Tamari and Tamari Creeps in this Petty Pace

Well, Campers, you will remember that when we last visited the soy sauce issue, I had decided to take my life in my hands and affirm that naturally-brewed shoyu is virtually, if not actually, gluten-free. In the same breath I maintained that tamari, an often wheatless variety, was too salty and icky and to be used for most equivalent applications.

What I did not know at the time was that Sir, having broadcast my woes all over his Tokyo office, was inundated with advice from helpful colleagues (and their concerned wives, as it transpired) distressed to hear Bad News From Overseas about their national condiment. As a result, a fine bottle of organic tamari was entrusted to Sir for my delectation: the previous owner claimed it was liberated from his own stores, being surplus to requirements, but I suspect that some sort of elaborate Japanese reciprocal gift-giving ritual had come into play. Sir had, after all, the day before beneficently proffered to his colleagues several bags of exotically foreign Pepperidge Farm goldfish as an office snack.

Confronted by the tamari upon Sir's return Stateside, I was a bit stymied, to tell the truth. First, I double-checked the ingredients label for wheat, to make sure it was the real deal. I am now an expert at identifying gluten-related kanji, which isn't all that difficult since the characters are pretty much the same for just about every grainy word you care to think of. Such etymological economy makes life fairly easy for the gluten-free gaijin.



The entry for mugi in my trusty kanji dictionary:
observant readers will note that all grains use the same root character
and are distinguished by the prefix
(barley is 'great grain,' wheat is 'little grain', oats are 'raven grain,'
and buckwheat I can't figure out at all).



I scrutinized the tamari bottle's ingredients label, and detected nothing untowards:

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say, and I cracked the bottle open. I was immediately assaulted olfactorally by the pungent aroma generally found in Worcestershire or fish sauce. I tipped some out into my marinating dish in order to assess the sauce's other qualities. The tamari was much thicker and stickier than shoyu - positively syrup-like, I would venture to say: instead of dispersing in the dish as expected, it viscously stuck where it landed. I amused myself by practising my calligraphy, an impossibility with traditional soy sauce:

Tamari in hiragana - note the condiment's syrupy consistency,
eminently suitable for artistic endeavours

Tasting the tamari, I discovered it was indeed very rich and salty, though not so unpleasant as to be unusable. All it needed was a bit of diluting and doctoring to make it into a nice accompaniment for the butterflied pork I was preparing to grill. I cast my eyes around the kitchen, where they lit upon some dry vermouth (left over from my weekend stock-making project, about which more will be revealed in due course); some apple juice (it was either that or peach/cranberry, which might have been good, too), honey, and some peanut oil. I whisked it all together, tasting and adjusting as I went, and came up with a pretty excellent marinade, if I do say so myself. I soaked the pork in it before grilling, then boiled up and concentrated the remainder as a last-minute glaze. I'm pleased to say, the result was quite oishii.

I am therefore revising my position on tamari. It is certainly too strong to use straight up for sushi, sashimi, or in a salad dressing, and needs extensive manipulation for use as a marinade or sauce. Having said this, one can be 100% certain that it is gluten-free (provided it is the wheatless variety), and that is welcome news. I still maintain that good shoyu is safe and will continue to employ it where necessary.

But that's just the kind of girl I am - stubborn to the last.

Next up: I celebrate the onset of cold weather by cranking up the Wolf and taking stock of my situation.