Sriracha - it seems to me that this chili sauce of Thai origin is becoming ever more ubiquitous, moving beyond Southeast Asian restaurants to show up at burger joints, food carts, swanky bars, and even on the communal food cabinet at my office. The sauce clearly has some devoted enthusiasts, inspiring an Oatmeal comic and even an attempt at a documentary.
It's been a bit of an adjustment for me, having been accustomed to seeing the rooster-branded bottles only at the houses of relatives or family friends, or on the shelves of the local Asian supermarket, but for my part, I had grown up avoiding "Rooster sauce," and never saw the appeal. I've never been a fan of condiments or pre-made sauces, and to me, Sriracha belonged in the same class of anathema as ketchup, mustard, mayo, hoisin, peanut sauce, or anything else usually found in a little plastic packet or squeeze bottle. There was just something off about its far-too-vibrant-to-be-natural color, its suspiciously smooth texture, saturated in preservatives, no doubt.
And then I discovered Rooster brand chili-and-garlic paste. It was similar to the homemade paste my mother made, but much more accessible (you can't plant that many chili peppers in a New York window box!). I added it to stir-fries. Pastas. Curries. It added garlic and kick, elements I incorporate into much of my cooking, with a fraction of the effort. Heading down the Slippery Slope of Convenience Cooking, I had to admit, as so many of my friends proclaimed, that Sriracha made lots of things better. I found myself thinking, "Oh, Sriracha, where have you been all my life?" as I dug into a suitably garlicky and spicy kale-and-tortellini dish for lunch.
Right there in front of me, of course. Fine, Rooster sauce, you win. I do like you.
I'm still not taking up ketchup, though.
