Necessary Hot Sauce, Part Four: Sriracha

I debated whether to even bother with this post. It's like standing in a town square, under the clock tower, and yelling the time to anyone who can hear. It's just redundant, given the public adoration for this new American legend.

I say American because the sriacha we know and love is different than what's available in Thailand or Vietnam. The Huy Fong Tướng Ớt (huh?) Sriracha, aka "Rooster Sauce" or "Cock Sauce", is made in Los Angeles, and is thicker and less sweet than its namesake. A staple amongst food carts, pho soup storefronts, and Thai joints, this stuff has become iconic. Recently, the NY Times gave it the feature treatment, and rightly so. Read it.

Being thicker and less sweet has its advantages. In my mind, its concentrated, thick-hot body lends itself to cooking more often than as a garnish (a little bit goes a loooong way). I've used it as a soup base, in hot wings, BBQ sauce, vinegarettes, or mixed with other condiments. Sriracha-mayo is an American sushi standard. Spiked ketchup with sriracha is a revelation. Endless are the possibilities. Cock Sauce is a story of hope and possibility in America! Cue the anthem and fireworks!

My only beef with the Rooster is that it's laden with preservatives. But hey, that beautiful red-orange hue can't keep itself together without the help of sodium bisulfite or artificial colors, and there's none of the latter. So there's that.

Given its popularity and concentrated nature, it's surprising sriracha isn't more expensive. If you don't have at least a small bottle in your fridge, there's no hope for you, And don't expect me to eat at your house, TV dinner guy.

Necessary Steak Sauce Hot Sauce, Part Three: Pickapeppa

If you don't already know, Pickapeppa is clearly the shit.

You can argue it's not really a hot sauce, but somehow it ends up in that same corner of your fridge door. Right next to the Aardvark and Crystal, of course.

For all you single school teachers on holiday in Jamaica *wink*, don't mistake this as an 'exotic' version of A1 or HP steak sauce back home. It's more like a cliffsnotes on the flavors of slow-cooked Caribbean meats. The sweet sour notes play out through aged, carmelized fruit and vegetables... think raisins, mangoes, vinegar, tamarind, peppers, tomatos, onions, spices, etc aged in oak for a year. It's thick, slightly smoky and bold, but it's not going to burn your face off. These flavors are naturally a great foil for pork and chicken -- baked, smoked, grilled low or braised.

Apparently it's also popular with cream cheese as a dip. Sure, OK, sounds good to me. I'd rather mix it with a good, full-fat greek yogurt to top fish tacos or coat grilled chicken. And if you work it into a recipe for grilled pork tenderloin or braised pork butt/shoulder, I couldn't blame you for that. It's that awesome.

The downside of embracing Pickapeppa as your savior is that you naturally long for their other sauces, all hard to find unless you shop online. Mango chutney, jerk sauce, hot pepper sauce, gingery spicy mango sauce?? Oh, fuck me.

As far as the original is concerned, get it. Find it at the usual suspects. Or your friendly food service supplier... peep this beauty:

Necessary Hot Sauce, Part Two: Secret Aardvark

Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you don't. Sometimes, when you're staring at standard breakfast fare with a bloody mary in hand, you need seductive heat. That sad looking bottle of green Tabasco with crusty residue under the cap isn't going to whisper in your ear.

That crap may look good at 2am, but there's an odd squeeze bottle of Secret Aardvark on the table and there's really no reason to slum it today. Not when you get sweet hotness of habenero, enhanced with the flavors of carrot, roasted tomato, onion and spices.

It's unusual, and probably the only habenero sauce I can think of to encroach on condiment status. I've had it in bloody marys, mixed in yogurt or guacamole dips, on flatiron steak, on fish tacos, and other fare. It may be the most versatile hot sauce in my stable. Yeah, so I have a "stable" of hot sauce, piss off.

Not only is it so damn good, it's local with a snowball of a cult following around here. Their amazing, drunken black bean sauce might also deserve cult status (marinate and bake some chicken hindquarters and you'll understand).

Get it. Find it at New Seasons, Zupans, or any Portland breakfast joint worth its salt.

Necessary Hot Sauce, Part One: Crystal

Like mustard, salt, vinegar and oils, it's nice to have all your bases covered when it comes to hot sauce. I can think of at least four categories of sauce to have on hand, all very different.

Recognize that the elephant in the room is Tabasco, the face for its Louisiana brethren. And really, let's just get this out there, Tabasco sucks. I want to love this iconic sauce, but the flavor feels flat and sour to me. If I'm making a Oregon dover sole po' boy with homemade bay shrimp slaw, it's Crystal Hot Sauce or bust.

It's a little thinner and less hot than original Tabasco, but it just tastes right. This isn't the sauce you reach for when pitched in a macho Scoville-off, this is your trusty sauce-by-default. Everyman hot sauce and priced as such. We shouldn't even be talking about it this much...

Get it. They persevered and eventually rebuilt from Katrina, for chrissakes!