It’s always a little concerning when you start out deep-frying and by the end you’re very nearly sauteing. Where does that extra oil go? You used the whole bottle, after all. While, to be fair, it wasn’t a very big bottle to begin with, it allegedly contained 32 servings, each of which had 22% of one’s daily fat intake. Just over a week’s worth of fat, gone.
I’ve always thought that to be one of life’s many mysteries, such as why the economy sucks, the difference between Democrats and Republicans, and which came first, the chicken or the tactical nuclear warhead. But nonetheless, on the occasions that the urge to deep-fry strikes, one can’t help but wonder. It’s not quite ineffable, but that’s not to say you should eff with it.
I’ve written previously about deep frying, and the perils and pitfalls it seems to hold – most notably, my tendency to eat all of it while I’m cooking. I’m a moderately accomplished experimental chef, and I can make a fairly acceptable vegetable tempura. Great. Problem is, I have squirrel cheeks, wherein I try to store it all for the winter. This always ends badly, and in fact, it usually starts and continues badly as well.
It seems to me that the safest way to make tempura is to make it for others. In my experience, the quantity of homemade tempura consumed at any given time seems to be inversely proportional to the number of people eating it. Unfortunately, as the number of gourmands decreases, the quantity approaches infinity, at which point it gets a rather severe bellyache and has to go lie down. …Presumably on its Tempurapedic mattress.
In the end, is it worth it? I say no, not unless you have mastered the art of eating better than I. You’re thinking Tempura Mattata, but it always turns out Tempura Buarana.