Okra
I first gave up on okra when, at age 7, I found out that it’s known as “lady fingers.” Though an adventurous eater, I had no interest in cannibalism. This weekend, though, I couldn’t turn down my grandma’s homegrown fried okra recipe. If you’re going to give a veggie a second chance, I figured, a grandmother’s kitchen magic is the only way to go. Here’s how it went.
Setting the scene
Okra originated in Northeast Africa; it’s valued for its edible unripe seed pods. The seeds can be dehydrated and ground, and in some regions, are used as a coffee substitute. Okra’s main turnoff is its mucilaginous juice. “Mucilaginous” is a nice way of saying “eerily snot-like.” This quality is actually why okra is used in gumbo; the slime creates the stew’s lovely, thick texture. All clouds have silver linings.
How I cooked it
Every garden has its bumper crop. For my grandmother’s California flowerbed this year, it’s a 7-foot-tall okra plant. With its demure yellow blossoms, it resembles a sunflower, except for the unripe seed pods (the okra themselves) sprouting at the base of each leaf.
We picked 20 of the smaller ones — they taste better — and chopped them into half-inch pieces. My grandmother likes to bread and fry them using her friend Bill’s method: Stir the okra with one egg white, then toss in a paper bag with a handful each of flour and cornmeal. Add salt and pepper to taste, as well as any spice you prefer. Paprika, onion or garlic powder, chili powder and — if you have state pride — even Old Bay are all great options.
Once the okra are coated, fry them for five minutes in a pan of vegetable oil until golden brown. Spooning them onto a paper towel to cool helps siphon off the grease. If you chop the okra fairly small and fry thoroughly, there will be almost no mucus, leaving room to enjoy their delicious crunchy texture.
What else can I do with it?
Okra patties make for a more substantial side dish. You can also roast the pods for a healthier option or make this vegetarian masala-stuffed okra if you’re feeling fancy.
