Once upon a time, I used to have a bottle of Teriyaki Sauce that was two-thirds full.  It lived in my refrigerator for at least two years.  Somehow, the inspiration that caused me to buy it in the first place never visited my kitchen again, and eventually I threw it out.

Since visiting in Japan, teriyaki flavor comes to mind more frequently.  Consultation with my expert in the field (that would be Ethan, who has a most discerning palate and a very clever wife) has led me to believe that I can make teriyaki sauce with better flavor, and a better relationship to its origins than ‘stuff in a bottle’. “Teriyaki” refers to traditionally marinated, grilled meat or fish. “Yaki” means cooked or grilled (or, as Ethan reminds me, burnt, actually) and according to Wiki, the “Teri” part refers to the glossy finish of the grilled marinated meat caused by the sugar and mirin in the glaze.

The essential ingredients in the sauce for teriyaki are soy sauce, mirin, sake and some kind of sugar (brown, white or honey).  Garlic and ginger often appear in recipes, and I even found one that included onion, but only ginger seems to be universally required –garlic is not a very central player in Japanese cuisine.  I think in Japan, teriyaki ingredients depend on what your mother used to do, or what your own palate dictates.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t keep sake on hand.  While some recipes suggest dry sherry as a substitute, I don’t keep that on hand either.  I always have mirin and rice wine vinegar in the cupboard – they never spoil, and they are both multi-taskers, useful in marinades, vinaigrettes and soups.  Mirin is Japanese cooking wine, and stands in quite well for sake when combined with rice wine vinegar.  You can’t beat the subtle flavor saki adds to the sauce, however, so if you can keep your kids from spontaneously sharing cross-cultural experiences, try to keep a small bottle hidden in the fridge.

Teriyaki sauce was originally reduced by simmering until the desired thickness and glazing ability was achieved.  The practice of thickening the ingredients with cornstarch is a kitchen short-cut, good for stir-frying but not my personal choice – you have to make a slurry, which makes another dirty bowl and spoon, and then you run the risk of over-thickening, thinning, then thickening again ad nauseum to get the right texture. Also, cornstarch burns, whereas sugar carmelizes, so glazing with a sauce that doesn’t contain cornstarch sounds like a better idea to me.

While you can make a big batch of your own teriyaki sauce and keep it sealed and cold, I don’t want to have a leftover bottle in my refrigerator door ever again.  I make just what I need, use it all up while the flavors are fresh, and enjoy both a clean conscience and a clean fridge.

OPTIONS:

As always, this recipe is just a guideline – taste your sauce and adjust it to your liking.  I like my food to be a little spicy, so I add a small squirt of sriracha sauce or some chili flakes to my teriyaki sauce (shockingly unconventional).  I like a couple of drops of sesame oil too.  You may prefer a sweeter sauce, in which case feel free to add a bit more sugar or honey.  You can used reduced-sodium soy sauce.  If you love garlic and/or ginger, by all means increase the amounts until you arrive at deliciousness.  I believe fresh garlic and ginger provide the best flavor, but dried (or minced in a tube) will do if you don’t have fresh on hand.  If you feel the sauce is missing a little something, I’ll bet it needs a touch of acid – try a squeeze of lemon or a little more rice wine vinegar.

By the way – if you choose your soy sauce with care (read the lable to eliminate those that contain wheat), your home-made teriyaki sauce will be gluten-free, vegetarian, and even vegan if you don’t use honey.

Now you have choices.

You can barbeque.  Preheat and oil your grill, and cook until done, glazing just at the end of the cooking process.

You can use a stove-top grill pan or large frying pan.  Preheat it, oil it lightly, and sear your protein on both sides using medium high heat.  Reduce the heat and glaze frequently while finishing the cooking process.  I often lightly tent my my protein with foil while it finishes cooking to provide a slightly more moist environment.

You can roast in the toaster oven at 400°F. Brush with glaze during the last five minutes of roasting.

If you have a smoker, you can hot-smoke your choice.  I don’t know how long it will take because everything is so variable, but if you use the guidelines below for internal temperature, you’ll get a delicious result.  When I do a big batch of chicken, it takes a bit more than an hour.  Salmon is faster.

How will you know when it’s done?  If your piece of meat is thick (like a small beef tenderloin or a piece of pork tenderloin), use a meat thermometer – there’s really no other way to tell.  I like medium rare beef (no more than 135°F internal temperature in the middle), and I like my pork to remain pink in the centre as well (140°F).  Chicken should cook to an internal temperature of 160°F at its thickest point.  A thick piece of salmon or other fish can be checked for doneness by poking it with a fork, giving a bit of a twist to see if it’s flaking nicely, and peeking to see if it’s done to your liking in the middle.  I like to stop while the interior is still quite rare (125 – 130°F), but you may wish to cook until it’s opaque all the way through (145°F).  Cook shrimp until just nicely pink — it will finish while you glaze it.

No matter what you cook, don’t forget to let it rest for at least 5 minutes (loosely tented with foil) before serving, so all the juices don’t run out onto the plate when you cut into it.  Those juices need time to thicken every so slightly, and the muscle fibres need a chance to relax and hold onto them. “Carryover Cooking”, which happens during this rest time, will make sure that “rare” isn’t “raw”.

Give your Teriyaki a final brush with sauce, and serve with pride.