The mention of peanut sauce typically excites cravings for satay, for dishes from Thailand or China — or anywhere in southeast Asia, for that matter.
Other regions, however, lay claim to their own style of peanut sauce. Take pollo encacahuate, considered comforted food in Veracruz. Or the barbecue sauce peculiar to Virginia, prepared from tomato and vinegar laced with a little peanut butter.
And then there is Bevins Street.
Yes, the peanut sauce conjured by O’Meara Bros. chef Jerry Phillips could be considered a distinct style.
There is none of the heavy, hearty character, no traces of Skippy or Jif. Instead, the sauce offers a clever balance of earthy and mellow within which traces of sweetness fence with a modestly bitter heat — a deft action with more parry than thrust. A lighter, fruity edge balances the dense savor, allowing subtle herbal notes to flutter in.
His secret?
“There is no secret,” Phillips said. “It’s just something I’ve been developing for a long time.”
While a typical peanut sauce starts with the thick paste known as peanut butter, with soy sauce, brown sugar, spice and perhaps lime or hoisin, the Phillips first creates a ponzu, brightened with orange, lime and lemon. He allows this thin, sharp sauce to cure before introducing heavier elements. The peanut sauce is a two-day process.
“The ponzu balances it out,” he explained. “That’s the goal. You can taste everything.”
For the shrimp tacos at O’Meara Bros. Brewing Company, Phillips also gives the shellfish a toss in his ponzu. The bite of soy and citrus provides depth, complementing the shrimp’s natural sweetness, as well as the rumble of earthiness too often muted by less careful chefs.
Battered and fried until a crisp patina develops, the shrimp become a perfect foil for the peanut sauce.
Phillips takes a minimalist approach to the tacos — just shrimp, sauce and a tumble of Napa cabbage. The shreds of cabbage (with cilantro and mint) lend a crunch, but also a faint horseradish nip that stirs the embers of heat in the sauce.
It’s a study in simplicity. If he stuffed the tacos with onions, cheese and other elements, the By keeping it simple, he allows the tenuous notes of sweetness, citrus, heat and herbs would turn and scatter into the vague distance.
So the tacos are also a study in nuance. While there is an overall impression of mellow earthiness, ribbons of salt, heat, sweetness, zest and more lace through both the sauce and the shrimp, creating something harmonious.
Harmony suits the chef.
“I think in terms of music,” Phillips said. “A dish needs lower notes and higher notes.”
In this case, he considers the shrimp tossing in ponzu as a falsetto, the peanut sauce as baritone and the cabbage and herbs as tenor.
“It all works together,” he said.
Ah, but the sauce — that still takes the spotlight. It’s in a category of its own.
