Slimey Delicious.

If you don't like okra, turn away now...or be brave, dive in, and revel in the delicious slime. So good (worth getting to like even if you are a decidedly non-lover of okra).

Some people don’t like okra, I know, I know, if you’re an okra-lover like myself its hard to believe, to understand: whats not to like? Its flavour is unique, vegetal, unlike any other vegetable I can think of, and that sublime slime-y-quality adds an extra textural dimension to the little green pod.

If you are an okra lover, you probably already have your favourite okra recipes: Greek (stewed with tomatoes, onions, garlic and lots of olive oil), Indian, stewed with spices, West African mafe of okra, spices and peanuts, or sliced okra dipped into chickpea flour or batter and fried to crispness. Then there is gumbo, a super-savoury, soupy stew of chicken/shellfish/sausage/duck/your choice, given texture with either sassafrass (from the bark of the root beer-ish tasting sassafrass tree) or with okra. In fact, its name gumbo is said to have come from an African language word: gombo, meaning: okra.

I grew up eating gumbo even though we had no connections to New Orleans, or Africa; I just knew I loved the super-savoury soup with its little nuggets of weird vegetable that, when sliced thinly crosswise, looked like little flowers or blossoms. As an adult, each time I stick my spoon into a bowl of any kind of gumbo, I feel shuckles of delight, remembering how I loved it, then, and love it still. So good. If it is like my childhood gumbo—from a can—or the exquisite, complex gumbo of the McEllhenny kitchen at the Tabasco sauce family compound in Avery Island, Louisianna, or an okra-laden gumbo in my own kitchen when I am lucky enough to find okra at the market.

If you are not an okra lover, turn away, and be assured that my next newsletter will probably be an okra-free zone. I mean: while I might not understand it, I do get that not everyone likes okra. I have seen it for myself: for instance, once at a lunch and wine tasting at a vineyard in Yantai, China, the menu was meant to balance out Western and Eastern sensibilities, focusing on combinations to match with wine.

It was okra season, and one course was simply stir fried okra. I was thrilled. None of the other westerners at the winery table seemed happy. I was, as an okra-lover, ecstatic. After I gobbled up my okra, looked up and down the long table, and incredulously saw face after face, offering me their plates of okra. How could they not love it? I accepted their plates, I hope gracefully. So while everyone else was busy with the other courses, the richly sauced pork, the crisp spicy lotus root, the poached chicken and mushrooms, I was happy to submerge myself into the garden freshness of okra: no sauce, simply its unique self. Which wine to go with the okra? (the object of our food and wine tasting/pairing): I think it was some sort of Sauvignon Blanc?

Anyhow, okra is surprisingly (to me, at first) very popular in China, where seasonality is a crucial ingredient; if its cucumber season, you’ll find all manner of cukes, from salads to stir fries, big ones to tiny teeny little cukes still attached to their blossom so adorable you might not be able to eat them. During watermelon season, its hard to find another fruit, at least one so juicy and sweet and available. And so, in okra season, you’ll find okra. Okra. And more okra. In season look at your plate: I bet there is okra there.

Once, in Shanghai, jet-lagged, alone in an out of the way restaurant where no one spoke English, pointing to photos on the menu as a way of ordering dinner. I looked okra, because I always do, but I didn’t see it. The photos were enticing but it was hard to figure out exactly what everything was. I saw a plate of greens and that was what I pointed to. Magic prevailed: it turned out to be okra, in a chile crisp-ish sauce, which was exactly what I wanted.

If you don’t cook okra often, you might think: what should I do with this? Make gumbo? Stew it? Fry it into a pile of crispy, spicy-hot fritters?

It all seems a bit like an effort; by that I mean: those are big dishes. Maybe I don’t want to make a big dish. Maybe I want to just eat something simple and tasty (I often do).

So these okra dishes are simple, so simple. No meal planning involved, because as little salads/pickles, they can accompany almost any meal. I had some of the Chile Crisp Okra for breakfast piled on top of avocado toast this morning.

Basically: you have two recipes in one. Blanching, which I think is the key here, gives the okra a crisp-tender, almost raw but just tender enough to offer up its unique flavour.

Both start by blanching the halved pods, then dressing it in either a small amount of salt and vinegar, or a small amount of salt and vinegar, then a few spoonfuls of Chile Crunch, from a jar, including some of its oil.

Lightly pickled Okra:

No amounts: you don’t need them. Simply trim the top, stem part, then slice each okra pod into halves, lengthwise. Blanch for a minute or less in boiling water, remove and rinse in cold water. It should be fresh and bright green, not exactly raw but not exactly cooked either.

Sprinkle with salt, then sprinkle with vinegar—today I used a combination of garlic vinegar and Chinese black vinegar, but really: the choice is yours. White wine vinegar or rice vinegar are favourites of mine.

Thats it. Leave for a few hours, and it will be good and pickle itself a little bit more each day. Serve on a small plate to go with whatever meal feels like it needs a hit of pickled okra! You’ll probably eat it up soon—I find myself nibbling each time I am in the vicinity of the refrigerator. But last time I did have leftovers, and as I needed to bring something to a potluck, added the okra. All the happy eaters were asking: what IS this in the pasta salad? So good!

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Chile Crisp Okra

Blanch and rinse/cool the okra as above. Sprinkle with vinegar and soy sauce, then spoon Chile Crisp generously on top.

Eat alongside steamed rice, and almost anything grilled; in Shanghai I had it with a batter-fried river fish in a sweet savoury sauce. So perfect with the okra and its sour hot-spicy dressing.

Leftovers? Tuck a few into a homemade banh mi, instead of the usual pickles and sliced chillies. I’m thinking also: maybe thread some onto long toothpicks and plop into a bloody Mary? Or a Martini?

Anyhow, when faced with a big beautiful pile of okra, and can’t make up your mind what to do with it: simmer, braise, stew, soup, fry: don’t fret. I get the same way: these dishes all take commitment. To avoid the big decision—I suggest: just make a bowl of okra pickles. You’ll never go wrong with pickles, and okra, and if you are a hater, these pickles just might win you over.

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