy Baraghani and Chris Morocco, along with test kitchen manager Brad Leone, sing the praises of yuzu kosho's incredible capacity as a quick way to season fish, raw or cooked. The same goes for the famous fried oyster dish at O Ya in Boston and now New York, which chef-owner Tim Cushman serves with a yuzu kosho-dashi aioli. At Uchiko, they also use it to brighten up the deep, unctuous flavors of a Kinoko Nabe on the menu—a vegetarian mushroom soup with toasted yuzu kosho and a Japanese tempura (tentsuyu) broth.
But the clean, umami-rich flavors of yuzu kosho add instant complexity to vegetable dishes. Ware weaves it into a dressing (yuzu kosho, soy, mirin, rice wine vinegar) that she uses on hearty vegetables, including fried eggplant. One of the most beloved dishes at Uchiko is brushed with a yuzu kosho and tamari combo on avocado nigiri—beautifully sliced avocado served obi-style (with a nori belt!) atop rice—for a bite that's salty, fatty, spicy, and acidic all at the same time. At Pizza Moto in New York, the fried broccoli is served with a thin layer of yuzu kosho curd at the bottom of the dish.
But the final frontier for the spicy-salty condiment is in desserts; Frederico Ribeiro of Té Company in New York knows it. Inspired by a spicy-sweet pineapple-chile mixture from Heston Blumenthal, and a pineapple-lime zest dessert at Per Se (where he used to work), Ribeiro adjusted the sweetness of pineapple-hazelnut linzer tarts with the salty-acidic yuzu kosho and lime zest. The result? A sublime spin on a Taiwanese pineapple cake with surprising depth.
Many chefs actually purchase their yuzu kosho pre-made so that they can get the full, nostril-clearing fragrance of yuzu without having to live in California (one of the only places in the US with actual yuzu trees). How else would Smillie get 20 pounds of the stuff each week?
John Sundstrom, chef of Lark in Seattle, swears by the brand (where all of the box text is in Japanese) that comes in the green or red box with a yuzu illustration on the outside. Baraghani, Leone, and Morocco second that recommendation, and prefer the green yuzu kosho to the red.
But, if you insist on making yuzu kosho yourself, it can be pretty hard to come by fresh yuzu (or not pay an arm and a leg for it). In this case, experimentation is your friend and you can still get the flavor profile you're looking for by following the general citrus + chile + salt formula. Cushman suggests listing out all the possible citrus and all the possible chiles, then riffing on it from there. In Texas, Ridings has experimented with serranos and jalapeños instead of the harder-to-find Thai chiles. Smillie has hacked yuzu kosho with limes and chile oil, and has swapped out his usual citrus for blood orange and bergamot.
Once you find your ideal combination of citrus (zest, juice, fruit), chiles, and salt, throw it all in a blender or a small food processor to make it a smooth paste, says Cushman. Ridings recommends trying this: Mince "the hell out of" a combination of lemon, lime, salt, and chiles with a mortar and pestle, and enjoy from there. The lemon and lime together sort of mimic the singular flavor of yuzu.
Rub it on a seared or grilled piece of meat while it's resting, or add it to a marinade the way Ridings does: Incorporate yuzu kosho into a mixture of beer, honey, and ginger to marinate hanger steaks. Morocco, Baraghani, and Leone were practically salivating thinking about it as finishing seasoning for fish; as a last-minute addition to a hearty braise; or as a counterbalance to fish tacos.
Sundstrom vouches for making a yuzu kosho dressing. Dilute it with water (it can be very salty otherwise), a splash of vinegar, oil, and a splash of lemon or lime juice and dress a roasted fish or (use really sparingly on) a salad.
And Smillie doubles down on the meat, mixing it into pork terrine, rubbing it on grilled pork chops, incorporating it into fresh sausage, and marinating chicken breasts in it. Smillie also says he'd put it on pretty much anything. And that's exactly why we love it.