I've always poached shrimp in the conventional way: in a pot of simmering court bouillon. Sometimes I poach it in butter or olive oil, but then, that's confit, isn't it? Same with sous vide.
Recently, I was shown a different method by a culinary student at the restaurant, who learned it from another chef. His way is with residual heat. Instead of cooking the shrimp in the simmering broth, boiling broth is poured over the shrimp that's been spread out in a hotel pan. The pan is immediately covered tightly with plastic wrap and set aside. Depending on the size and quantity of the shrimp, it takes 10-15 minutes until they are perfectly cooked. What I like about this countertop cooking is that they are never tough or overcooked.
Peeling and deveining shrimp is a time consuming task. Sometimes, I buy them already deveined, but always with their shells on for flavor. Decapods (ten-footed crustaceans) carry their intestines on what appears to be their backs, but are actually their bellies. To remove the intestinal tract, the flesh along the belly must be slit open, leaving thin flaps that I find visually distracting when presenting them whole. These long, thin filaments peel away easily and are tasty morsels, though they rarely accumulate in quantities that would comprise a meal. These trimmings— the rare and esoteric by-products of cooking— are the cook's reward.
I think what I like best about Thai food is the balance of sweet, salty, tart, spicy and umami. Nowhere
is this best exemplified than in the sweet-sour garlic dipping sauce Nahm Jeem Plah Pao Ubon— a lively combination of lime juice, palm sugar, thai chilies, garlic, and fish sauce. It's an alarm clock of a sauce— it awakens the senses, makes you sit up and pay attention. I prefer it over cocktail sauce as a dip for poached shrimp. It's delicious poured over hot, grilled fish or steamed rice. In hot weather, I drizzle it over icy-cold watermelon or freeze it and rake it with a fork for a refreshing granita. It's so good that I could drink it, and I do—diluted with sparkling water and sometimes in a sake cocktail.
Using kaffir lime juice brings it to a whole other level, adding complex floral notes along with a bracing acidity.
I wanted to use it with the shrimp bellies and rice noodles in a cold salad, but because it is so thin, I was having a hard time getting the sauce to cling to it. It's not such a bad thing having a pool of it in the bottom of the dish to slurp up, but I was looking for a cleaner presentation. Of course, I could've thickened it with xanthan or ultratex, but looking at the rice noodles, I realized that they were the perfect vehicle to carry the flavor. With a nod to an entirely different cuisine— Italian— and the dish Spaghetti All'Ubriaco, where pasta is cooked in red wine, I cooked the rice stick noodles in the sauce. Infused with the flavor of Nahm Jeem Plah Pao Ubon, the noodles 'dressed' the salad neatly and cleanly.
Nahm Jeem Plah Pao Ubon
parts are by volume, not weight
3 parts nam plah (fish sauce)
2 parts water
2 parts palm sugar (or brown sugar)
1 part finely minced garlic
1 part minced fresh thai bird chili, or 1/2 part dried
3 parts fresh kaffir lime juice
Place all ingredients except for lime juice in a saucepan and bring to a simmer. When the sugar is dissolved, remove from heat and add the lime juice.
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