Occidental couple’s recipe for chili crisp sauce has a devoted fan base
At the height of the pandemic, Lani Chan and Nate Bender packed their truck with their belongings, their cats and a dozen citrus trees and moved home, to California.
It’s probably safe to say that during that trek from Brooklyn, New York, they didn’t envision themselves spending every Tuesday in a rented kitchen space in Occidental’s Altamont General Store, making their own brand of chili crisp.
But in the past couple years, the pair, who also run their own video and photo production studio, have developed a devoted following for their take on the condiment that has its origins in Sichuan cuisine and has become a fixture on tables across China, along with soy sauce and black vinegar, the way ketchup or hot sauce is here.
For those unfamiliar with chili crisp, a few whiffs of Bender frying shallots while Chan pours a complex blend of spices into a large bowl, readying it for a rendezvous with the sizzling-hot shallot oil, will entice you to make Big Spoon Sauce Co.’s acquaintance.
Layers of flavor
Bender grew up in a winemaking family in the Sierra Foothills, which is also where he got the seeds for those well-traveled citrus trees.
He took a winemaker’s approach to recipe development, looking for complexity of flavor with an emphasis on texture.
Their original chili crisp is crunchy and nutty with a mild, tingling heat from Sichuan peppercorns. In addition to peanuts and roasted garlic, they layer in smoky and sweet flavors with four varieties of dried ground chiles. Although the sauce has a mild kick, it’s not the type of heat that leaves you gasping for water.
“It wasn’t until my mom was eating it straight out of the jar with a spoon that we got the name ‘Big Spoon,’” Bender said. “My dad likes to dip bread in it like it’s a bougie olive oil.”
They also make two other versions of the crisp. Dragon’s Booty is a spicier, habanero-laced version of the original, with citrus zest added, and Magic Beans is a mellow umami-rich blend made with fermented soybeans, a nod to Chan’s Cantonese heritage.
While all three sauces are delicious for dressing a plate of dumplings or adding to steamed whole fish for next week’s Lunar New Year celebrations, the pair find the possibilities for their sauces are nearly endless.
They’re a constant companion to steamy bowls of jook, a rice porridge the couple often eats for breakfast. A friend from the farmers’ market drizzles it on savory oatmeal.
“It’s the same vibe,” Chan said. “It’s so good on porridges because it adds crunch and bite to something that’s soft.”
The sauces play well with tacos, pasta and avocado toast. Some even use it to top ice cream.
“We’ve discovered grilled cheese sandwiches work insanely well with it,” Bender said.
Chan agreed.
“I’ve never eaten so many grilled cheese sandwiches in my life,” she said.
They even did a pop-up at Psychic Pie in Sebastopol with their sauces, proving their worth as a pizza topping, too.
Origins of an obsession
“People often assume that I’m the reason that we do this, because at the market I’m visibly Chinese and Nate is not,” said Chan, who grew up in San Rafael.
Quite the opposite is true.
After they met in Columbia Journalism School’s documentary film program and hit it off, they spent much of their dating life bouncing among New York City’s boroughs, chasing dishes Bender discovered while living and traveling throughout China for the better part of his 20s. The tingling, numbing heat of Sichuan cuisine was a particular favorite of his.
“I’ve always been keen on spicy,” Bender said. “I grew up in a house where spicy challenges were pretty normal because my dad grew chiles. (If there was one) he didn’t know what to do with, he’d just make it a challenge.”
They never intended to start a company when they began making chili crisp at home in New York for fun.
“I think we were just obsessed with it and wanted to have a house recipe,” Chan said.
“So much of this was meant to supply our own addiction,” Bender added.
They initially gifted test batches to friends and family. But in early 2021, as hate crimes against Asian Americans dominated headlines, Chan and Bender were horrified and desperate to do something.
Chan posted on Instagram that they were selling jars of their chili crisp as a fundraiser for organizations that support the Asian American Pacific Islander community. They expected to sell just to family and friends, but total strangers who saw the post ordered, too. In less than two weeks, they had raised $1,500.
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