In Nanban, I spend a few pages detailing some of the most important ingredients for Japanese home cooking. I begin with five essential items: soy sauce, mirin, rice vinegar, miso, and dashi powder. With these five ingredients in your cupboard, you will be able to create a huge range of Japanese dishes, sauces, and seasonings by combining them in different ways, and almost all of them are now widely available at big supermarkets.

I would highly recommend buying a good-quality Japanese brand of soy sauce; Kikkoman is common, and though it is more expensive, its flavor is superior; balanced, fresh, and aromatic. For mirin and rice vinegar, usually own-brand supermarket varieties are absolutely fine, but if you have a choice, I would recommend Takara Hon Mirin and Clearspring Brown Rice Vinegar. With miso, there are so many varieties and flavors out there, I’d suggest you buy a few to try, and choose whichever you like best. I like Hikari Awase Miso as a go-to, all-purpose miso; it is very well balanced between the light, sweet freshness of white miso and the rich, fruity, malty flavor of red miso. It works well in just about everything, including desserts. Dashi powder is probably the only ingredient you’ll have trouble finding at a big supermarket, but any Asian grocer should have it, and it really is fundamental. I prefer Shimaya, but this is also often a matter of buying a few kinds and figuring out which you like best.

(By the way, it is far, far more common for home cooks in Japan to use dashi powder instead of fresh, homemade dashi, since it is so convenient, cheap, and generally quite tasty. But if you’d prefer to make dashi from scratch – and everyone should try it at least once – you will need kombu and katsuobushi instead.)

On top of these ingredients, I also recommend two more if you’d like to inflect your Japanese cooking with a distinctly southern accent: yuzu-koshō and shochu. Yuzu-koshō is a highly aromatic condiment made by pounding fresh yuzu peel together with hot chillies and salt. After a period of ageing, the resulting paste has a delightfully resinous, herbal aroma and a powerful tangy-pungent-salty flavor. Just a quarter of a teaspoon or so is all you need to lift a bowl of porky ramen. It also tastes great with chocolate. Kyushu is known generally for its delicious citrus fruits and its chilli-spiked dishes like karashi mentaiko and motsunabe, and specifically for its yuzu-koshō, so buy a jar and experiment with it to get an idea of what sets southern Japanese food apart.

Shochu, the spirit of Kyushu, is sometimes used in cooking, but really you should just buy a bottle to have with the meal. It is stronger than sake, distilled rather than just fermented, and can be made using a variety of methods and a virtually limitless range of ingredients. In Kyushu, the most popular shochu is distilled from sweet potatoes, which give the finished product a sort of nutty and sometimes smoky flavor. The aroma of any given shochu is also strongly influenced by what kind of mold (kōji) is used to kick off its fermentation. For example, ‘white’ mold tends to be cleaner, fresher, and more floral; ‘black’ mold is often richer and earthier, reminiscent of fermenting fruit. There are two good entry-level shochu I’d recommend, depending on your taste for booze. If you like the light, clean flavors of vodka or premium sake, go for Unkai, a smooth, bright, floral buckwheat shochu that works very well in cocktails. If you’re more of a single malt whisky fan, try Kuro Kirishima, a black mold sweet potato shochu with a strong, funky, slightly peaty, overripe melon flavor. They will both be good for cooking, either in place of mirin or in recipes that call for it specifically, like tonkotsu, a sweet miso-and-shochu pork rib stew from Kagoshima.

Japan Centre still has the best range in the country for any of these ingredients, and they’ll deliver basically anywhere. But have a close look at your nearest big supermarket or your local Asian food shop. You might be surprised at what you can find.

Two weeks from today, my cookbook, Nanban: Japanese Soul Food will be released. Needless to say, I am exceptionally excited. The book looks beautiful thanks to the photography by Paul Winch-Furness and the design by Charlotte Heal, not to mention the careful attention of my editors at Square Peg.

Nanban, of course, is the name of my intermittent and itinerant pop-up, and it means ‘southern barbarian,’ an epithet used by the Japanese for Europeans when they first arrived in the 16th century. Why ‘southern’? Because they had arrived in the south of Japan, at the island of Kyushu, having travelled via the South China Seas, so the Japanese simply assumed that’s where they were from. Nobody uses this term to describe people anymore (that would be rude), but it is used to describe certain dishes with their origins in European cookery, like chicken nanban and nanban-zuke. And why ‘barbarian’? Because the Europeans were barbaric, of course.

I chose the word nanban because I wanted to focus on the world of Japanese dishes that have their origins in non-Japanese cultures, and because I wanted to mainly feature food from the south of Japan, specifically Kyushu and Okinawa. I chose the tagline ‘Japanese soul food’ for a similar reason, referencing the soul food of the American south. I use it to describe a sort of hearty, flavorful, rough-around-the-edges, and casual Japanese cookery that I fell in love with when I studied Japanese cuisine as a young man.

To get an idea of what sort of food I’m talking about, pop into any of the restaurants below. They’re all different (one of the main points I hope my book makes is how diverse Japanese food is), but they all have a similar cheap-and-cheerful, elbows-on-the-table vibe.

Shofoodoh
This long-running residency at Pacific Social Club specialises in Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki, which is essentially a mad jumble of cabbage and noodles with a customisable selection of ingredients, fried on a teppan, and topped with a thin pancake, tangy sauce, and Kewpee mayo. It’s a meal in itself, but if you go, don’t miss the delicious smaller plates as well. The spicy tuna tartare and rthe pork belly with spring onion are a couple of my favourites.

Asakusa
Asakusa is a proper izakaya, a place to stay and drink (and eat). The menu is long, though I’ve never had a dud dish there. The sushi is excellent and affordable, as is the fried chicken, steak, and dengaku aubergine. But the real special stuff is on the specials board; look there for things like monkfish liver with ponzu and squid tentacle karaage. They also have a very good value sake and shochu menu.

Tonkotsu East
I get asked which London ramen shop is my favorite a lot, and my answer is always the same: it doesn’t matter which my favorite is. You have to find the one that you like best – that’s what ramen’s all about. And I love too many to recommend just one, anyway. Having said that, my favorite single bowl in London is the tsukemen (dipping ramen) at the Haggerston branch of Tonkotsu. The broth has an incredibly deep and meaty flavor, almost like grilled onions and fatty beef. And it’s a great space, too. The massive noodle machine at the back is particularly impressive.

Sushi Waka
Sushi Waka has a menu like that at Asakusa: a little of this, a little of that, with a few unexpected oddities if you read the menu carefully. They are the only restaurant in London that I know of serving chicken nanban and shiokara – fermented squid guts. If you go, ask for a table in the upstairs tatami room for a very Japanese experience.

Toconoco
You’d probably never find Toconoco if you weren’t looking for it, so go look for it. Tucked away in a canalside residential area in Haggerston, they specialise in teishoku (set lunches) that include rice, miso soup, a little salad or dish of pickles, and a hearty main could be a bowl of udon, a plate of curry, or a dish of meaty potato croquettes, depending on when you go. It’s a pleasant, quiet spot for lunch, and they do a nice matcha latte, as well.

I am thrilled to announce that I have found permanent premises for Nanban and we will be open for business soon in Chelsea! Our new concept is “Japanese Soul Food For The Soul,” with a focus on healthy ramen, a fresh new idea for London and the world. The menu will include paleo tsukemen, raw vegan reimen, hot green smoothie detox ramen, and our revolutionary new bone broth ramen, made from wholesome boiled bones. And for takeaway lunches, we’re offering our new Ramen Wrap™, noodles with spicy hummus, ancient grains, and kale in a delicious Asian flatbread.

Follow Nanban on Twitter for more updates. We look forward to welcoming you for some great and great-for-you ramen soon!

Can’t wait? Pre-order Nanban: Japanese Soul Food now!

With its intoxicating aroma and invigorating tang, yuzu is a fruit that’s easy to fall in love with. Perhaps a little too easy. These days, so many chefs and brewers are using yuzu that they risk making it something it should never be: boring. Familiarity breeds contempt, and we’re all getting awfully familiar with yuzu.

I understand that there’s something irresistible about yuzu, but if everybody uses it then it loses some of its appeal. I fear we may have reached ‘peak yuzu.’ These days it is so common that it may begin to have the opposite effect of that intended: instead of making a dish or a beer exotic and intriguing, it could make it mundane and samey.

Besides, it’s irritating to see so much buzz about yuzu when there are so many other equally interesting citrus fruits out there to experiment with. It’s time to try something new. The next time you’re tempted to cook or brew with yuzu, stop and ask yourself a few questions: Why am I using yuzu? Is there a more delicious alternative? Is there a more interesting alternative? Is there a cheaper alternative? Chances are, there is – there’s a whole world of citrus to explore. I would suggest any of the following as a start:

Bergamot

Bergamot is most famous for being a key component of Earl Grey tea, but its applications certainly don’t stop there. Its peel is alluringly aromatic, with an exuberant floral character reminiscent of roses and citronella. The fruit itself is dense and full of a delightful juice that has a lime-like sourness, grapefruity bitterness, and a touch of the same floral aroma found in the peel.

Uses: The peel, trimmed of its bitter pith, can be infused into light broths or used to garnish cocktails. The juice works well in place of lime, especially in fresh, spicy soups, salads, and stir-fries. The entire fruit can also be turned into a marmalade.

Meyer Lemon

Meyer lemons are small-ish lemons with more sweetness than typical varieties and a slightly more interesting aroma, with herbal and floral notes that remind me of thyme and honeysuckle. They are sweet enough and tender enough that you can even eat the pith. Whenever I can get them, I like to slice them thinly and toss them through a salad with fennel, feta, and olive oil.

Uses: I quite like the idea of Meyer lemon kosho, a clever twist on a traditional yuzu product. They also make an excellent limoncello. I would come up with more ideas, but the LA Times already has Meyer lemons pretty well covered.

Dekopon

Dekopon are large, gorgeously sweet hybrid tangerines. They taste like Orange Crush with a pinch of preserved lime. In my mind, there’s no orange that tastes quite so orange-y. They’re great to eat on their own, but I’d love to see them used in cooking and brewing more – imagine a dekopon IPA. Now that would be a #juicybanger.

Uses: Their natural sweetness makes dekopon a clear choice for desserts. They would be beautiful as a flavoring for a custard tart, trifle, or sorbet. But they could also work wonders in savory dishes where a sweet, tangy glaze is appropriate – for example, on duck, pork, carrots, or even eel.

Buddha’s Hand

I was introduced to Buddha’s hand by Jocky Petrie, who had been developing recipes with the fruit at The Ledbury. The most amazing thing about Buddha’s hand is its appearance – more like the tentacles of Cthulhu than the fingers of Buddha, I think, but maybe that’s just me. Anyway, it is one of the most striking edible plants I’ve seen, and the flavor ain’t bad, either. It is quite similar to bergamot, but less intense and more lemony.

Uses: Jocky slices the fruit very thinly and pickles it, which is then draped over mackerel – a brilliant application. The Kitchn has some other clever ideas. But of course, since so much of its impact is visual, you may want to keep it as a centrepiece for the table at a dinner party – its appearance and aroma will likely have as much of an effect on diners as its flavor would.

Procimequat

This is the one fruit on this list that I haven’t tried, but it just sounds awesome. One home gardener describes the flavor of this backcrossed kumquat as a mix of ‘celery, lemon, and orange,’ which to me sounds like it would be excellent chopped up into a salsa for fish, or as a garnish for a Martini. The catch: as far as I can tell, it isn’t available commercially. However, it appears to be relatively easy to grow. Let me know if you can track some down.

Uses: The fruit of the procimequat is only the size of a marble, so it would make a cute garnish for seafood dishes or desserts. The herbal citrus flavor would be right at home in a wheat beer, as well.

Honorable mentions: Kaffir lime, oroblanco, shatkora, sweet lime, and bitter orange.

A few weeks ago, the stars aligned in such a way that I was able to indulge in an impromptu trip to Tokyo. The airfare was cheap, both Laura and I had time off, and the yen-pound exchange rate was the best we’d seen for years. We were only in Tokyo for five days – ordinarily, such a short trip is foolish when you consider the base costs, but in this case those costs were so low it seemed silly not to go.

There is, of course, a lot to get excited about in a holiday to Japan. But one of the things I was most looking forward to was the citrus fruit, which is in season right now. Japanese citrus fruits are more varied than what we typically find in the UK, and in my opinion, more delicious. I was particularly hopeful about the prospect of buying some dekopon, the one true King of Oranges. Actually a hybrid tangerine from Kumamoto, it looks cool, peels easily, rarely has seeds, and has a flavor like orange Crush spiked with preserved lime. It’s candy-sweet but with an effervescent tartness. It is the Platonic ideal of an orange.

Happily, it was easy for me to find dekopon, along with a huge range of other citrus including Japanese kumquats, sudachi limes, banpeiyu pomelos, hyuganatsu grapefruits, and of course, the famous yuzu. Yuzu is one of my favorite flavors in Japanese gastronomy, and I’m not alone. It’s currently sweeping the nation with its intriguing aroma and balanced acidity – Waitrose now sells pure yuzu juice, Sainsbury’s sells a yuzu juice blend, and seemingly every week a new microbrewery announces they’ve got a yuzu beer in the tanks. It’s a good time to be a yuzuphile.

But the problem is, it’s still virtually impossible to get fresh yuzu here. The juice has become common, and you can find the dried or frozen peel at Japanese supermarkets, but no fresh fruit. Which is a shame, because the best way to use yuzu is to harness the volatile aromas in its peel, aromas that seem to dissipate almost entirely in processing. I had several meals in Tokyo that featured yuzu, and I was amazed at just how little grated fresh peel you need to flavor an entire dish – a pinch is all it takes to lift a bowl of soymilk soup, or a scallop dumpling, or a grilled prawn. Determined to harness the power of fresh yuzu in my own cooking, I piled half a dozen of them into my suitcase and took them home.

There’s just one snag: you actually need so little yuzu peel to add flavor food that I am having trouble getting through them all before they go off. So today, I figured I would try to preserve what I had left, but in a way that won’t prematurely vaporize or break down its aroma. Here’s what I came up with.

Yuzu Oil

To fully understand what I was dealing with, I first dissected the yuzu to taste each of its individual parts separately: peel, pith, pulp, and seeds. The seeds were noxiously bitter and horrible so that’s the last I’ll mention of them. The peel, as I knew, was tender, oily, and aromatic. But interestingly, the pith was also quite good – unlike most citrus, it wasn’t very bitter. It was almost kind of sweet. It had a spongy texture and a light acidity and was overall very pleasant, which is fortunate, because there is a lot of it.

I took about half the peel and pith (38g in total) and julienned it, then simply muddled it into 380g of rapeseed oil. Right now the oil has already picked up some of the yuzu’s lemony zip. The hope is that over the course of a week or so, more of the yuzu’s compounds will infuse into the oil. It can then be strained and drizzled onto soups or used in light dressings. Now we play the waiting game.

Salted Yuzu Paste

One of my favorite yuzu products is yuzu-kosho, a paste made from pounding yuzu peel, hot chillies, and salt together. The mixture is typically matured before using, so that the flavors to meld together. I think it is one of the most delicious condiments in the world, at once salty, tart, and spicy. Its aroma is strongly evergreen, almost woody. The only problem is that it is hot, and there are often dishes to which I’d like to add a yuzu-kosho aroma without the yuzu-kosho heat. So I wondered if I could make a kosho-free yuzu-kosho, a yuzu-nosho, if you will. I finely diced the remaining pith and peel (31g) and bashed it to an oily paste with 10% its weight in salt (3.1g). I am going to let it rest at room temperature for at least a week before using, and I suspect it will improve over time.

Yuzu Tincture

With the pith and peel squared away, I was left with the yuzu’s spongy, seedy pulp. I squeezed out as much juice as I could – only a tablespoon or so from the whole fruit, which goes to show why the juice is so expensive – and stopped myself before throwing the squeezed-out membranes in the bin. This was the bitterest part of the yuzu, but that doesn’t mean it’s not useful. Not knowing when I would next be able to get my hands on a fresh yuzu, I decided to try and salvage this as well. I put it in a jar and poured over some vodka. I shook it up, and now I’ll wait for few days. With a little luck I will have a bitter and aromatic infusion to flavor light, citrus-friendly cocktails like sidecars, Vespers, and gimlets.

I will report back in a week or two on how everything is tasting. Working with the fresh yuzu has made me think about other citrus as well – ordinary stuff, the stuff we take for granted. If my oil, paste, and bitters turn out as intended, I may never waste another shred of citrus again.