Once again, captivated by a food story in the New York Times.
Today it was about my favorite hot sauce, Sriracha. It's Asian, but it's made in Southern California. It's peppery but not too. It's garlicky, and yum.
Some people call it Rooster Sauce because of the image printed on the bottle, but the rooster simply happens to be the birth sign of its manufacturer, David Tran. (There are also shark, unicorn, and other logos on other brands; must try.)
Since I first discovered Sriracha, back in the 1980s, I've been putting it on tostadas, which are not Asian at all, though they happen to thrive under a squizzle of garlic-chile sauce.
But back in the 80s, Sriracha was hard to find. You might have wanted to resort to stealing a bottle of it off the table in a Vietnamese restaurant, but good manners prevented you. You remember visiting a friend who lived in a seamy South of Market loft, next door to an Asian market, and hoping it was still open so you could dash over and buy some. (It wasn't. Your friend tended to entertain rather late at night, past business hours.)
Eventually Sriracha became more widely available, and I've had some in the fridge ever since.
Yes. You actually do get to the bottom of a bottle now and then.
I did my best today, by drizzling some all over tostadas for lunch.
My lips are hot.