Katsu Sando (Japanese Breaded Pork or Chicken Cutlet Sandwich)

Japan’s iconic katsu sando features a fried pork or chicken cutlet, finely sliced green cabbage, tonkatsu sauce, all neatly packed between two pillowy slices of Japanese milk bread.

Side view of katsu sandow
Serious Eats / Two Bites

At the beginning of 2023, at the height of its popularity, the Los Angeles restaurant Konbi shuttered its doors. Konbi had become a social media sensation, buoyed by the popularity of its maddeningly photogenic versions of Japanese cafe foods like egg sandos and multi-layered croissants. But of all of its offerings, few were more iconic than Konbi’s pork katsu (cutlet) sandwich. The uniform finger sandwiches developed a cult following, with patrons lining out the door for a chance to savor that timeless combination of fried pork cutlet, milk bread, cabbage, and sauce.

Overhead view of assembling katsu sando
Serious Eats / Two Bites

Konbi didn’t invent the katsu sando. The sandwich has been around since at least the 1930s, when the manager of the Japan’s tonkatsu restaurant Isen sought a more portable and convenient format for the cutlet. In Japan these days the sandwich is prevalent throughout the country—you can even find a katsu sando at 7-eleven (some might argue that this is the greatest version of the sandwich).

The construction of the sandwich is simple: A fried pork or chicken cutlet, finely sliced green cabbage, tonkatsu sauce, kewpie mayonnaise (sometimes), all neatly packed between two pillowy slices of Japanese milk bread. So how do you make one at home? Is there some secret sauce? (Hint: There is, in fact, a secret sauce.)

Rather than attempting to put some new spin on a classic, here I focus on execution. So let’s go layer by layer, starting with the most important part: the katsu.

The Katsu (Cutlet)

The katsu portion of the sandwich makes or breaks it—it’s in the name, after all. The cutlet’s fried exterior should be crisp, light, golden brown,and slightly yielding; while the meat should remain juicy, be uniform in thickness, and well seasoned. Most recipes call for breading the cutlets in store-bought, Japanese-style dry panko. And while this method produces a serviceable cutlet, I’m never quite satisfied with the results: The browning can be spotty and uneven, and it’s never quite as shatteringly crisp as I envision. Just one look at the pros in action confirms it: At the highest level, restaurant versions of katsu are fluffier, crispier, more uniformly golden, and the panko flakes are massive in comparison to store-bought dry panko. So how do they do it?

Overhead view of pork chop
Serious Eats / Two Bites

Nama Panko

The key to restaurant quality katsu lies in using nama panko (fresh panko). Traditionally, panko is made from loaves of enriched bread baked by electrical current, which results in a crustless, white bread. The loaves are staled, then shredded into flakes and dried for long-term storage and transport. For most consumers in the States, this dried panko is what you’ll find in most stores. 

In contrast, nama panko is a specialty product, in which the flakes are left undried, dramatically decreasing their shelf life. But the increased hydration of nama panko carries several benefits. The panko is light and fluffy, and the flakes are large, increasing the available surface area such that, when deep fried, the crust becomes shatteringly crisp. Increased hydration means no hard, dense crumbs to begin with, so the fried flakes take on a more lacy, delicate texture than store-bought dried panko.* The excess moisture in nama panko also insulates the meat slightly, slows down the frying process, protecting the cutlet from overcooking.

*If you’re not convinced, you can try this experiment yourself: Deep fry cubes of fresh bread and fully desiccated, rock hard bread, then compare. You should notice a big difference in the finished texture.

If nama panko is so vastly superior to dried panko, then what’s the catch? Why don’t more people use it? For one, nama panko isn’t shelf stable, so unless you’re ready to use all of it within a few days, then longer term storage becomes an issue. The product is also hard to source outside of Japan. In the States, there aren’t any obvious online sources, and that’s probably because a) there’s not much demand for it and b) the shelf life is so short.

A Solution

While I don’t have access to real nama panko, I can get pretty darn close. I’m fortunate to live by a number of Japanese bakeries, all of which offer shokupan, or Japanese milk bread. So I sliced up a loaf, trimmed the crust, let it stale for a day, then gave the bread a whirl in a food processor. The result? Flaky, shredded, fluffy pieces that coated the cutlets nearly perfectly. The fried crust was delicate, shattery, and blew crusts made from store-bought dried panko out of the water.

Overhead view of panko
Serious Eats / Two Bites

The look and feel of this “nama panko” was almost identical to what I could see online. But the individual flakes were smaller, and a bit uneven—probably due to the brutish, indiscriminate nature of the processor blade. I switched to the grater attachment, and immediately saw improvement. The grated flakes were large, strand-like, and even fluffier than before. And the fried coating? Light, golden brown, impossibly crispy—a worthy facsimile of some of the finest katsu I’ve eaten.

Additional Cutlet Care

Kenji has detailed most considerations when preparing the actual cutlet, but to summarize here:

  • Pork or chicken are the most popular options.
  • Use a fatty cut of pork such as pork sirloin to ensure the meat stays moist; pork loin and shoulder are acceptable; ask for 4- to 5-ounce portions.
  • Chicken thighs can be treated similarly to pork sirloin.
  • Chicken breasts should be salted at least a few hours and up to a day ahead of frying.
  • All meats should be trimmed and pounded to achieve a uniform 1/4 inch thickness. This is especially important for the katsu sandwich, since we want an even layer throughout.

The Cabbage

Cabbage is the go-to accompaniment for katsu, whether served with katsu curry or in a sandwich. The cabbage is sliced into razor-thin threads, and often shocked in ice water to maximize its crisp and crunch. The best way to cut the cabbage (beyond having a sharp knife), is to separate individual leaves from the head, trim out the thick ribs and any non-leafy parts, roll up the leaves, and slice through the roll (this is most similar to a chiffonade). Of course, you could just blast through a head of cabbage with a mandolin. But to get the most uniform, perfect strands, there’s no substitute for careful knife work.

I dress the cabbage in a light sauce of ground toasted sesame seeds, kewpie mayonnaise, rice wine vinegar, and a calculated hit of Dijon mustard. The dressing doesn’t overpower the sandwich, but instead complements the other elements, brightening an otherwise rich and heavy ensemble. And as much as I enjoy raw cabbage in this application, it definitely benefits from the added flavor of the simple dressing.  

The Bread

Most versions of the katsu sandwich feature thick slabs of milk bread. At most, the slices are trimmed of their crust, for the tidy, iconic look of a traditional konbini katsu sando. Whether you trim the ends is up to you. But I’d argue that the crust is generally chewier than the pillowy interior of the milk bread, so if you’re a fan of uniform texture, then trim away. Beyond that, I choose to lightly toast the inner sides of the bread—providing a slight buffer against sogginess from the sauce or juices from the cutlet.

The Sauce

Tonkatsu sauce is essential to the flavor of this sandwich. Of course, you could make your own version of tonkatsu sauce. But in my opinion, there is no substitute for Bull-Dog tonkatsu sauce (and I’m not alone in that camp). Besides, you’ve already put in all that work to dial in the katsu component. Why attempt to overachieve, when the result is arguably inferior? Don’t be a hero.

Kewpie mayonnaise is a subject of debate in the final construction of the sandwich. In my research, I’ve found versions with and without mayonnaise. For example, Konbi’s version omits any mayonnaise. On the other hand, the 7-eleven chicken katsu sandwich includes a light swoop of mayo. At the end of the day, choosing kewpie is your right. Just don’t skimp on the Bull-Dog.

Using a sharp or serrated knife, trim ends of 4 pieces of milk bread so that no crust remains; discard trimmings. Cut trimmed bread lengthwise into 1 1/2-inch thick batons. Using a food processor fitted with the grater attachment, process bread into coarse flakes. Transfer fresh panko flakes to a large, shallow bowl or high-rimmed plate and set aside.

Four image collage of creating bread crumbs
Serious Eats / Two Bites

If Using Chicken Breasts: Slice breast in half horizontally into 2 thin cutlets. Place them, one at a time, in a heavy-duty zipper-lock bag and pound gently to 1/4-inch thickness using a meat pounder or the bottom of a heavy 8-inch skillet. (See this guide for step-by-step directions.) Season generously with salt and pepper. For best results, let them rest in the refrigerator for at least 4 hours and up to overnight after seasoning. Proceed to step 4.

If Using Chicken Thighs or Pork Cutlets: Place thighs or cutlets, one at a time, in a heavy-duty zipper-lock bag and pound gently to 1/4-inch thickness using a meat pounder or the bottom of a heavy 8-inch skillet. Season generously with salt and pepper. Proceed immediately to step 4.

Overhead view of pounding pork
Serious Eats / Two Bites

For the Cabbage: Place cabbage in a salad spinner and cover with ice water. Let cabbage sit until crisp, about 20 minutes. Drain cabbage thoroughly and spin until dry.

Overhead view of cabbage
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Meanwhile, in a mortar or suribachi, add sesame seeds and pound until seeds are coarsely ground, about 30 seconds. Transfer seeds to a large bowl and whisk in mayonnaise, mustard, vinegar, soy sauce, sesame oil, and sugar until combined. Transfer cabbage to large bowl with dressing and toss to combine; Set aside.

Two image collage of crushing seasame seeds and making dressing
Serious Eats / Two Bites

To Fry The Cutlets: Fill a wide, shallow bowl or high-rimmed plate with flour. In a small bowl, whisk eggs and water until smooth, then strain through a fine-mesh strainer into a second shallow bowl or high-rimmed plate. Place flour, egg, and reserved fresh panko next to each other, in order. Working with one thigh or cutlet at a time, dredge in flour with your first hand, shaking off excess. Transfer to egg dish, then turn thigh or cutlet with your second hand to coat both sides. Lift and allow excess egg to drain off, then transfer to fresh panko panko. With your first hand, scoop bread crumbs on top of thigh or cutlet, then gently press, turning to ensure a good layer of crumbs on both sides. Transfer thigh or cutlet to a clean plate and repeat with remaining meat. If this is done properly, your first hand should touch only dry ingredients, while your second hand should touch only wet, making the process less messy.

Four image collage of dredging cutlet
Serious Eats / Two Bites

Fill a Dutch oven or wok with 2 inches of oil. Heat over high heat until oil registers 350°F (175°C) on an instant-read thermometer. Set a wire rack on a rimmed baking sheet, line it with paper towels, and set aside.

Overhead view of oil in dutch oven
Serious Eats / Two Bites

Using tongs or your fingers, gently lower cutlets into Dutch oven, laying them down away from you. Fry, gently rotating cutlets for even browning, and adjusting heat as necessary to maintain temperature around 300 to 325°F; 150 to 160°C, until bottom side is set, about 1 1/2 minutes. Gently flip cutlets and fry until second side is set, about 1 1/2 minutes longer. Continue cooking, basting frequently with a large spoon and flipping occasionally, until well browned on both sides, about 3 minutes longer. Transfer to prepared baking sheet to drain and season on both sides with salt. Let rest for 5 minutes.

Four image collage of frying cutlets
Serious Eats / Two Bites

To Assemble Sandwiches: In a 12-inch nonstick skillet, melt 2 tablespoons butter over medium heat until just melted. Add 2 slices milk bread and cook, swirling bread around pan frequently, until toasted evenly on one bottom, about 3 minutes. Transfer bread, toasted side up, to cutting board. Repeat with remaining butter and remaining 2 slices of milk bread.

Bread after being toasted
Serious Eats / Two Bites

Spread thin layer of mayonnaise (if using) on toasted side of bread slices. Top 2 of the bread slices with one cutlet each and drizzle with tonkatsu sauce. Place a handful of dressed cabbage on the sauced cutlet, making sure to wring excess moisture from cabbage before placing. Top with remaining bread slices, mayo side down. If desired, trim left and right ends from the sandwich, then slice in half. Serve.

Four image collage of assembling sando
Serious Eats / Two Bites

Special Equipment

Dutch oven or wok, rimmed baking sheet, 12-inch nonstick skillet

Notes

If you can’t find Japanese milk bread, you can substitute it with thick slices of white bread or pain de mie.

While you can certainly make your own tonkatsu sauce, many, including myself, would argue that there’s no substitute for Bull-Dog brand sauce.

If your food processor does not have a grater attachment, you can simply process the bread using the normal blade. The panko flakes will not be as large, but will still produce a great cutlet.

Make-Ahead and Storage

Homemade fresh panko flakes can be refrigerated in an airtight container for up to 5 days.

For a Better Bacon, Egg, and Cheese Sandwich, Go Square

A basketweave of crisp bacon and cheesy bodega-style eggs are served square on a bulky roll for the bacon-iest, cheesiest BEC ever.

BEC hero
Serious Eats/Amanda Suarez

Whether you get yours at a deli, from a coffee shop, or just make it at home, the bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich checks all the boxes: Protein, fat, carbs. Salty, rich, gooey, crispy. And above all, a good BEC is deeply satisfying—a welcome cure for everything from a hangover to heartbreak.    

Do you need a recipe for a breakfast sandwich? Maybe not. But it might behoove you to consider some careful approaches to build a better bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich which will improve your BEC game.

The Making of an Icon: The Key Components for a Great BEC

BEC headnote 1
Serious Eats/Amanda Suarez

Everything about the experience of eating a BEC should be easy: Easy to understand, easy to eat, and fairly easy to make. As a breakfast item, it should ease you into and power your day—a sure, dependable experience.

I’m not here to reinvent the wheel. A classic demands simplicity. No blatant gimmicks, no sous vide, no baked egg, no artisanal sourdough, no dry-aged, house-cured pork belly confit. The ingredients should be accessible to all, because the BEC is for everyone.

The key to a great bacon egg and cheese, therefore, lies in its precise execution. In my opinion, the ideal BEC has the following basic features:

  • Fully rendered, crispy strips of bacon
  • A griddled, bodega-style egg
  • Melty cheese (but not too much)
  • A griddled roll

Its layers should exist in balance. Not too much bun, not too little bacon, not a mountain of eggs so thick you can barely manage to get your teeth around the thing. You should be able to taste each component with every bite. More simply put, the sandwich should eat well. To ensure this, every component should be more or less the same size and shape. The fillings should neither overwhelm the bread nor be overwhelmed by it, which requires scaling them to each other, because who wants all bun, no filling? Or too much filling, and no bun? Again, balance and precision. 

Now let’s go deeper.

The Bacon

BEC headnote photo 2
Serious Eats/Amanda Suarez

Bacon plays multiple roles in this sandwich. It’s crispy, it’s salty, it’s savory, and it imparts richness. It’s a major player and we want to make sure it's in every bite. To guarantee this I employ a bacon weave, which offers maximum coverage and stability in the sandwich. As Kenji notes, a weave won’t fall apart with each bite, or fall out of the sides as you’re eating. Plus, its square shape ensures that you get some bacon with every bite. And best of all, it’s the most efficient way (i.e. the best excuse) to cram six slices of bacon in this bad boy. 

The bacon weave is assembled and  baked on a sheet tray. Baking is an efficient method for rendering fat evenly and crisping the bacon at a uniform rate.

Finally, where does the bacon actually go? I tried top, middle, and bottom positions relative to the egg and cheese. Keeping the bacon at the bottom produced far and away the best eating experience. Think about it: As your incisors pierce the top bun, they traverse through the pillowy egg, the gooey cheese, and finally hit a bit of crisp and crunch in a sturdy bacon layer before meeting your bottom teeth. That progression of textures is logical, and at the end of the day, it’s just a satisfying experience.

The Egg

BEC headnote photo 3
Serious Eats/Amanda Suarez

No doubt, there are multiple avenues for egg cookery here. You could go fried, scrambled, or even baked. But here I stick with a tried-and-true classic: The NYC bodega-style egg.Why? It’s fairly approachable, and it gives the opportunity to fold the egg mixture into a square shape as it's cooking (the same dimensions as the bacon layer). 

This style of egg is born of short-order bodega cooks making these sandwiches for speed, cracking the whole eggs directly onto the griddle, piercing the yolk and doing an only partial scramble so that yolk and whites are semi-distributed but not well mixed. The result is a thinner sheet of egg instead of a taller pile of scrambled curds, which allows for a firmer texture of separately cooked whites and yolks so the egg holds together when you eat instead of squishing out the sides like scrambled eggs tend to.  

Don’t be tempted to add cream, or milk, or water to the eggs when whisking. While adding a splash of dairy to whisked eggs is a great technique to achieve fluffy, cohesive, and tender scrambled eggs, we actually want to avoid this texture with this bodega-style egg pocket. 

The key to this style of egg is to keep the egg whites and egg yolks relatively streaky—not fully emulsified—which produces an egg with varying textures. There’s also really no need to add any salt to the eggs. The folded-in cheese (more on that below) and bacon are salty enough, but feel free to satiate your salt lust and season away.

The key to success with these eggs is mostly timing and technique. I found that leaving the eggs about 80 percent cooked before folding gave enough leeway for carryover cooking—a perfect opportunity to introduce the cheese.        

The Cheese

BEC headnote cheese
Serious Eats/Amanda Suarez

Get outta here with your fancy gouda. American cheese in a BEC is all but a foregone conclusion. And I don’t even think that’s a hot take. You see, despite its reputation for being cheap, lowbrow, or decidedly not “cheesy” in flavor, American cheese’s ability to melt, stay gooey, and stay emulsified is unmatched (we can thank melting salts like sodium citrate for that), so it’s ideal for sandwiches and burgers served hot. Incidentally, it also comes in square slices, which is ideal for this application.

Here we can use that perfect squareness of the cheese slice to our advantage. By placing one slice in the center of the eggs, it’s easy to fold the edges of the egg into a neat square, using the cheese as an exact guide. There’s no guessing, but also no measuring involved. The eggs perfectly envelop the cheese, creating a square packet, and the stored heat from the eggs serves to melt the cheese.

Cheese inside the egg is great. But for added gooey factor and decadence, I top this egg-cheese packet with a second melty slice, which results in a nice cross section of egg-cheese-egg-cheese.

The Bread

BEC headnote bread photo
Serious Eats/Amanda Suarez

I tested 10 different bread products for this BEC. I immediately ruled out breads like brioche and english muffins. Brioche was too rich and delicate to hold up to the interior, while the english muffins were too dense. But more importantly, these round roll-type breads didn’t quite fit all the fillings. For instance, English muffins were far too small, while the brioche didn’t fit the square shape of the eggs and bacon, so you encountered pockets of just bread as you ate. I saw similar results with large hamburger buns and potato rolls.

Square, sliced breads like pain de mie or Japanese milk bread were promising, but again, I found these options too delicate, getting lost in the mix of layers. Plus, the fillings would occasionally fall out. And sourdough? Forget about it—it wasn’t consistent enough in shape or crumb structure to merit consideration. 

In the end, I settled on two serviceable options: The Kaiser roll and the New England bulkie roll. Both are slightly enriched breads, which means they have a moderate richness and pillowyness to them. But they’re also sturdier than brioche or milk bread, holding up well to toasting, pressing, wrapping, and other forms of manipulation. Plus they often come in a square(ish) format because of the way they are baked. They’re bulky and big enough to fit nicely around the square filling components.

As for the technique, I took this opportunity to toast the cut sides in all the leftover rendered bacon fat (no waste, am I right?). By toasting the cut sides of the rolls, the softer exterior gives way to a sturdier toasted surface, followed by a cascade of texture and flavors from the eggs, cheese, and bacon. Toasting also mitigates any risk of soggy bread, which is important if the sandwich is sitting for more than a few minutes. 

The Condiment(s)

One could argue that condiments have no place on a BEC; that the bacon and cheese alone supply plenty of seasoning and sauciness. A little salt and pepper is all you might need.

But others choose to die on their condiment hill: Salt, pepper, ketchup; salt, pepper, hot sauce; chipotle mayo only. Far be it from me to flame the embers of a BEC condiment war. Here I included the least controversial option (or at least one you’d hardly notice while munching on a symphony of fat and richness): A light swoop of mayonnaise—whatever gets you up in the morning. The mayo is there to offset any of the residual dryness of the toasted roll, a little added insurance that every bite is perfectly sauced, seasoned, and accounted for.*

*If you hate mayo, feel free to leave it off. It’s your sandwich; you have agency.

The Wrap

BEC the wrap headnote photo
Serious Eats/ Amanda Suarez

Wrapping is an often overlooked step in the construction of a legit BEC. But it’s arguably the most important part of this recipe. For one, it makes the sandwich portable. Most importantly, wrapping ensures that the cheese melts fully and the interior steams slightly, which softens and warms the sandwich just enough. The wrap is the reason why a deli-style BEC stays hot, stays gooey, and has a unique texture. While insulated foil wrappers work best, a roughly 14x14-inch square of aluminum foil will work well as a stand in.

Why It's Worth It

So that’s how you make a bodega-worthy bacon egg and cheese at home. I mean, sure, you could go to a deli and order one up, saving you considerable time, effort, and probably a little cash. But this recipe captures the spirit of what makes a BEC special, because ultimately—whether you savor each bite or wolf it down in a frenzied hurry on your way to the L train—a bacon, egg, and, cheese is, at heart, a comfort food. And you can’t really put a price on dialing in comfort.

Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 400°F (205°C). Line a rimmed baking sheet with aluminum foil. Cut 3 slices of bacon in half crosswise and set aside. 

BEC step 1
Serious Eats/Amanda Suarez

Place 3 whole slices of bacon side-by-side on the prepared baking sheet running parallel to counter edge, forming three rows. Fold over half of the center bacon strip halfway. Place 1 half-slice bacon across the 1st and 3rd row, running perpendicular to counter edge, then unfold the center slice over top the perpendicular strip. The half-slice should be woven between every other slice. Fold over 1st and 3rd whole slices until flush with perpendicular half-slice and lay another perpendicular half-slice of bacon across the center row. Repeat, alternating between folding back the center then the 1st and 3rd strips and laying remaining half strips across until all 6 half-slices of bacon have been used to create an interwoven pattern.

BEC step 2
Serious Eats/Amanda Suarez

Bake bacon until crisp, 25 to 25 minutes. Using 2 spatulas, transfer bacon, flat bottom side up, to a paper-towel lined plate to drain. Pour rendered bacon fat into a small bowl and set aside (you should have about 2 tablespoons/30g). Once bacon is cooled, use a sharp knife to cut bacon into 2 equal squares; set aside. 

BEC step 3
Serious Eats/Amanda Suarez

In a small bowl, use a fork to beat eggs until they are just combined but still streaky, about 10 seconds. In a 10-inch nonstick skillet, melt butter over medium heat until it starts to foam and sizzle gently. Pour eggs into skillet, and tilt pan to distribute eggs evenly. Cook eggs, gently pushing sides of egg toward center, tilting pan to fill any gaps, until eggs are nearly cooked but surface is barely wet, 60 to 90 seconds. Reduce heat to low and place one slice of cheese in center of eggs. Using a flat spatula, with the cheese as a guide, fold edges of eggs over cheese, creating a square packet. Gently press eggs to adhere to cheese, then carefully flip the packet over. Place remaining cheese slice on top of eggs, cover, and cook until cheese is melted, about 60 seconds longer. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Transfer eggs to plate with bacon. Wipe skillet clean with paper towels.

BEC step 4
Serious Eats/Amanda Suarez

In now-empty skillet, heat 1 tablespoon reserved bacon fat over medium heat until shimmering. Place one bread half in pan, cut-side down and cook, pressing and swirling bread around pan with hand, until bread is golden brown and evenly toasted, 60 to 90 seconds [CHK]. Transfer toasted bread to cutting board, toasted side up. Repeat with remaining 1 tablespoon bacon fat and bread half.

BEC step 5
Serious Eats/Amanda Suarez

To Assemble: Spread mayonnaise, if using, evenly over both toasted bun halves. Place bacon squares on bottom bun and top with egg-cheese packet. Top with bun half and gently press to adhere. Wrap sandwich in foil sandwich wrap and let sit for up to 5 minutes. Serve.

BEC step 6
Serious Eats/Amanda Suarez

Special Equipment

Rimmed baking sheet, 10-inch nonstick skillet, foil sandwich wrap or aluminum foil

Notes

This recipe was developed and tested with the recommended kaiser and bulkie roll, but feel free to substitute with your preferred bread. 

This recipe can be scaled up to make more sandwiches. If you're making more than one sandwich, consider cooking the egg-cheese squares while the bacon finishes cooking. (Leaving the sandwiches wrapped for 2 to 3 minutes will reheat the eggs and cheese.)

There is no salt in the eggs; this is intentional, as the bacon lends the sandwich plenty of savory flavor.

Make-Ahead and Storage

The bacon weave can be shaped, covered, and refrigerated raw overnight.

Should You Get a Flat- or Round-Bottomed Wok?

We explain the pros and cons to each shape, plus give our tested recommendations for woks.

a carbon steel wok on a marble kitchen surface
Serious Eats / Russell Kilgore

Woks come in all shapes, sizes, and constructions. And for the average consumer, there are many questions when it comes to purchasing. Carbon steel or iron? Fourteen, 16, or 18 inches in diameter? Thin or thick gauge? Wooden or metal handle? Riveted or welded?

But maybe the simplest—and perhaps the most important—decision comes down to shape: Should you get a flat- or round-bottomed wok? 

I’ve glossed over this topic in the past, and the recommendation for most home cooks has been to choose a flat-bottomed wok. But for the sake of clarity, and making your own spending decisions, here’s the full case for each, laid bare.

Flat-Bottomed Wok Pros

Simply put, a flat-bottomed wok is the best choice for most people cooking on a western range. Whether you cook on gas, electric coil, ceramic, induction, or even a fancy French top, chances are your cooking surface is flat, and all your pots and pans are also flat.

Greens being stir-fried in a wok
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

For the average consumer who might just be dipping their toes into wok cooking, a flat-bottomed wok offers an easy and convenient option, and has several advantages: 

  • It sits easily on any flat cooktop, providing a stable and safe cooking surface.
  • On most flat heating elements, it heats up faster and more efficiently than a round-bottomed wok, which is arguably the most important factor for effective wok cooking.
  • In terms of handling, most home cooks will feel comfortable tossing and flipping foods in this type of wok, since the motion is nearly identical to using a standard sauté pan.
  • Here’s an often overlooked point: There’s slightly more surface area at the bottom than a round-bottomed wok, so technically, a flat-bottomed wok can hold more food.
  • It is compatible with most induction burners since it’s a) flat and b) is usually made of carbon steel or cast iron, which are both naturally magnetic.

Flat-Bottomed Wok Cons

A carbon steel wok on a stovetop
Serious Eats / Vicky Wasik

Despite its versatility, a flat-bottomed wok has a few drawbacks:

  • While it can be used on a traditional wok burner, a flat-bottomed wok tends to burn foods at the bottom, since the heat is so concentrated at the flat base.
  • You cannot recreate the true circular “flip” motion with a flat-bottomed wok, so foods cannot move as seamlessly through each cooking zone of the pan. Instead, you’re relegated to the classic, herky-jerky motion of a traditional skillet.
  • Depending on the material and gauge, the bottom of the wok may warp over time, so it doesn’t rest perfectly flat, or it loses its effectiveness on induction surfaces, which rely on even contact with the element. 

Round-Bottomed Wok Pros

If flat-bottomed woks are so versatile and convenient, then why bother with a round-bottomed wok? Well, not everyone in the world cooks on a flat Western range. And for the diehard enthusiasts among us, for those who pursue perfection and old-school authenticity, a flat-bottomed wok just won’t cut it.

So here’s the breakdown: 

  • A round-bottomed wok is the ideal choice for a true wok burner. Because of the wok’s rounded construction, the powerful flames from a burner can rise up and over the lip of the wok with ease, which facilitates that coveted wok hei flavor—a hallmark of some restaurant-quality Chinese dishes.
  • It can offer slightly more even heat distribution compared to a flat-bottomed wok since the heat source is not exclusively heating the bottom.
  • It enables a more circular tossing motion, or “flip.” This technique is essential for stir-frying and allows the food to travel through multiple heat zones as it cooks. The flip is also a distinct skill, so it’s an entirely different technique from tossing food in a flat skillet or flat-bottomed wok.
  • It’s easier to scoop and scrape foods from a round-bottomed wok due to its curvature.
  • It’s less prone to warping over time than a flat-bottomed wok. And even if it does warp, it doesn’t really matter, since a flat cooking surface is not required.

Round-Bottomed Wok Cons

Wok over flames from outdoor wok burner
Serious Eats / J. Kenji López-Alt

Of course, a round-bottomed wok carries several disadvantages:

  • A round-bottomed wok can’t be used on electric, induction, or ceramic cooktops. These heating elements won’t heat up the wok sufficiently, and the wok itself will wobble and lack stability.
  • It lacks versatility across a range of heating sources compared to a flat-bottomed wok.
  • A round-bottomed wok can work on a gas range, and depending on the size of your grates, it can even balance reasonably well in the center of those grates; but it’s by no means as stable as using a flat-bottomed wok.
  • Often, a wok ring or accessories like the Wok Mon are necessary to use a gas range effectively. While these tools afford plenty of stability and increased airflow for the wok, they are an added cost and can be cumbersome as you’re tossing and flipping foods.

The Bottom Line

So which wok shape should you choose? I would still argue that for most people, a flat-bottomed wok is the best choice. It’s more versatile, it works across a range of heating elements, and it’s more intuitive to handle.

But at the end of the day, the best wok shape is the one you will actually use. So if you’re committed to learning authentic circular wok tossing, or if you’ve gone all in on a custom-fitted outdoor wok burner, then maybe a round-bottomed wok is a better choice. And if you don’t mind a little wobble on your gas range, then maybe owning a round-bottomed wok isn’t such a dealbreaker after all. 

The choice is yours. And to be completely honest: I own both styles anyway. 

FAQs

Can you use a round-bottomed wok on a gas stove? 

Yes! But with a couple of caveats. People with round-bottomed woks can use a wok ring or similar accessory to prop the wok up, providing a stable surface on which the wok can rest. For others who might be more freewheeling (or frugal), it’s possible to balance a round-bottomed wok in the center of the grates of a gas stove, right above the “eye”. Of course, the latter option is really dependent on the style and shape of your stove grates. 

Are flat bottom woks any good?

Of course! They’re convenient, stable, and work across a wide range of heating sources, including gas, electric, and induction. They can give you great results, and for first-timers, making the leap from using western style skillets to flat-bottomed woks is fairly straightforward.

Why We're the Experts

  • Tim Chin is a frequent contributor to Serious Eats. He previously worked at America's Test Kitchen.
  • Tim has tested woks and kitchen torches for the site, amongst other things.

The Science of Marinades

After rounds of testing and research, we share everything you need to know to get the most out of your marinades, including how long to marinate for, what kinds of flavors do and don’t penetrate meat, and how to avoid marinade disasters.

Ovehead view of steak test
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

Every year as grilling season rolls around, dads, moms, and general appreciators of summer cookouts knock the rust off their Webers, oil their grates, and gingerly navigate their home’s outdoor fire code. And for those who enjoy meat (and even those who don’t), many are making and using marinades to add flavor and improve texture and juiciness.

But questions about marinades linger. What are the essential elements of a marinade? What exactly does a marinade accomplish? How long should you marinate for? Is it true that marinades are just "surface treatments" that don't penetrate deeply? Are all acids in a marinade harmful to the texture of proteins if left for too long? And, are marinades even worth it?

As with most things, there's no easy answer to any of this, as it depends both on the marinade and the type of food being marinated. While this article can't account for every possible variable, we can look at some of the biggest factors. There's plenty we can learn by examining the basic science of marination as well as running tests of our own to better understand what happens when foods are marinated.

Understanding how marinades function isn't just an academic matter—it can influence how we concoct marinades and how we apply them. Since the whole point of marination is to enhance the foods we cook, we might as well make sure we're getting the best possible result when doing it. The time to submerge ourselves in the topic is now.

What is Marination?

Marination is a broad term, but the crux of it involves soaking some food in a flavorful liquid before you cook it, usually for anywhere from 30 minutes to 24 hours.

A basic marinade will contain some combination of the following:

  • Water: Water can come in the form of juice, wine or beer, a condiment like soy sauce, or just straight-up water.
  • Salt: Essential for basic seasoning and moisture retention*, salt can come from condiments or pure salt.
  • Sugar: Whether refined, raw, brown, or in the form of a sweet ingredient like honey, sugar seasons the exterior of meats and enhances browning and caramelization.
  • Aromatics: These might include herbs, spices, fresh aromatics like garlic and ginger, or even fruit rinds.
  • Fat: Liquid fats such as olive oil, vegetable oil, and even sesame oil are added for flavoring; they also conduct heat more efficiently than water, so the surface of meat may cook faster when fat is present.
  • Acid/Base/Enzyme: These ingredients alter the texture of meat by denaturing or digesting proteins like actin, myosin, or collagen; these effects can be pronounced depending on the concentration of the additive and the amount of marination time you choose.

*Salt partially dissolves proteins in meat (primarily myosin, which is responsible for muscle contraction), such that those proteins don’t contract as much when cooked. If the proteins don’t contract as much, the meat holds onto more water, so it tastes juicier and more tender. For a detailed explanation, read Kenji’s primer on brining here.

Why Marinate?

With respect to meat proteins, the common reasoning looks something like this: 

  1. Marinating seasons the meat, primarily via salt.
  2. Marinating sometimes enhances the exterior of meat by promoting browning.
  3. Marinating keeps (or makes) meat tender when cooked.
  4. Marinating flavors meat via aromatics, spices, or other ingredients.

Now let’s be real: Those are all broad claims. So we’ll start with what we know with certainty. 

Yes, marinating seasons meat protein via salt, and it does so effectively. We know this because osmosis and the diffusion of salt in proteins is a proven process. Heck, we have entire guides dedicated to brining and dry brining; brining, after all, is exactly what salt in a marinade is doing. I’d even go so far as to say that the most important ingredient in any marinade is salt, period. So no disputes there.

And for sure, marinating can enhance the exterior of meat by promoting browning. Many marinades contain sugar (in the form of sucrose, fructose, even glucose), which promotes browning and caramelization (see: the Maillard reaction and caramelization). In these cases, a nice crust or char can form on the surface of meat, which can have a pleasing effect on both texture and flavor.

But what about those last two claims about marination improving tenderness and flavor? The answer to whether those are true, unfortunately, is: It depends. And to really unpack those ideas, we have to start asking more specific questions. 

Here are some questions that can help us more fully explore those claims:

  1. Does time in a marinade matter? 
  2. Do seasonings other than salt make a difference in flavor, especially at the interior of the meat being marinated?
  3. Does fat make a difference in flavor, including at the interior? 
  4. Do acids, bases, or enzymes make a difference in the meat's texture and quality?

Question 1: Does Time in a Marinade Matter? (Answer: Yes)

People have all sorts of opinions on how long you should marinate meat. Two hours, 6 hours, 48 hours, exactly 18 minutes—and those recommendations often get downright Draconian in their reasoning. While I can't tell you how long you should soak your meat in the marinade you might be using right now, I can show you some trends by employing some basic testing.

To answer this question, I mixed a basic marinade of soy sauce, water, sugar, grated garlic, and vegetable oil (in a ratio of 4:3:2:1:0.5 by weight). I poured a measured amount of this mixture into separate bags containing 3-ounce samples of chicken breast, pork tenderloin, and flank steak, and marinated each sample for varying durations (0 minutes, 30 minutes, 1 hour, 4 hours, 8 hours, 24 hours). I staggered each test so that I could cook each sample at the same time and compare them fairly.

You may ask, why no acid in this marinade? Firstly, soy sauce is slightly acidic (around 5.0 pH). Plus, the inclusion of stronger acids or bases (or enzymes) in a marinade drastically complicates our ability to assess effects of base ingredients like salt, sugar, or aromatics. For more on acids, bases, and enzymes, see the relevant section below.

Here’s chicken breast (1-inch thickness) marinated at various times, prior to cooking:

Overhead view of raw chicken
Serious East / Tim Chin

Not much to note here visually, but I did notice that the 24-hour sample felt noticeably firmer than the other samples—almost like a gummy bear.

Here are the same samples of chicken breast after cooking in a carbon steel skillet to an internal temperature of 150°F:

Overhead view of cooked chicken
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

And some selected cross-sections for good measure:

Cross section of chicken
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

General Observations for Chicken

  • Four-, 8-, and 24-hour samples were more deeply seasoned (saltier) than all the other samples, with the 30-minute sample tasting least seasoned.
  • There was visible caramelization and char on samples marinated for at least one hour, with 8- and 24-hour samples showing the most intense coloration.
  • The 24-hour sample was moist, but also rubbery and ham-like. There was an unpleasant springiness to the meat when chewed—almost crunchy between the teeth.
  • Tasters preferred the 1- to 8-hour samples, with slight preference to the 4-hour sample for its perceived balance of seasoning, tenderness, and juiciness.
  • Zero- and 30-minute samples showed virtually no seasoning at the interior; they tasted drier and less succulent than longer-marinated samples

Next is the same test with samples of pork tenderloin and flank steak.

Pork tenderloin (1-inch thickness), cooked to 140°F and rested:

Raw pork
Serious East / Tim Chin
Cooked prok
Serious Eats / Tim Chin
Cross section
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

General Observations for Pork

  • Unlike the chicken samples, the 24-hour marinated pork did not taste over-cured or overly chewy; it was moist and well seasoned.
  • The 0-minute, 30-minute, and 1-hour samples were relatively unseasoned in comparison to the longer-marinated samples; they were also less juicy.
  • It seems that pork tenderloin holds up better to longer marination than chicken breast.

Flank steak (3/4-inch thickness), cooked to 125 degrees and rested:

Raw beef
Tim Chin / Serious Eats
Cooked Beef
Serious Eats / Tim Chin
Cooked beef Cross section
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

General Observations for Beef

  • The best tasting samples came at the 4-hour mark and longer, with slight preference for the 8-hour flank steak.
  • The 24-hour marinated sample did not taste gummy, crunchy or over-cured.

The Bottom Line

Time in a marinade definitely matters as far as its brining effect is concerned. In general, longer marination results in deeper seasoning, better moisture retention, and increased levels of browning or char (provided that there is sugar in the marinade). But we can’t necessarily make firm conclusions on optimal timing; it depends on the meat you are using, the pH of your marinade (read Question 4 below), and even your personal preference for seasoning. But using a relatively inert marinade for poultry and red meats, there seems to be a window between 1 hour and 8 hours where the benefits of seasoning and moisture retention are greatest. For chicken breast, the meat can over-cure and become almost crunchy if you marinate it too long; for beef and pork, you’ve got some more wiggle room. Do note, though: A marinade with an acid, base, or enzyme would drastically affect this timing as well.

In contrast, shorter times in a marinade don’t deliver much of a payoff in terms of deep seasoning (or even surface seasoning) or moisture retention. It seems that there isn’t enough time for the marinade to adhere and penetrate even the first millimeter of meat. But keep in mind, this testing didn’t include more delicate proteins like fish, shrimp, or lobster—which have slightly different protein structures and permeability (so a shorter marination time may be adequate in those cases).

Question 2: Do Seasonings Other Than Salt Make a Difference in Flavor? (Answer: Maybe)

Kenji has written at length about skipping aromatics in a brine. The reason? Salt is a small molecule that passes easily through the semipermeable membrane of meat tissue; aromatics like pepper and garlic are much bigger molecules. Salt is also a highly charged molecule, so water in and around meat is more attracted to it than less-charged (non-polar) molecules.

But sound reasoning aside, people still put all kinds of flavorings and aromatics in their marinades—garlic, sugar, liquid smoke, bouillon powder, bay leaves, citrus rinds, the list is never-ending. And certainly, these ingredients contribute to the flavor of the exterior of the meat. After all, what would a dish like beef galbi be without the charred, smoky, sweet-savory flavor that results from the combination of asian pear, garlic, and various aromatics hitting a hot grill?

But do these seasonings truly penetrate beyond the surface? Just to be thorough, I performed some basic tests.

Below are six samples of chicken breast, each treated with a different seasoning in a 10-percent salt brine: sugar, MSG, grated garlic*, pepper, cumin, and five-spice seasoning. I marinated each sample for 8 hours and then cooked the chicken sous vide in a 150°F water bath for one hour. For comparison’s sake, I also repeated the test without salt (0-percent brine).  

I evaluated each sample for flavor penetration by cutting off the outermost 2 millimeters of meat on all sides, compared against a control sample of “unflavored” (salt brine–only) chicken, as well as a completely unseasoned sample.

Various seasoning
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

General Observations

  • For pepper and cumin, there was no detectable flavor penetration; I couldn’t taste any spice at the interior.
  • Garlic and five-spice seasoning showed the faintest hint of seasoning in the interior, but it was almost imperceptible compared to the unseasoned control sample.
  • The flavor of sugar-treated chicken was mostly salty at the interior; there was little to no detectable sweetness.
  • The MSG sample showed the greatest transformation: very umami, with a ham-like flavor and texture.

I selected these seasonings based on a couple premises: A) Molecular weight correlates loosely with degree of permeability through meat since smaller molecules can generally pass through that semipermeable membrane more easily, and B) molecules that dissociate in water into ions can permeate meat tissue to an extent.

Sugar is a huge molecule (342.3 g/mol, compared to salt’s 58.44 g/mol) that doesn’t dissociate into ions in water. It’s far too big to penetrate meat tissue—which we observe in testing. Similarly, piperine, the compound responsible for the pungency of black pepper, is another large molecule (285.35 g/mol) with no magnetic charge—and we don’t taste it in the interior either. Cuminaldehyde, the aromatic oil responsible for cumin’s flavor, is also pretty large (148.21 g/mol), so it should not season meat deeply.

The results for garlic and five-spice seasoning were unexpected, though. Both garlic's allicin (162.28 g/mol) and five-spice's eugenol (164.2 g/mol; one of the molecules responsible for the flavor of clove and cinnamon) are relatively large molecules compared to salt. We wouldn’t expect much flavor penetration based on our initial premise, but I did detect the faintest hint. It could be that these molecules are slightly more polar (charged) than, say, cuminaldehyde or piperine, so they may be able to reasonably pass through that semipermeable membrane. But that’s just an educated guess at best.

Finally, the MSG sample gave the most surprising result. MSG has molecular weight (169.11 g/mol) similar to allicin or eugenol, but it readily dissociates in water into sodium and glutamate ions. The charged nature of this molecule probably makes it easier to pass through meat tissue, and we may have observed this in testing: The MSG sample seemed almost like cured ham, with a distinct savory flavor. 

The Bottom Line

Beyond the surface of meat, it seems like for the most part, they do not. If you truly want your seasonings to penetrate to the interior of your meat, you might choose ingredients with flavor molecules that are smaller, and preferably ones that can dissociate in water into smaller, charged ions. Or you might consider manipulating the meat itself: Cutting it smaller for increased surface area, injecting a marinade into it, or pounding or roughly massaging it to break up muscle tissue might help a marinade penetrate more deeply.

Question 3: Does Fat Improve Flavor Inside the Meat? (Answer: Not Really, But You Should Still Use It)

You’ve probably heard the cook’s adage: Fat carries flavor. After all, how many recipes have you read that tell you to toast or “bloom” your spices in oil? Many flavor molecules are relatively nonpolar, meaning they don’t readily dissolve in water, but they do dissolve in fat or oil, which acts as a nonpolar solvent. So cooking your spices and aromatics in oil does tend to intensify their flavors. But the question remains: Can fat deliver those flavors deeper into meat?

Overhead of cooked pork
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

I set up four samples of chicken breast using four different flavorings, and stirred each flavoring with a measured amount of vegetable oil. (None of these samples included salt or any other ingredients.) I marinated each sample for 8 hours and cooked them at 150°F for one hour. Concurrently, I repeated this test but briefly cooked the aromatics in oil by microwaving the mixtures for 2 minutes (until they were bubbly, slightly browned, and fragrant).

General Observations

  • I didn’t detect flavor at the interior of any sample!

The Bottom Line

Fat doesn’t seem to “carry” flavor deeper into meat through marination. And if we think about this from a molecular perspective, this observation tracks. The permeability of meat to certain molecules largely depends on both their size and magnetic charge. Fats are large nonpolar molecules, and they lack charge, so they shouldn’t pass through meat very easily (if at all).

So why do so many cooks use oil in marinades? Despite their inability to transfer flavor into the meat, fats still deliver plenty of flavor to the surface. They also play double duty to conduct heat and lubricate food to keep it from sticking on a hot surface. But as far as adding flavor that you can detect through to the center of your meat? Don’t count on it. 

Question 4: Do Acids, Bases, or Enzymes Make a Difference in Texture or Quality? (Answer: Yes)

It’s common practice to add acids like lemon juice, vinegar, or buttermilk to marinades. These ingredients lower the pH of the mixture, which helps to denature proteins by changing their shape. In the best case, this denaturation can tenderize meat. Acids can also increase the water-holding capacity of meat. As Serious Eats contributor Nik Sharma explains in his exploration of the effects of different acids on meat texture, changing the shape of proteins exposes certain amino acids, which provides new opportunities to bind water. 

But acids are just one player in a wider field of additives that can alter the texture and juiciness of meat. For example, there’s plenty of evidence to support the notion that raising the pH of a marinade (with say, baking soda or baking powder) also improves water-holding capacity. Why? High pH makes it harder for intramuscular proteins to associate and bond tightly when cooked; water gets trapped in the spaces between proteins, so the meat holds on to more water and stays juicy. Even Kenji stumbled upon this trick to keep shrimp plump and juicy. Finally, baking soda is a common addition to marinades in Chinese cooking—an essential step for velveting.

Apart from pH, we can also harness the power of enzymes—specifically proteases, such as those found in pineapples, to tenderize meat. Instead of denaturing (unfolding) proteins in the way that acids do, proteases cut proteins (like collagen) into smaller building blocks—the constituent amino acids. That means that proteins treated with protease tend to be very tender, almost falling apart in texture. Among proteases, bromelain (from pineapple), papain (from papaya), and ficin (from the fig tree) are some of the most common enzymes used to tenderize meat in industrial food preparations.

To illustrate and compare the differences between these treatments, I set up a basic test: 3 samples of chicken marinated for 8 hours each using a different “marinade”: a solution of 10-percent baking soda, a solution of 10-percent lactic acid, and pure pineapple juice (grated and strained from the core of a fresh pineapple*). I cooked each sample for one hour at 150°F in a sous-vide bath. I weighed each sample before marination, after marination, and after cooking to track any water loss. I also repeated this test with salt in each sample, and kept a control sample of plain, 10-percent brined chicken for comparison.

*Canned pineapple fruit or juice does not contain any active bromelain. The easiest way to obtain bromelain is to juice a fresh pineapple, or grate the flesh.

Here are the samples after 8 hours of marination:

raw chicken
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

The baking soda sample looks relatively raw in comparison; the lactic acid sample looks opaque, almost cooked at the exterior; the pineapple sample is slightly cooked but with visible striations in the meat that weren’t apparent at the start.

Here are the same samples after cooking:

General Observations

Chicken tested three ways
Serious Eats / Tim Chin
  • All samples were relatively tender compared to the untreated, 10-percent–brined chicken.
  • Lactic acid yielded the least tender meat, with a slightly “squeaky” texture between the teeth; the meat lost roughly 22 percent in water weight.
  • Pineapple gave the most tender, fall-apart texture; but the exterior was mushy, pasty, and categorically unappetizing. Total weight lost was 32 percent after cooking.
  • Baking soda resulted in the juiciest meat by far. The texture was slightly less tender than pineapple. Total weight lost was 5 percent.

Overall, all three methods showed a tenderizing effect. The most dramatic effect came from pineapple juice (bromelain), but it came at the cost of a nearly inedible exterior. This mushy, pasty quality is probably why most cooks recommend marinating in pineapple juice for shorter time periods—30 minutes to 4 hours at most.

The pineapple sample also showed the most water loss despite its fall-apart texture. 

Pineapple marinade chicken
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

Baking soda produced the most striking result at the interior. Check this out:

Inside chicken
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

I didn’t poke those holes. Those gaps are likely evidence of proteins failing to bond and contract due to the elevated pH. Instead, water became trapped in these spaces, and I could see that water pressing out from these gaps as I sliced through the sample. But despite baking soda’s effectiveness, there was a drawback: Using such a high concentration of baking soda gave the chicken a metallic, ammonia-like aroma.

The Bottom Line:

Acids, bases, and enzymes all work to tenderize or retain moisture in meat.

  • Enzymes give a more fall-apart, broken-down interior, but don’t help meat retain ‘juiciness’;
  • acids have a mild tenderizing effect and help to retain water; 
  • and bases seem to produce the juiciest, most plump interior.

The big caveat? Mind your concentrations of these additives as well as timing, since they can quickly transform the meat from palatable to mushy (bromelain), metallic tasting (baking soda), or inedible. Finally, don’t mix acids and bases in a marinade! They won’t work because they neutralize each other, so pick one or the other.

Conclusion: Is Marinating Worth It?

After all this testing and research, we can (kinda, sorta) answer the question: Is marinating really worth your time? Well, yes, somewhat. But not for the reasons you may have thought. If you take away one idea from this article, it’s this: Marination is mostly a brine and otherwise a surface treatment. The benefits are maximized through cooking—over high heat, over a grill, in a hot oven. That cascade of flavors resulting from caramelization of sugars, and the heating of aromatics, spices, and fats all occur at the surface and maybe even the first millimeter of meat, though to be fair, those are all benefits that would also occur when a marinade is applied right before cooking. 

Marination is mostly not a method for injecting flavor into the interior of proteins. Beyond salt, and a select few ingredients like MSG, there are few ways to season the interior without resorting to physically manipulating the meat so that the marinade can penetrate, such as injecting flavorings with a syringe. And apart from flavor, if you really want to transform the interior texture of meats, consider adding an acid, base, or enzyme to your marinade.

There are still plenty of questions to ask here: Does marination work better for certain proteins, or certain thicknesses of meat? And how does marination affect vegetables? But for most marination scenarios, this guide is a good starting point, one that should give you enough information to help you navigate the ingredients and timing when marinating meats.

Unagi No Tare (Unagi Sauce)

If you want to go the extra mile and make unagi sauce at home, the process can be quite simple. In the spirit of a more “traditional” method, this recipe utilizes a base of dashi, which adds umami and depth to an otherwise heavy-handed sauce.

Side view of unagi sauce being brushed on eel
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Unagi no tare, kabayaki sauce, nitsume—the glossy, syrupy glaze that adorns tender pieces of grilled eel—goes by several names and many preparations. And in truth, it’s mostly a restaurant thing. “No one would make unagi tare at home,” says author and Japanese food scholar Nancy Singleton Hachisu. “It’s really not a thing.” In part, that’s because when you buy unagi at the store, it already comes brushed in that iconic dark sauce, with a little extra in a packet for good measure.

Traditionally, nitsume (literally “boiling down”) was made from a broth of grilled eel bones, and even the liquor from steaming clams. To this broth, chefs added varying amounts of sake, mirin, soy sauce, and sugar, then reduced the mixture until it was thick and syrup-like. Presumably every chef had (or has) their own proprietary, guarded recipe for unagi sauce, employing variations in timing, ingredients, and texture.

Close up of unagi sauce on eel and rice
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

These days, most restaurant chefs tend to eschew the eel-bone broth, and go straight for the other stuff: just sake, mirin, soy sauce, and sugar. Some even opt for the prepackaged, bottled sauce instead of cooking up their own. In restaurants that specialize in unagi, chefs are constantly basting and brushing eel throughout the day, using the same batch of sauce. And over time, this sauce takes on the grilled flavor of eel, so it develops additional savory depth, smokiness, and a slight brininess. 

If you want to go the extra mile and make unagi sauce at home, the process can be quite simple. In the spirit of a more “traditional” method, this recipe utilizes a base of dashi, which adds umami and depth to an otherwise heavy-handed sauce.

Because you’re cooking the sauce to a syrupy consistency, and because there’s a significant amount of sugar here, it’s easy to overcook and even caramelize the sugar if you’re not careful. And while caramelization can be desirable in certain applications, it can also overpower more subtle flavors like those in dashi, or the wine from mirin and sake. So to prevent caramelization, it’s helpful to use a thermometer. I cook this sauce to around 235°F—within the range of a typical “soft ball” sugar stage (the point at which the cooked sugar syrup will cool to a solid but malleable consistency).

Out of the pot, this sauce might seem a bit runny. But it thickens as it cools, and assumes the perfect texture and viscosity for brushing and glazing meats. (If you prefer a thicker sauce, you can cook the sauce up to 240°F.) For best results, be sure to use a 3-quart saucier or larger with tall sides. The mixture will bubble and froth considerably, rising up the sides of the pot.

In a 3-quart saucier or saucepan, whisk dashi, mirin, sake, sugar, and soy sauce until combined and sugar is dispersed. Bring mixture to boil over high heat and cook, stirring occasionally, until mixture begins to bubble and froth, about 10 minutes. Adjust heat as necessary to ensure that mixture continues to boil but doesn’t boil over.

Two image collage of overhead view of whisking sauce in a pot and close up of sauce bubbling
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Continue cooking mixture, stirring occasionally, until bubbling slows and mixture has reduced by more than half and registers 235°F (113°C) on an instant-read thermometer, about 10 minutes longer (f you prefer a thicker sauce, you can cook it to 240°F/115°C); sauce will seem a little runny at first but will thicken as it cools. Transfer sauce to a heatproof bowl and let cool to room temperature. Use immediately as desired or store in refrigerator for up to one month.

Sauce dipping off spoon
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Special Equipment

3-quart saucier

Notes

If you do not want to make homemade dashi, you can substitute powdered instant dashi: Dissolve 1 teaspoon instant dashi in 1 cup of water. If you prefer a more “toasted” flavor, you can substitute brown muscovado sugar (kokutō) for white sugar.

Make-Ahead and Storage

The finished unagi sauce can be refrigerated in an airtight container for up to one month.

Homemade Yakimochi (Grilled Mochi With Soy Sauce and Nori)

Also known as isobeyaki or yakimochi, these tender grilled Japanese rice cakes come together from scratch with the help of a stand mixer.

OVerhead view of mochi
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Every year, a few days after Christmas, some families in Japan gather to celebrate Shogatsu, the Japanese New Year, by pounding hot, steamy rice into mochi. Using a large wooden mallet called a kine, they take turns hitting the steamed grains in a one-meter diameter usu (mortar) carved from a tree stump, rhythmically turning the rice by hand between strikes, until the rice transforms into a smooth, sticky dough. “It’s a family affair,” says Nancy Singleton Hachisu, who has resided in rural Japan since 1988 and is the James Beard Award-winning author of Japanese Farm Food and Preserving the Japanese Way. “Mochitsuki is a time for community and gathering.”

What Is Traditional Mochi? Why Should You Make It?

Soft, chewy, and sticky, mochi is a rice cake that  can be served in a multitude of ways: grilled, boiled, wrapped around anko (red bean paste), dipped in kinako (roasted soybean flour), and even deep fried. Its name, “mochi,” comes from mochi gome, the type of short-grain glutinous rice it’s made from.

Mochitsuki (mochi pounding) is a tradition dating back to at least the 8th century, with origins going back much farther to ancient China. Throughout history, mochi has held cultural significance for several occasions, from celebrating the New Year to childbirth and marriage, but by far the most common time for making and eating mochi is during Shogatsu.

Side angle view of mochi
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

For many, the notion of mochi evokes multicolored shapes (fruits, even animals) and molded confections popular in Japanese convenience stores and candy shops. For many more, mochi might be most closely associated with ice cream. But Hachisu is quick to point out that these foods are often not made with mochi in the most traditional sense. “Those [confections] are the furthest thing from mochi,” she says. “It doesn’t taste the same, because it’s made from mochiko flour—not from freshly steamed rice.” The vast majority of mochi you find commercially is not hand-pounded.

Modern food processing has made it possible to mix mochi at home from a fine, boxed powder or flour. You mix mochiko (or shiratamako) with water, cook it over the stovetop or microwave, and boom—mochi on the fly. But all that convenience comes at a price. “That stuff is pretty much flavorless in comparison,” Hachisu says. There’s nothing wrong with it. But it lacks a few things: flavor and texture, and in a more sentimental sense, the feelings of tradition, process, gathering, and community which make mochi such a special food in the first place.

The Challenge of (and Solution to) Making Pounded Mochi at Home

Developing a pounded mochi recipe for the home cook presents several challenges. For one, I’m pretty sure most people don’t own either an usu or a kine. Second, mochitsuki is traditionally performed outdoors or in a large, open area with plenty of room to swing a big old mallet. “You’re never gonna be able to do it at home,” Hachisu says. At least, not in the traditional way.

Third, there’s the communal aspect of making mochi. “Ideally, you’d make mochi with your family, or with friends, with people in the neighborhood,” Hachisu says. “The idea of community is so essential to making mochi.”

While I can’t necessarily solve these issues—after all, recipes are typically written for a single user, and we recipe developers are generally loner types to begin with, faffing around with culinary minutiae—I considered a few alternatives to the traditional pounding process.

  • Large Mortar and Pestle: A mortar and pestle seemed an obvious choice to replicate the pounding and kneading of mochitsuki. I had passable results with small volumes of rice, but the yields were pitiful; a typical mortar simply doesn’t have enough capacity. And because of that small capacity, the rice tended to cool down too quickly before forming a cohesive, smooth paste. The rapid cooling made pounding prohibitively difficult as the paste thickened. This method took upwards of 15 minutes for a cup of dry rice, and the result was grainy and unappealing.
  • Mochi-Making Machine: For those intent on regularly enjoying pounded mochi at home, you can buy dedicated mochi-making machines from reputable rice cooker companies like Zojirushi and Tiger. Marketed as all-in-one rice cooking and mochi-making devices, these machines set you back anywhere from 200 to 500 dollars. While I was tempted to try these machines out, I concluded that most home cooks wouldn’t be willing to drop that kind of money for such a specialized piece of equipment.
  • Stand Mixer: When I suggested using a stand mixer to replicate the pounding and kneading process, Hachisu was skeptical. “You know, I had one of those KitchenAid stand mixers once. I’m pretty sure I threw it out,” she joked. In her estimation, the mochi dough might overwhelm the mixer, burning the motor out. “I’m not sure that it would work,” she said. “But I’ve also never tried it. So feel free to prove me wrong.”

The stand mixer does, in fact, work. Using a combination of the dough hook and the paddle attachments yielded the best results. The dough hook accomplished the initial kneading and helped to form a cohesive mass; whipping the dough with the paddle attachment broke the grains further apart, yielding a smoother result. And the best part? The work can be done quickly while the rice retains its heat.

Overhead view of rice being pounded in a stand mixer
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

There are still limitations to this method. Compared to the texture of store-bought mochi or mochi made the traditional way, the resulting dough isn’t perfectly smooth—just ever-so-slightly grainy if you hold a cross-section up to the light. But in terms of eating quality and the handling of the dough, that graininess is imperceptible. Additionally, I found that there was an upper limit on the volume of rice my 7-quart KitchenAid mixer could handle—around 3 cups of dry rice. So depending on the model and capacity of your stand mixer, your mileage may vary. 

Other Keys To Mochi Success

Type of Rice

Good mochi starts with selecting the proper rice variety and quality. For one, mochi gome, or short-grain japonica glutinous rice, is essential. Glutinous rice is nearly 100 percent amylopectin, one of two main polysaccharides found in starch, along with amylose. Amylopectin tends to form a sticky, viscous but flowing gel. Higher amylose rice varieties, such as jasmine rice, are not suitable for making mochi, since they don’t form a sticky gel when blitzed apart or pounded.

Rice Cooking Methods

The traditional method for cooking rice is twofold: the rice is first soaked overnight in water, then it is wrapped in muslin cloth and steamed for about an hour under a heavy wooden lid over an iron pot of water until the grains are tender. Soaking ensures that the rice cooks evenly when steamed, and some studies suggest that it reduces the protein content of the rice and also improves both shine and eating quality.

I tried to replicate this steaming method with cheesecloth and either a bamboo steamer or a heavy-lidded Dutch oven. While the Dutch oven produced good results results, it was a finickier process that required having to consistently check the grains by opening up the cheesecloth. The bamboo steamer, on the other hand, didn’t produce evenly cooked grains, and tended to stain the grains slightly brown.

Hachisu also recommended using a rice cooker (without soaking the grains beforehand)—though this is far from a traditional technique. This gave me consistent results, so I could really dial the ratio of water to rice to mimic the texture of properly steamed rice. I was curious if omitting the soaking step affected the texture and appearance of the dough, but I found the differences too minute to tell. If you’re a purist, stick to steaming. Otherwise, rice prepared in a rice cooker works just fine.

Heat

Another fundamental aspect of mochitsuki involves maintaining heat while pounding the rice. If the rice cools too much before the paste reaches the target consistency, then pounding becomes increasingly difficult, and the finished texture isn’t ideal. It’s also a pain to handle the dough when it’s cold, so the mixing, pounding, or kneading must be done quickly. “It’s a race against time,” says Hachisu.

Fortunately, the stand mixer does the heavy lifting here. But to maintain the temperature of the dough, I found it helpful to keep a rigid silicone spatula dipped in boiling water nearby. That hot, wet spatula made it easy to scrape down the sides of the bowl and fold the dough over itself, mimicking the motions of folding by hand.

Rolling, Shaping, and Katakuriko

Overhead view of covering mochi with potato starch
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Once the mochi is mixed, it is usually formed into shapes and eaten right away. No matter what form mochi takes, it is customary to coat the work surface with katakuriko (potato starch). In fact, without potato starch, the mochi dough is nearly impossible to handle because of how sticky it is. A liberal dusting of katakuriko makes portioning, rolling, or pressing a relatively painless endeavor.

Drying

For the specific style of mochi called yakimochi (grilled mochi) shown in this recipe, it’s helpful to dry the mochi before cutting and cooking. These cut squares, known as kirimochi, are often sold commercially in vacuum sealed packs. The drying process forms a skin on the surface of the mochi, which allows the mochi to puff up dramatically over the grill or when toasted. The result is a crispy, crunchy exterior that gives way to a soft, chewy interior.

Serving Suggestions

There is no shortage of serving options for mochi. While this recipe produces a mochi dough suitable for enrobing or rolling into various shapes, I wanted to offer mochi in its more unadorned form. “My favorite way to eat mochi is just toasted in the oven, maybe brushed with a little soy sauce,” says Hachisu. “Mochi is all about the rice, that delicate flavor.”

Ideally, yakimochi are cooked on a Japanese grill called a konro, ideally over binchotan coals. To replicate this at home, I opt for the strategic use of a blowtorch to get those charred, smoky edges and encourage the mochi to puff on all sides (if you don't have a blowtorch, you can use a broiler, though it will be more difficult to get even browning). The grilled mochi are brushed with a simple tare thickened with potato starch, wrapped in nori, and eaten hot—a serving style known as isobeyaki.

If you don’t have a grill or a blowtorch, a toaster oven (or an oven) is your next best option. The broiler setting produces a similar effect as a grill, albeit with less pronounced blistering or charring.

If you prefer sweeter options, you can drizzle the mochi with brown sugar syrup and serve it with some kinako (roasted soybean powder) or with globs of anko (red adzuki bean paste).

Continuing Traditions

Several years ago, Hachisu stumbled upon people making mochi while traveling through an airport. “It was probably a PR event,” she says. They wore gaudy, extravagant Japanese costumes, which were fake. They were shouting in a touristy, obnoxious way. “It was kind of sickening, to be honest. That’s not mochi.”

But all around Japan, there are enclaves of people carrying on the true traditions of mochitsuki, mostly in rural areas. “There are plenty of young people who come to our farming area, seeking a more natural life,” says Hachisu. They learn the tradition, revive it, and carry it on. Beyond the action itself, mochitsuki is about community and gathering.

How do you bring that feeling to your home? Hachisu recommends inviting friends over to make mochi—even if you happen to be using a stand mixer, with no usu or kine in sight. And if you can’t gather? You might as well share. As we wrap up our interview, Hachisu remembers to send a little mochi to her son who’s moved across the ocean to Brooklyn—so he can enjoy a little taste of home.

For the Mochi: In the bowl of a rice cooker, combine rice and water. Cook rice according to rice cooker settings for “white rice,” until grains are cooked through and translucent, about 45 minutes.

Overhead view of rice in a rice cooker
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

In a large pot, bring 3 quarts of water to a boil. Pour 4 cups of the boiling water into the bowl of a stand mixer, then pour out the water (this warms up the bowl and helps to maintain the heat of the rice as it’s beaten.) Keep the remaining boiling water in the pot with a rigid silicone spatula in it (this keeps the spatula warm and moist for scraping down the sides of the bowl). Immediately transfer rice to the warmed stand mixer bowl and, using a dough hook, mix on medium speed until the rice forms a coarse paste, about 2 minutes. Stop stand mixer and, using the hot spatula, scrape down rice to the center. Continue mixing until paste is smoother, about 1 minute longer.

Two image collage of rice being added to a stand mixer and a plastic spatula pushing down rice
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Switch to paddle attachment, scraping any excess paste off the dough hook. Mix on medium speed until paste is smooth with minimal visible grains, 3 to 5 minutes, stopping to scrape sides down with the hot spatula, until the dough is pliable. (There will still be some graininess; that is okay.)

View inside of stand mixing bowl with rice dough
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Using a fine-mesh strainer, dust a  9- by 13- inch rimmed baking sheet or baking dish liberally with potato starch. Scrape dough onto prepared pan and dust the top of the dough liberally with additional potato starch. Using clean, dry hands, press dough to edges of the pan, smoothing and leveling the dough until it is about 1/2 inch thick and the surface is flat. Place dough in freezer and chill until edges release easily from the pan and the dough is firm but not frozen, about 1 hour.

Four image collage of dusting baking sheet, transferring, mochi dough into sheet, and pressing out to fill pan
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Transfer dough to a large cutting board. Using a sharp knife, cut dough into 2- by 3-inch rectangles (you should have 14 to 16 portions); wipe the knife down with a wet paper towel between cuts to keep the edges of the mochi clean. Arrange mochi on a wire rack and let dry at room temperature, flipping mochi once after 12 hours, until the surface is firm and no longer sticky, 24 hours.

Four image collage of chilled mochi being cut into squares
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

For the Sauce and to Serve: In a medium saucepan, whisk together mirin, water, soy sauce, sugar, and potato starch. Place saucepan over medium heat, bring mixture to boil, and cook, stirring occasionally, until bubbling subsides and the mixture is thickened, glossy, and coats the back of a spoon, 4 to 6 minutes. Transfer mixture to a heatproof bowl and cool to room temperature. Set glaze aside until needed.

Four image collage of making sauce
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Line a rimmed baking sheet with foil. Using a dry pastry brush, brush excess potato starch from the surface of mochi. Place the portioned mochi on the prepared baking sheet. Using a blowtorch, toast the tops and sides of the mochi until it begins to puff up and blister all over. Flip and repeat until all the mochi have been evenly torched. (A lightly charred or blistered appearance is okay.) Alternatively, hold the mochi on a rimmed baking sheet about 4 to 6 inches under a broiler element until puffed and blistered all over, then flip and repeat on other side (it will be more difficult to brown the mochi evenly all over with a broiler, so a blowtorch is preferable).

Overhead view of blowtorched mochi
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Transfer cooked mochi to a wire rack, and brush each portion with sauce to coat. If desired, wrap each piece of mochi with nori and place seam-side down. Serve right away.

Side angle view of brushing glaze on mochi
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Special Equipment

Rice cooker, stand mixer, pastry brush, blowtorch or broiler, wire rack

Notes

The mochi may blow out and burst while it’s being torched. This is normal—continue to evenly torch the mochi.

Do not use non-glutinous rice, since the resulting dough will not be as cohesive or chewy.

Make-Ahead and Storage

Dried mochi can be kept in a single layer in a zipperlock bag and frozen for up to 2 weeks.

Homemade Kiri Mochi (Grilled Mochi With Soy Sauce and Nori)

Also known as isobeyaki or yakimochi, these tender grilled Japanese rice cakes come together from scratch with the help of a stand mixer.

OVerhead view of mochi
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Every year, a few days after Christmas, some families in Japan gather to celebrate Shogatsu, the Japanese New Year, by pounding hot, steamy rice into mochi. Using a large wooden mallet called a kine, they take turns hitting the steamed grains in a one-meter diameter usu (mortar) carved from a tree stump, rhythmically turning the rice by hand between strikes, until the rice transforms into a smooth, sticky dough. “It’s a family affair,” says Nancy Singleton Hachisu, who has resided in rural Japan since 1988 and is the James Beard Award-winning author of Japanese Farm Food and Preserving the Japanese Way. “Mochitsuki is a time for community and gathering.”

What Is Traditional Mochi? Why Should You Make It?

Soft, chewy, and sticky, mochi is a rice cake that  can be served in a multitude of ways: grilled, boiled, wrapped around anko (red bean paste), dipped in kinako (roasted soybean flour), and even deep fried. Its name, “mochi,” comes from mochi gome, the type of short-grain glutinous rice it’s made from.

Mochitsuki (mochi pounding) is a tradition dating back to at least the 8th century, with origins going back much farther to ancient China. Throughout history, mochi has held cultural significance for several occasions, from celebrating the New Year to childbirth and marriage, but by far the most common time for making and eating mochi is during Shogatsu.

Side angle view of mochi
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

For many, the notion of mochi evokes multicolored shapes (fruits, even animals) and molded confections popular in Japanese convenience stores and candy shops. For many more, mochi might be most closely associated with ice cream. But Hachisu is quick to point out that these foods are often not made with mochi in the most traditional sense. “Those [confections] are the furthest thing from mochi,” she says. “It doesn’t taste the same, because it’s made from mochiko flour—not from freshly steamed rice.” The vast majority of mochi you find commercially is not hand-pounded.

Modern food processing has made it possible to mix mochi at home from a fine, boxed powder or flour. You mix mochiko (or shiratamako) with water, cook it over the stovetop or microwave, and boom—mochi on the fly. But all that convenience comes at a price. “That stuff is pretty much flavorless in comparison,” Hachisu says. There’s nothing wrong with it. But it lacks a few things: flavor and texture, and in a more sentimental sense, the feelings of tradition, process, gathering, and community which make mochi such a special food in the first place.

The Challenge of (and Solution to) Making Pounded Mochi at Home

Developing a pounded mochi recipe for the home cook presents several challenges. For one, I’m pretty sure most people don’t own either an usu or a kine. Second, mochitsuki is traditionally performed outdoors or in a large, open area with plenty of room to swing a big old mallet. “You’re never gonna be able to do it at home,” Hachisu says. At least, not in the traditional way.

Third, there’s the communal aspect of making mochi. “Ideally, you’d make mochi with your family, or with friends, with people in the neighborhood,” Hachisu says. “The idea of community is so essential to making mochi.”

While I can’t necessarily solve these issues—after all, recipes are typically written for a single user, and we recipe developers are generally loner types to begin with, faffing around with culinary minutiae—I considered a few alternatives to the traditional pounding process.

  • Large Mortar and Pestle: A mortar and pestle seemed an obvious choice to replicate the pounding and kneading of mochitsuki. I had passable results with small volumes of rice, but the yields were pitiful; a typical mortar simply doesn’t have enough capacity. And because of that small capacity, the rice tended to cool down too quickly before forming a cohesive, smooth paste. The rapid cooling made pounding prohibitively difficult as the paste thickened. This method took upwards of 15 minutes for a cup of dry rice, and the result was grainy and unappealing.
  • Mochi-Making Machine: For those intent on regularly enjoying pounded mochi at home, you can buy dedicated mochi-making machines from reputable rice cooker companies like Zojirushi and Tiger. Marketed as all-in-one rice cooking and mochi-making devices, these machines set you back anywhere from 200 to 500 dollars. While I was tempted to try these machines out, I concluded that most home cooks wouldn’t be willing to drop that kind of money for such a specialized piece of equipment.
  • Stand Mixer: When I suggested using a stand mixer to replicate the pounding and kneading process, Hachisu was skeptical. “You know, I had one of those Cuisinart stand mixers once. I’m pretty sure I threw it out,” she joked. In her estimation, the mochi dough might overwhelm the mixer, burning the motor out. “I’m not sure that it would work,” she said. “But I’ve also never tried it. So feel free to prove me wrong.”

The stand mixer does, in fact, work. Using a combination of the dough hook and the paddle attachments yielded the best results. The dough hook accomplished the initial kneading and helped to form a cohesive mass; whipping the dough with the paddle attachment broke the grains further apart, yielding a smoother result. And the best part? The work can be done quickly while the rice retains its heat.

Overhead view of rice being pounded in a stand mixer
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

There are still limitations to this method. Compared to the texture of store-bought mochi or mochi made the traditional way, the resulting dough isn’t perfectly smooth—just ever-so-slightly grainy if you hold a cross-section up to the light. But in terms of eating quality and the handling of the dough, that graininess is imperceptible. Additionally, I found that there was an upper limit on the volume of rice my 7-quart KitchenAid mixer could handle—around 3 cups of dry rice. So depending on the model and capacity of your stand mixer, your mileage may vary. 

Other Keys To Mochi Success

Type of Rice

Good mochi starts with selecting the proper rice variety and quality. For one, mochi gome, or short-grain japonica glutinous rice, is essential. Glutinous rice is nearly 100 percent amylopectin, one of two main polysaccharides found in starch, along with amylose. Amylopectin tends to form a sticky, viscous but flowing gel. Higher amylose rice varieties, such as jasmine rice, are not suitable for making mochi, since they don’t form a sticky gel when blitzed apart or pounded.

Rice Cooking Methods

The traditional method for cooking rice is twofold: the rice is first soaked overnight in water, then it is wrapped in muslin cloth and steamed for about an hour under a heavy wooden lid over an iron pot of water until the grains are tender. Soaking ensures that the rice cooks evenly when steamed, and some studies suggest that it reduces the protein content of the rice and also improves both shine and eating quality.

I tried to replicate this steaming method with cheesecloth and either a bamboo steamer or a heavy-lidded Dutch oven. While the Dutch oven produced good results results, it was a finickier process that required having to consistently check the grains by opening up the cheesecloth. The bamboo steamer, on the other hand, didn’t produce evenly cooked grains, and tended to stain the grains slightly brown.

Hachisu also recommended using a rice cooker (without soaking the grains beforehand)—though this is far from a traditional technique. This gave me consistent results, so I could really dial the ratio of water to rice to mimic the texture of properly steamed rice. I was curious if omitting the soaking step affected the texture and appearance of the dough, but I found the differences too minute to tell. If you’re a purist, stick to steaming. Otherwise, rice prepared in a rice cooker works just fine.

Heat

Another fundamental aspect of mochitsuki involves maintaining heat while pounding the rice. If the rice cools too much before the paste reaches the target consistency, then pounding becomes increasingly difficult, and the finished texture isn’t ideal. It’s also a pain to handle the dough when it’s cold, so the mixing, pounding, or kneading must be done quickly. “It’s a race against time,” says Hachisu.

Fortunately, the stand mixer does the heavy lifting here. But to maintain the temperature of the dough, I found it helpful to keep a rigid silicone spatula dipped in boiling water nearby. That hot, wet spatula made it easy to scrape down the sides of the bowl and fold the dough over itself, mimicking the motions of folding by hand.

Rolling, Shaping, and Katakuriko

Overhead view of covering mochi with potato starch
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Once the mochi is mixed, it is usually formed into shapes and eaten right away. No matter what form mochi takes, it is customary to coat the work surface with katakuriko (potato starch). In fact, without potato starch, the mochi dough is nearly impossible to handle because of how sticky it is. A liberal dusting of katakuriko makes portioning, rolling, or pressing a relatively painless endeavor.

Drying

For the specific style of mochi called yakimochi (grilled mochi) shown in this recipe, it’s helpful to dry the mochi before cutting and cooking. These cut squares, known as kirimochi, are often sold commercially in vacuum sealed packs. The drying process forms a skin on the surface of the mochi, which allows the mochi to puff up dramatically over the grill or when toasted. The result is a crispy, crunchy exterior that gives way to a soft, chewy interior.

Serving Suggestions

There is no shortage of serving options for mochi. While this recipe produces a mochi dough suitable for enrobing or rolling into various shapes, I wanted to offer mochi in its more unadorned form. “My favorite way to eat mochi is just toasted in the oven, maybe brushed with a little soy sauce,” says Hachisu. “Mochi is all about the rice, that delicate flavor.”

Ideally, yakimochi are cooked on a Japanese grill called a konro, ideally over binchotan coals. To replicate this at home, I opt for the strategic use of a blowtorch to get those charred, smoky edges and encourage the mochi to puff on all sides (if you don't have a blowtorch, you can use a broiler, though it will be more difficult to get even browning). The grilled mochi are brushed with a simple tare thickened with potato starch, wrapped in nori, and eaten hot—a serving style known as isobeyaki.

If you don’t have a grill or a blowtorch, a toaster oven (or an oven) is your next best option. The broiler setting produces a similar effect as a grill, albeit with less pronounced blistering or charring.

If you prefer sweeter options, you can drizzle the mochi with brown sugar syrup and serve it with some kinako (roasted soybean powder) or with globs of anko (red adzuki bean paste).

Continuing Traditions

Several years ago, Hachisu stumbled upon people making mochi while traveling through an airport. “It was probably a PR event,” she says. They wore gaudy, extravagant Japanese costumes, which were fake. They were shouting in a touristy, obnoxious way. “It was kind of sickening, to be honest. That’s not mochi.”

But all around Japan, there are enclaves of people carrying on the true traditions of mochitsuki, mostly in rural areas. “There are plenty of young people who come to our farming area, seeking a more natural life,” says Hachisu. They learn the tradition, revive it, and carry it on. Beyond the action itself, mochitsuki is about community and gathering.

How do you bring that feeling to your home? Hachisu recommends inviting friends over to make mochi—even if you happen to be using a stand mixer, with no usu or kine in sight. And if you can’t gather? You might as well share. As we wrap up our interview, Hachisu remembers to send a little mochi to her son who’s moved across the ocean to Brooklyn—so he can enjoy a little taste of home.

For the Mochi: In the bowl of a rice cooker, combine rice and water. Cook rice according to rice cooker settings for “white rice,” until grains are cooked through and translucent, about 45 minutes.

Overhead view of rice in a rice cooker
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

In a large pot, bring 3 quarts of water to a boil. Pour 4 cups of the boiling water into the bowl of a stand mixer, then pour out the water (this warms up the bowl and helps to maintain the heat of the rice as it’s beaten.) Keep the remaining boiling water in the pot with a rigid silicone spatula in it (this keeps the spatula warm and moist for scraping down the sides of the bowl). Immediately transfer rice to the warmed stand mixer bowl and, using a dough hook, mix on medium speed until the rice forms a coarse paste, about 2 minutes. Stop stand mixer and, using the hot spatula, scrape down rice to the center. Continue mixing until paste is smoother, about 1 minute longer.

Two image collage of rice being added to a stand mixer and a plastic spatula pushing down rice
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Switch to paddle attachment, scraping any excess paste off the dough hook. Mix on medium speed until paste is smooth with minimal visible grains, 3 to 5 minutes, stopping to scrape sides down with the hot spatula, until the dough is pliable. (There will still be some graininess; that is okay.)

View inside of stand mixing bowl with rice dough
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Using a fine-mesh strainer, dust a  9- by 13- inch rimmed baking sheet or baking dish liberally with potato starch. Scrape dough onto prepared pan and dust the top of the dough liberally with additional potato starch. Using clean, dry hands, press dough to edges of the pan, smoothing and leveling the dough until it is about 1/2 inch thick and the surface is flat. Place dough in freezer and chill until edges release easily from the pan and the dough is firm but not frozen, about 1 hour.

Four image collage of dusting baking sheet, transferring, mochi dough into sheet, and pressing out to fill pan
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Transfer dough to a large cutting board. Using a sharp knife, cut dough into 2- by 3-inch rectangles (you should have 14 to 16 portions); wipe the knife down with a wet paper towel between cuts to keep the edges of the mochi clean. Arrange mochi on a wire rack and let dry at room temperature, flipping mochi once after 12 hours, until the surface is firm and no longer sticky, 24 hours.

Four image collage of chilled mochi being cut into squares
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

For the Sauce and to Serve: In a medium saucepan, whisk together mirin, water, soy sauce, sugar, and potato starch. Place saucepan over medium heat, bring mixture to boil, and cook, stirring occasionally, until bubbling subsides and the mixture is thickened, glossy, and coats the back of a spoon, 4 to 6 minutes. Transfer mixture to a heatproof bowl and cool to room temperature. Set glaze aside until needed.

Four image collage of making sauce
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Line a rimmed baking sheet with foil. Using a dry pastry brush, brush excess potato starch from the surface of mochi. Place the portioned mochi on the prepared baking sheet. Using a blowtorch, toast the tops and sides of the mochi until it begins to puff up and blister all over. Flip and repeat until all the mochi have been evenly torched. (A lightly charred or blistered appearance is okay.) Alternatively, hold the mochi on a rimmed baking sheet about 4 to 6 inches under a broiler element until puffed and blistered all over, then flip and repeat on other side (it will be more difficult to brown the mochi evenly all over with a broiler, so a blowtorch is preferable).

Overhead view of blowtorched mochi
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Transfer cooked mochi to a wire rack, and brush each portion with sauce to coat. If desired, wrap each piece of mochi with nori and place seam-side down. Serve right away.

Side angle view of brushing glaze on mochi
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Special Equipment

Rice cooker, stand mixer, pastry brush, blowtorch or broiler, wire rack

Notes

The mochi may blow out and burst while it’s being torched. This is normal—continue to evenly torch the mochi.

Do not use non-glutinous rice, since the resulting dough will not be as cohesive or chewy.

Make-Ahead and Storage

Dried mochi can be kept in a single layer in a zipperlock bag and frozen for up to 2 weeks.

How to Make Kombucha

This recipe for classic jasmine tea kombucha goes in-depth on the history, science, and technique for perfect kombucha every time.

Three bottles of homemade kombucha
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

I have a love-hate relationship with kombucha. Don’t get me wrong—I love the odd bottle of GT’s Brand from time to time; how can you resist a beverage with names like “Mystic Mango,” “Strawberry Glow,” or “Guava Goddess”? On the other hand, I find that GT’s kombucha tends toward the aggressively tart side, which can overpower the subtleties of other flavors. And more than anything, commercial kombucha can put a serious dent in your wallet if you consume the stuff with any regularity.

Which brings us to brewing your own kombucha. Homebrewing opens multiple avenues for flavor and customization—tartness, fruitiness, fizziness, and sweetness to name a few. And for the price of one bottle of GT’s kombucha, you can brew an entire gallon of the stuff—not a bad deal. 

I also realize that kombucha evokes certain tropes: health-conscious, California-crunchy maker culture, or even that over-eager line cook who just got back from a stage in Copenhagen having discovered the marvels of fermentation*. But you know what—who cares? Brewing kombucha is awesome—and with the right direction, it’s easy.     

*I am guilty of this. I am a walking meme.     


Kombucha has seen a massive rise in popularity over the past decade. It feels like you can’t pass two aisles in a grocery store without running into a shelf loaded with bottles of the stuff. Heck, you can even find a respectable selection at the Speedway off the interstate. Maybe it’s the tart flavor, the slight sweetness, or that unmistakable effervescence. Or maybe it’s the hazy promise of 'good health,' conveniently packaged in a fancy bottle, ready to wash your mortal sins away. 

Three bottles of Kombucha
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

Whatever its appeal may be, kombucha comprises a more than 1-billion dollar market value globally.* By 2025, that number is projected to be anywhere from 6.5 to 8.15 billion dollars. For comparison, Sprite had a market value of just over 6 billion dollars in 2020. 

*In 2019, the global market value for kombucha was estimated to be 1.36 billion dollars, of which 600 million dollars was concentrated in North American markets.

But what is kombucha, beyond a trendy ‘health’ drink? Where does it come from? And how do you make it? 

What Is Kombucha?

Kombucha is a fermented beverage that is traditionally made from sweetened green or black tea. Its funk, tartness, and refreshing carbonation depend on the activity of various microorganisms—bacteria and yeasts. Under the right conditions, those bacteria convert sugar in the tea to different kinds of acid, lowering the pH and creating tartness, while the yeasts metabolize sugar to produce carbon dioxide under pressure. What you’re left with is a sour, bubbly, slightly sweet concoction that has been consumed for hundreds, if not thousands, of years for its various purported health benefits and its deliciousness. 

The Murky History of Kombucha

The origins of kombucha (a.k.a. tea fungus and mushroom tea) are unclear. Some believe that the drink originated in China as early as 220 BCE at the start of the Qin Dynasty, tracking the spread of tea as it made its way along the Silk Road (other sources set the date one year earlier at 221 BCE, which is why World Kombucha Day is celebrated on 2/21). Prized for its apparent healing properties, by 414 AD the beverage spread to Japan: According to lore, a Korean doctor named Kombu (or Komu-ha) brought the fermented tea to Japan in order to treat the ailing Emperor Inkyo. While this timeline would be fitting, it should also be noted that people didn’t regularly drink tea in China until the Tang Dynasty (618-907 AD), at least 200 years later. 

Overhead view of bubbles in three kombucha bottles
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

By the time tea trade expanded to Europe, kombucha had gained popularity, particularly in Russia (as “kambucha”) around the end of World War I and into World War II, again for its supposed health benefits. In 1951, the Academy of Science in Russia and the Central Oncologic Research Institute in Moscow studied rural regions with low incidence rates of cancer, and eventually identified kombucha as a potential (though unproven) explanation, as it was popular in many of those areas. In the 1980s and early ‘90s, kombucha saw rising interest in the United States during the HIV/AIDS epidemic, as it was believed, according to 1996's Kombucha: The Miracle Fungus, that the drink could bolster T-cell counts and support the immune system. But in 1995, kombucha hit a low point when the CDC reported two cases of severe metabolic acidosis, or a buildup of acid in the body due to kidney failure (one fatal) linked to the drink

Coincidentally, 1995 was the year that George Thomas "GT" Dave founded GT’s Living Foods, the largest and most successful kombucha producer in the world. And after many years, this beverage has grown into the wildly popular product we know today.

According to Kristin Hovzen, co-owner of the Cultured Pickle Shop in Berkeley, California, the story of kombucha is simply a story of probability. “[Kombucha] evolved with the tea plant,” Hovzen says. “Someone probably left a pot of sweet tea open and exposed to air. A fly landed in the cup, transferring acetic acid bacteria. Some film grew on top, preserving the tea, making it sour and funky.” The point is, there are many legends and plausible beginnings to kombucha, but as Hannah Crum and Alex Lagory write in The Big Book of Kombucha, “there is a kernel of truth at the heart of each one.”   

Are There Health Benefits to Drinking Kombucha?

Proponents of kombucha attribute all kinds of health benefits to the beverage: It’s a viable source of probiotics (healthy gut bacteria) that bolster beneficial gut flora, it boosts T-cell count and therefore strengthens the immune system, it cures cancer, it’s great for skin—it even does your taxes. But most, if not all of these claims have yet to be proven definitively. Officially, the FDA has not approved any probiotic for treating or preventing any health ailment. And even as the most serious of kombucha stans, I hesitate to make any such health claims. No, I’m here because I like the taste of kombucha and I like making it. 

How Do You Make Kombucha?

Making kombucha involves just three ingredients: sweetened tea, some starter kombucha, and a SCOBY, that floppy gelatinous thing that looks it came straight from the goo tank in the Matrix trilogy. You throw all of that into a big jar, cover it, and microbes get to work, converting sugars into acids and carbon dioxide. After seven to 14 days, (and after a couple more steps) you’re left with a tasty, tart, fizzy beverage.  

End of fermentation round 1
Serious Eats / Tim Chin


Of course, there are tons of details in this process, and plenty of opportunities to add flavor, but we’ll cover that later.

First, we need to understand the individual components of a kombucha brew. The most important are the SCOBY and the starter kombucha—the sources of microbes that drive fermentation.

What Is a SCOBY?

There is nothing more emblematic of brewing kombucha than a SCOBY. An acronym for Symbiotic Culture of Bacteria and Yeast, a SCOBY is the floppy, opaque, gelatinous layer that forms on the top of a brew of kombucha as bacteria and yeasts metabolize sugar. This biofilm layer, sometimes called a pellicle (or my favorite term, “zoogleal mat”), is largely composed of cellulose, a byproduct of fermentation in the presence of oxygen (which is why the layer forms at the exposed surface). It absorbs water readily—much like a sponge—and grows layer by layer. Since microbes are distributed throughout the solution, the sponge-like SCOBY is a valuable source of them, acting as an “inoculant” or starter for subsequent batches.

Two image collage of Scobys before they are placed in a kombucha
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

A SCOBY is sometimes described as a “consortium”—an association of different microbes that power fermentation. Its primary functions are twofold: serves as a source of microbes to jumpstart or power the fermentation, and as a protective layer for the liquid beneath that facilitates an anaerobic environment.

Technically, SCOBY is not a term exclusive to kombucha. Other examples of SCOBY’s include water kefir grains (tibicos), jun (a kombucha-like drink made with honey instead of sugar), and vinegar. Even a sourdough starter is a kind of SCOBY—a simple collection of bacteria and yeast. 

Do You Really Need a SCOBY to Make Kombucha?

There’s a certain mysticism and sentimentality behind owning, using, and sharing a SCOBY. Like a sourdough starter, a SCOBY is often thought of as an essential mother culture—the key source of microbes required to brew successive batches of kombucha. And due to its alien-like, slimy appearance, a SCOBY fits the ethos of crunchy, DIY homebrewers looking to share their “mothers” with friends and family alike. 

But here’s the truth: You don’t necessarily need a SCOBY to successfully brew kombucha. All you really need is good starting kombucha tea—liquid teeming with the very same bacteria and yeast contained in a healthy SCOBY. Given enough time and sufficient conditions, those microbes will form another perfectly viable SCOBY at the surface of the liquid.

Brewing parsley tea
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

A SCOBY isn’t precious—certainly not in the way that a sourdough starter might be treated. In a healthy brew, over time SCOBY’s tend to grow quickly and abundantly. So you can pick and choose the best ones for future projects. “I'm not going to say that SCOBY’s live beautifully and indefinitely,” says Hovzen. “I'm constantly recycling material and taking out pieces from ones I like. The idea that you have this one culture, that you use all the time…It's not really how it works.”

What Kind of Fermentation Happens in Kombucha? Who Are The Players Involved?

Kombucha is the product of fermentation. The bacteria and yeasts that drive that fermentation inhibit the growth of unwanted pathogenic bacteria while producing byproducts that contribute to the flavor and texture of the finished beverage. It’s best to think of a kombucha culture as a diverse ecosystem of all kinds of microbes, each with different jobs, and existing in different numbers. The primary processes involved in kombucha brewing are aerobic respiration, alcoholic fermentation and acetic acid fermentation. Let’s look in greater detail.

Aerobic Respiration

In the presence of oxygen, yeast will break sugar (sucrose) down into fructose and glucose, in a process known as respiration. The main end products here are carbon dioxide (which escapes into the atmosphere) and water (which just stays in the solution). For our purposes, we are really only interested in the fructose and glucose in the initial stages of brewing kombucha.

Anaerobic Respiration a.k.a. Alcoholic Fermentation

Alcoholic fermentation is easy enough to understand: Yeast eats sugar, then poops out ethanol and carbon dioxide (that’s how most people put it, anyway), but—and this is key—only in the absence of oxygen. Kombucha brewing is interesting in that it utilizes these two byproducts at different stages of its development—similar to the fermentative process in beer making. Yeast converts fructose to ethanol, which is then metabolized by bacteria to produce acids. Additionally, during bottling, yeasts continue to convert residual sugar into carbon dioxide, carbonating the beverage. So yeast plays double duty (or triple duty, if you count aerobic respiration), so to speak.

Blackberry Kombucha
Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

There’s no definitive consensus on which kinds of yeast are most important to kombucha. Zygosaccharomyces, Candida, Torulaspora, Pichia, Brettanomyces, Schizosaccharomyces, Hanseniaspora, and Saccharomyces are just some of the more common genera found experimentally in brewing. In a sample of over 100 kombucha cultures, this study found that Brettanomyces was the dominant yeast overall. But for the average brewers like us, it’s not too important a distinction. No matter how many variables you adjust, you can’t really micromanage the relative populations of microbes in any given brew—microbes just do what they do, and you gotta live with that.

Does alcoholic fermentation affect the flavor of kombucha? Sure, but to a less obvious degree than acetic acid fermentation. In a perfect world, all of the ethanol produced by yeast gets converted to acetic acid. But if your brew is very yeasty, then that increased activity may result in a slightly boozy, sometimes bready or musty flavor (between 0.5 and 1% ABV). And depending on the species, some yeasts provide slight funk and background complexity.

How Boozy Will My Booch Get?

Alcohol is a natural byproduct of yeast fermentation. So no matter how you brew kombucha, there will always at least be trace amounts of alcohol. Can you control the amount of alcohol in your kombucha? Yes and no. For a more alcoholic result, you could increase the amount of yeast in the brew by adding yeasts from an external source (this would overwhelm the population of bacteria and encourage a surplus of ethanol). You could also increase the amount of sugar in the brew, which helps the yeast proliferate over time. But in the end, the relative population of yeasts to bacteria in a given brew is random, so precisely controlling ABV can be tricky.

Acetic Acid Fermentation

Acetic acid fermentation results in the tartness that characterizes kombucha, as well as the formation of the cellulose biofilm or ‘pellicle’ that comprises the SCOBY. Central to this fermentation are acetic acid bacteria (AAB for short), which convert ethanol or sugar to acetic acid, gluconic acid, and other byproducts. In any given brew, there may exist several species of AAB, such as Acetobacter aceti, Acetobacter pasteurianus, Gluconobacter oxydans, Komagataeibacter xylinum, and Komagataeibacter oboediens, each performing a slightly different fermentation task. For example, A. aceti converts ethanol (from the alcoholic fermentation) to acetic acid (the acid in vinegar), producing an aggressive acidity that we can taste. Other species like G. oxydans produce gluconic acid from glucose, which similarly lowers the pH—but without increasing the sensation of sourness. Gluconic acid is generally milder and sweeter tasting, lending complexity to the overall flavor of kombucha. Finally, some bacteria such as K. xylinum or K. oboediens also produce cellulose in addition to acetic acid*. The Komagataeibacter genus is perhaps the most abundant and important group of bacteria associated with kombucha—central to the development of the SCOBY and that characteristic tart flavor.

*K. xylinum is often used in the Philippines to make nata de coco, a jelly-like dessert grown on coconut water. So yes, technically the SCOBY is edible and commonly eaten!

Other Microbial Fermentations

In addition to acetic acid bacteria, lactic acid bacteria may be present in a given brew, but typically they occur in smaller amounts. In that same study of over 100 commercial kombucha starter cultures, Komagataeibacter was the most prevalent and abundant. LAB bacteria (such as Lactobacillus) are sometimes even added in commercial production to enhance the beverage’s probiotic benefit.

A Symbiotic Dance: How It All Comes Together

It’s easy to get lost in the weeds of all the specific microbes involved and all of their varied functions. But all you need to know is this: All of these fermentative processes are constantly occurring in a complex system that isn’t easy to describe in a linear way.

Here’s a simplified flowchart to help you visualize:

Main Metabolic Activity of Kombucha tea (Markov et al., 2003)
Graphic by Serious Eats / Amanda Suarez

So to review: When you first mix a fresh batch of sweetened tea with a dose of an existing batch of kombucha and a small piece of SCOBY, yeast get to work immediately, breaking sucrose into glucose and fructose through aerobic respiration. Cellulose-producing bacteria use those sugars to build a biofilm at the top. Once this new SCOBY forms and fully covers the surface of the liquid, oxygen levels decrease, which encourages yeast to ferment fructose into ethanol (and carbon dioxide), which bacteria then metabolize into acetic acid, turning the brew sour. That’s one heck of a dance. 

Brewing Basics

Now that I’ve clobbered your brain with microbial theory, let’s get on to brewing. There are typically two stages to kombucha brewing: the primary fermentation and the secondary fermentation. For many brewers and commercial producers, these stages are commonly known as “F1” and “F2.” The first fermentation is the longest stage of brewing, and primarily responsible for the overall tart flavor of kombucha. The second fermentation is generally shorter in duration (and even optional), and is mostly intended for carbonation and additional flavoring. 

The Primary Fermentation (F1)

The primary fermentation is where the magic happens. “Most of the work is in that primary fermentation,” says Alex Hovzen. If you hit F1, then the rest of the process should go smoothly. The bulk of the kombucha’s flavor and acidity develop at this stage, as acids accumulate and yeasts proliferate. To begin, you have to brew and mix the initial tea, and there are several considerations to make before starting out. 

Water

As with many fermentations, it’s best to use filtered, bottled, or distilled water when brewing tea for kombucha. Tap water can contain trace amounts of chlorine or chloramine as well as other hard minerals like calcium, which can impede microbial activity.

Sugar

In theory, the key here is to select a sweetener largely consisting of sucrose—which can be readily broken down by yeast into glucose and fructose. Refined granulated sugar is almost 100% sucrose, and it works great for brewing kombucha. For artisanal brewers like The Cultured Pickle Shop, raw cane sugar crystals are the sweetener of choice. But anecdotally—and in my own experience brewing—it’s entirely possible to make kombucha with alternative sugar sources. Maple syrup is mostly sucrose, and it performs well. But fruit or vegetable juices like mango, carrot, and strawberry juice can also work—sources which are mostly fructose. Even honey works—to the chagrin of some armchair kombucha purists—and that’s backed up by Korean recipes for jun, a fermented beverage virtually identical to kombucha. 

What sugar concentration should you use? The common standard ratio—championed by The Big Book of Kombucha (and even members of the r/kombucha subreddit)—is one cup of sugar per gallon of brewed kombucha. Can you use more, or less? Absolutely. Using less sugar means less potential acid in the finished beverage, and possibly a fermentation that isn’t so vigorous. On the other hand, using more sugar means you can have greater potential acidity (lower pH), but you also have an excess of sugar, so the balance of sweet-to-tart may be skewed in the sweet direction. It may take a longer period of time to reach the balance of sweet–sour that you’re looking for in your kombucha, since there’s a larger amount of sugar for microbes to metabolize.

If you want to get really nerdy, you can measure your starting sugar concentration in brix (°Bx), which is a unit of measurement to describe the sugar content of a liquid, measured as grams of sugar per 100 grams of water. Starting concentrations for kombucha can range from 6°Bx to as high as 15°Bx. For instance, many of the recipes in The Noma Book of Fermentation use a concentration of 12 brix or higher. To be honest, I found this concentration produced kombucha that was a bit too sweet in some cases (and the kombucha subreddit seems to agree). I found better results in the 8-9°Bx range, which (after doing some math) lines up with 1 to 1 ¼ cups of sugar per gallon of brewed kombucha.      

Tea (And if You Even Need it)

Traditionally, dried tea is essential to making kombucha, and for many it's the only choice for brewing. The argument here is that tea provides trace amounts of nitrogen, as well as nutrients like caffeine, tannins, and theanine (a non-essential amino acid analogue that gives green tea its slightly savory flavor), all of which encourage microbial activity. Empirically, I found this to be true: Kombucha brewed from green, black, or jasmine tea was reliably sour and bubbly, and it was easy to brew successive batches from such tea cultures. But what if you’re caffeine sensitive? What if you don’t want or enjoy the tannic qualities of tea? Do you even really need tea to make kombucha?

Purists argue that if it doesn’t have tea, it isn’t kombucha. I won’t argue with you if you’re willing to die on the tea-only hill, but I will offer this: It’s absolutely possible to make a fizzy, fermented drink—one that looks and tastes like real-deal kombucha—without using tea. Just look at the entire catalog of kombucha recipes in The Noma Guide to Fermentation. None of those recipes utilize traditional teas, but instead rely on herbal tisanes and fruit or vegetable juices. 

“We brew herbal batches all the time,” says Hovzen of The Cultured Pickle Shop. There, they employ all kinds of fresh herbs in the first fermentation: Shiso, fennel, celery, and parsley are just some of their flavors. “I think herbs produce some of the more interesting, unique flavors that we do. Obviously, [the tea plant] Camellia sinensis is an important plant in the anthropology of food. But there are just so many different options for plant-microbial relationships that I think one could explore through kombucha.” 

Technically, you could even sustain a healthy SCOBY in sugared water. The bacteria, yeast, and residual acids will survive and grow in a kind of stasis; over time, the SCOBY will form new layers and grow in size. 

SCOBY

Typically, the best source for a SCOBY is a friend or someone in your neighborhood who is reliably brewing their own kombucha: SCOBY’s grow quickly and can easily take over a brewing vessel, so more likely than not, a kombucha brewer will be happy to offload excess SCOBY material (and if you’re lucky, some microbe-rich tea as well). 

If you can’t find a friend—or if you don’t feel all that comfortable with someone handing you a suspicious jar of gelatinous goo—then online or through a vendor is your next best option. But keep in mind that not all commercially-sold SCOBY’s are equal. SCOBY’s sold dry or unsubmerged in starter liquid tend to perform weakly in comparison to those sold fresh and packaged in starter tea. Finally, it’s absolutely possible to grow a SCOBY from scratch—provided that you have enough viable kombucha starter tea, and enough time. But for our purposes, we’ll stick to the traditional SCOBY method. 

The thickness of the starting SCOBY doesn’t matter too much—more SCOBY isn’t necessarily better for brewing, since a thick disc of SCOBY can displace enough liquid to overwhelm the jar. It’s also not clear if having more SCOBY at the start speeds up or improves fermentation: It would depend on how many microbes populate the culture. What may be important is the diameter of your SCOBY: If it completely covers the surface of the liquid, it acts as a slight barrier to oxygen, which helps to inhibit spoilage in the initial stages. Later on, that cap can partially trap carbon dioxide as it accumulates, which is helpful in determining the success of your brew when you taste it later down the line.    

Starter Kombucha (Inoculant)

Starter tea is an integral part of the initial brew. Not only is this tea a rich source of microbes, but it also lowers the starting pH of the solution, discouraging unwanted microbial growth and favoring yeast respiration and eventual fermentation. Adding just two cups of healthy, acidic starter tea to a one-gallon brew can lower the pH safely below 4.5, which lessens the chances of pathogenic growth in the initial stages of fermentation. The practice of adding starter tea from a previous batch (inoculant) to a fresh batch of sweet tea is known as backslopping.

Container 

The standard for primary fermentation is a one-gallon, wide-mouth glass jar. While it’s entirely possible to ferment in food-safe plastic, many people have reservations about trace chemicals leaching into the liquid, or abrasions that can harbor unwanted bacteria. Metal containers are a less popular alternative, since reactive metals like aluminum can disrupt fermentation. Non-reactive stainless steel is perfectly acceptable. (For those brewing larger batches of kombucha, a large brewing container with a spigot is a popular choice. The kombucha is poured off as needed, and continually topped off with sweet tea.)

Temperature

Like many fermentations, the optimal working temperature is ambient temperature. That can range from anywhere between 70 and 85°F. For instance, recipes in The Noma Book of Fermentation recommend a relatively high fermenting temperature of 82°F. At The Cultured Pickle Shop, the ambient temperature in the Bay Area sits right at 70°F. In general, the warmer the temperature, the faster the fermentation. Yeasts thrive at warmer temperatures, but acetic acid bacteria tend to favor lower temperatures. For a more tart, pungent kombucha, it’s better to ferment at the lower end of this range where the bacteria thrive. “If it's too warm, you can get some pretty funky stuff,” says Hovzen. Flavors like uric acid can build up in the brew, which can taste unpleasant. On the other hand, if time is an issue and you just want kombucha fast, then fermenting around 80°F is better.

Time

Timing for the primary fermentation can range from one week up to one month. Why the discrepancy? There are many factors to consider: warm or cold ambient temperatures, the starting concentration of microbes in the starter tea and SCOBY, or the type of tea or plant material you use. Ultimately, you can only control so many factors. “If you think you have so much control, then you are vastly overestimating your role in this process,” says Hovzen. But over successive brews with your specific tea culture, you will get a feel for the timing.

How Do You Know When F1 Is Complete?

pH

One of the goals of F1 is to lower the pH of the brew enough to limit unwanted microbial growth, in addition to giving us that sour taste. We’ve mentioned that the starter kombucha lowers the pH instantly to 4.5 or even 4.0. But what is the final, target pH after fermentation? I’ve seen final pH values ranging from 2.5 to 4.5, but according to FDA guidelines, kombucha must have a final pH below 4.2, and greater than or equal to 2.5—measured either with pH strips or with a pH meter. At The Cultured Pickle Shop, Kristen Hovzen aims for a pH between 2.8-2.9. “It’s pretty acidic,” says Hovzen. “But it also has to be well-rounded.”    

Taste and “Texture”

While pH may be a more precise metric for knowing when the primary fermentation is complete, the best indicator is far more subjective. “When I pull kombucha to bottle it, it's all done by taste,” says Hovzen. “I'm looking for a particular taste and I know what that is, but I certainly couldn't put that in a language of metrics for you.” She describes a balance of sweetness and acidity that can be highly dependent on personal taste. Unlike GT’s brews, which Hovzen describes as aggressively sour, she prefers more rounded, tempered acidity. 

Properly fermented kombucha also has a certain lightness or bubbly texture on the palate when you taste it. While the jar is open to the air, there is still some carbon dioxide generated and trapped beneath the SCOBY during the first fermentation. “You can see bubbling underneath, and when you push the SCOBY aside to taste the tea, there should be a lot of activity going on in there.” That dryness, or bubbliness, is something you can feel on your tongue—not quite carbonation, but almost there, Hovzen says. 

Visual

We’ve already given one visual: The formation of tiny bubbles in the kombucha as carbon dioxide builds and slowly escapes; we see this activity as the bubbles rise to the surface. For kombucha brewed with tea, you can also look at the color. As fermentation progresses, the kombucha lightens in color relative to its starting point, a result of dark colored tannins in tea being metabolized over time.

The Secondary Fermentation (F2)

The Secondary Fermentation is entirely optional. Technically, after the primary fermentation, your kombucha is ready to drink. But a secondary fermentation provides two things: carbonation and potential flavoring. For many home-brewers of kombucha, these qualities are the entire point of making kombucha. Primary fermentation is the boring but essential foundation of the brewing process; secondary fermentation is the flashy, attractive step that gets all the credit—the iconic bottle, the big bubbles, the wacky flavors.  

Here’s the general process: After the primary fermentation, the kombucha is siphoned or divided into glass bottles with an airtight fit. Sometimes fruit or vegetable juice, whole fruit or vegetables, or sugar are added to the bottle (or mixed with the kombucha in a large bottling bucket prior to bottling). The bottles are left to ferment for a shorter period of time—generally 3 to 7 days (though timing could take longer)—until the kombucha is sufficiently carbonated. The bottles are then refrigerated, slowing any additional fermentation, until ready to drink.  

There are generally three broad decisions you have to make for a secondary fermentation: the type of bottle, the type of juice or additional plant material, and the type of sugar. 

Bottle Type

Most people bottle in glass exclusively. Why? Glass is inert, does not stain or scratch easily, and if properly cast it can withstand the pressures exerted by gas as it accumulates. It’s also transparent, so you can easily view the contents (and the pretty color) inside. Plastic is a far less popular alternative: It stains, it can sometimes contain trace chemicals that leach into the liquid, and if it is scratched, then those micro-abrasions can harbor unwanted bacteria. 

As far as shape, round is the way to go. It’s generally unwise to select a square or any sharp-sided shape, since the distribution of pressure is unequal—creating weak points in the glass. At worst, using square-shaped glass can result in unintended explosions. Plus, those fancy flip-top bottles with square sides aren’t specifically designed for carbonation in the first place.

For homebrewers, flip-top or swing-top cylindrical “Grolsch” bottles made of thick glass are the classic choice for bottling, and for good reason: They are affordable, widely available online or at homebrewing stores, durable, and their rubber stoppers form an airtight seal for reliable carbonation. The only downside? Flip-top bottles have an all-or-nothing switch, so they can explode when opened if the contents of the bottle contain too much carbon dioxide. In other words, there’s no way to gradually degas the contents of the bottle. For this reason, Hovzen uses twist-cap bottles for bottling. And as long as the twist caps are durable and the threads form a tight seal, you can easily capture good carbonation. 

Fruit or Plant Material

Adding any additional fruit or vegetable—in the form of whole chunks, puree, or juice—is a simple way to flavor kombucha, but it also supplies an extra source of sugar and sometimes wild yeasts to jumpstart carbonation. The existing population of yeasts metabolize these excess sugars, producing plenty of carbon dioxide, which is trapped in the liquid in the airtight bottle. Popular options include chunks of pineapple, ginger, berries, even herbs like mint. Ingredients can be fresh, frozen, or even cooked. Here are a few tips to keep in mind:

  • Whole chunks of ingredients produce a clearer finished result, but carbonation tends to be slower; you also have to strain out those chunks at the end when serving if you want a smooth, clear drink.
  • Purees increase the surface area of materials exposed to microbes, as well as the availability of sugar for fermentation; carbonation is generally faster, but the kombucha is often cloudy and usually contains a raft of pulp and increased sediment at the bottom.  
  • Strained juices contain less pulp, so they can be a better option than purees if you want a clearer result.
  • Purees and juices should not exceed 20 percent of the total volume of liquid, since the resulting solution might exceed the recommended pH range to be considered safe for consumption. 
  • Cooked syrups or jams offer another avenue for flavor; but they do not provide any added wild yeasts—just added sugar and flavoring. Carbonation may be slower compared to a fresh fruit juice or puree, since there is a lower relative population of yeast.

Sugar

Depending on how far you have pushed the primary fermentation, there may not be too much residual sugar left in your kombucha available for yeasts to metabolize. Presumably, there should be enough sugar in whatever added fruit you are using. But if you’re using a vegetable, or you want to increase your chances of successful carbonation, then it’s not uncommon to add a teaspoon or two of sugar to each bottle.

More Tips for Reliable Secondary Fermentation

Assuming you’ve got a vigorous and healthy primary fermentation, here are some extra tips to ensure you get a fizzy, bubbly result.

Stir Before Bottling

Stirring might seem like a simple act, but it can be an essential step for successful carbonation. The microbes in a jar of kombucha are not evenly distributed within the solution: You can see this as yeast strands dangle from the bottom of the SCOBY and collect at the bottom of the jar in a sediment layer. When you stir kombucha prior to bottling, the yeasts are more evenly distributed, so there’s a greater chance that there’s a healthy population of yeasts in each bottle.

Give a Little Headspace

It’s often recommended to leave a little headspace in the bottle. Why? Yeast are sensitive to both pressure and acidity; high pressure and high acidity cause the yeast to go dormant. If you don’t leave enough headspace, then pressure will build faster as carbon dioxide remains in the fluid (but there is less actual gas overall in the bottle). Carbon dioxide dissociates to carbonic acid in the liquid, raising the acidity of the solution. The combination of high pressure and acidity stresses the yeast, so the yeast go dormant before the bottles are properly ‘conditioned’ or carbonated. 

For this reason, it’s best to leave about 1 inch of headspace in the bottle, which allows gas to accumulate in the empty space, and then be forced down into the liquid. On the flip side, if you leave too much headspace, the gas may never force itself into the liquid, so you won’t get bubbles in your drink.  

Make Sure You Have a Tight Seal

A tight seal is essential for trapping gas in the bottle. Swing-top bottles usually feature a rubber stopper that creates a tight, flush seal. But it’s important to make sure that the lip of the bottle is dry and clean before closing. Similarly, twist caps should be tightened as far as possible, and the threads should fit the bottle cleanly.

Maintain Temperature

The ideal temperature range for secondary fermentation is between 70 to 80℉. Yeast thrive at warmer temperatures, so the fermentation typically goes quickly at the top end of this range—from 3 to 5 days.

Give It Time

The time range for secondary fermentation is usually less than 1 week. But if at the end of this period, your kombucha isn’t sufficiently bubbly, then you can leave the bottles to ferment for up to 2 additional weeks. Most of the time, carbonation does take place—but for a given batch, the concentration of yeasts might not be sufficient for a fast turnaround.

Just Keep Brewing

If all else fails, and you can’t seem to get any carbonation, then often times it’s best to just keep brewing. For new homebrewers—with a freshly procured SCOBY and unreliable starter tea—the community of microbes in the first brew may not be as robust and developed as you want. This community is constantly changing, and improves in activity over time, over successive brews. So if your secondary fermentation completely fails—despite starting with a fermented base that is pleasantly sour and sweet after the primary fermentation—just keep brewing. 

Storing SCOBY for the Long Term

In an ideal world, you might brew kombucha indefinitely and continuously: you brew tea, let it ferment, decant what you need into bottles, and brew more tea to continue the process. But people get busy, and it’s totally understandable if you don’t want to be tied to a constant cycle of brewing and bottling. If you can’t or don’t want to make another batch right away, storing a SCOBY for the long term is simple: Brew some more sweetened tea (or even sweetened water), add it to the jar with the SCOBY and starter tea, and let everything ferment at room temperature. Stored in this way, the SCOBY will thrive for upwards of eight to twelve weeks. The resulting tea is very acidic—generally far too acidic for the second fermentation. But it’s still microbially rich starter tea perfect for brewing subsequent batches of kombucha. 

Putting It All Together

By now you should have a complete idea of the steps and science behind brewing your own kombucha. Fortunately, putting it into practice isn’t all that heady. What follows is a simple recipe to get you started, for a truly foundational kombucha: jasmine tea. Once you’ve gotten comfortable with the rhythm of brewing and can produce consistent results, you should have the confidence to branch off into different flavors, like this recipe for blackberry-mint kombucha, and variations of the method, as I demonstrate in this recipe for strawberry, rhubarb, and parsley kombucha. And more than anything, this guide should give you all the tools to craft your own flavors, tailored to your tastes and preferences.  

For the First Fermentation: In a large 4-quart or larger pot, combine 4 cups (960ml) water with the sugar and bring to a boil over high heat, stirring occasionally to help fully dissolve sugar. Off heat, stir in tea leaves and let steep until tea registers roughly 150°F (65°C) on an instant-read thermometer, about 15 minutes. Stir in remaining 8 cups (1920ml) water and let cool until tea registers 85 to 90°F (30 to 32°C).

Two image collage of sugar being dissolved in a pan and then tea being brewed
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

Set a fine-mesh strainer over a one-gallon glass jar that has been run through a dishwasher cycle or sanitized with a product like Star San. Strain tea through it; discard tea leaves. Stir in kombucha starter until well distributed. Gently place SCOBY on top (you should have at least 2 inches of headspace in the jar after adding the SCOBY). The SCOBY may float or sink to bottom of jar; either is normal.

Three image collage of straining into jar, pouring kombucha mixture into jar, and jar with scoby floating in it.
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

Cover jar with a double layer of coffee filters and secure with a rubber band. Store in a dark area between 70 and 80°F (21 to 27°C) and let ferment until kombucha tastes sour and small bubbles rise to surface, and a new layer of SCOBY has formed at surface, about 7 days and up to 4 weeks (pH should register roughly 2.9 on a pH meter or pH strips).

Two image collage of top of Kombucha at the start and after 8 days of fermentation
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

For the Secondary Fermentation: Thoroughly wash and dry five 16-ounce (1-pint) twist-cap or flip-top glass bottles. Using clean hands, remove SCOBY and place on plate. Stir kombucha with a wooden spoon, making sure sediment is evenly dispersed. Then, using a funnel, fill each with kombucha; make sure to leave 1 to 1 1/2 inches of headspace in each bottle (you should have about 2 cups of extra kombucha that won't fit in the 5 bottles; this kombucha can be used as starter for your next batch). Seal bottles and store in a dark area between 70 and 80°F (21-27°C) until beverage reaches desired level of carbonation, 3 days to 2 weeks. Check one bottle periodically to monitor carbonation: it is ready when you see small bubbles rising fairly rapidly to the top, even when capped; if using twist caps, the cap will pop up slightly when a good level of carbonation is reaches; if using flip-top bottles, you may need to open one bottle to check the carbonation, resealing if there isn't enough fizz. When kombucha has reached desired level of carbonation, move bottles to refrigerator and store for up to 8 weeks.

Side by side collage of a funnel and a finished bottle of kombucha
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

To Continue Brewing Future Batches of Kombucha: Repeat Steps 1 through 4 using the leftover kombucha as starter along with reserved SCOBY.

Special Equipment

Large fine-mesh strainer, one-gallon glass jar, funnel, large coffee filters, five 16-ounce (1-pint) twist-cap bottles or flip-top bottles; dishwasher or a sanitizer like Star San (for cleaning vessels); pH meter or pH strips

Notes

Starter tea can either be from a prior batch (preferred) or from a bottle of store-bought kombucha. Use an unflavored jasmine or green tea kombucha if possible. For best results, use jasmine or green tea kombucha from a previous batch.  The best source of a SCOBY is a friend or acquaintance who regularly brews kombucha. You can also buy them commercially, but note that SCOBY's that are sold dry or unsubmerged in starter liquid tend to perform weakly in comparison to those sold fresh and packaged in starter tea.

Make Ahead and Storage

The finished bottled kombucha can be refrigerated for up to 8 weeks.

A Guide to Cornstarch

Cornstarch is a gluten-free starch that can be used in many application in the home kitchen.

Cornstarch being added to cheese
Niki Achitoff-Gray

Cornstarch is a staple of any well-stocked pantry. If you cook even somewhat frequently, then chances are good you've encountered cornstarch at some point in your culinary journey. And I’d even bet that you have a box of the stuff sitting in your cupboard right now.

You probably already know a thing or two about the properties of cornstarch. You likely use it as a thickener for sauces, or in batters and dredges for fried foods. But let’s take a moment to appreciate cornstarch holistically–what it is, what it isn't, where it comes from, and, most importantly, the many things you can do with this powerful ingredient.

What Is Cornstarch?

Cornstarch is a fine, odorless, flavorless white powder derived from the endosperm of the corn kernel. Like rice grains, corn kernels consist of multiple layers: the outer protective pericarp (the “hull”), the germ, the endosperm, and the exposed tip cap, which is the point at which the kernel attaches to the cob. The starchy flesh of the endosperm comprises around 82 percent of the kernel’s weight, and contains all of the native starch in the plant—in other words, all of the magic. In a popped corn kernel, the endosperm is the fluffy white part that tastes so good when doused with butter and salt.

Overhead view of popcorn in a whirley-pop

These days, cornstarch is made by a process called wet milling. Shelled corn is cleaned and steeped in large tanks in a warm, acidic solution of water and sulfur dioxide. This solution softens the kernel, which makes it easier to mill. The water is boiled off, and the milling process loosens the hull (pericarp) and endosperm from the germ. After passing through a series of grinders and screens, the endosperm is isolated and processed into a slurry, which contains mostly pure corn starch. When dried, this starch is unmodified; it can be refined even more to make modified starches intended for specific cooking applications.

A Relatively Recent Discovery

Humans have been using starch in both cooking and non-cooking applications for thousands of years, dating as far back as predynastic Egypt. But cornstarch didn’t come to prominence until the 1840s, when Thomas Kingsford isolated cornstarch from corn kernels by using an existing process for extracting wheat starch. Kingsford’s method involved soaking the kernels in an alkaline solution, then grinding them—the beginnings of what would become modern wet milling.

At the time, Kingsford intended the product for use as laundry starch: The practice of starching clothes added a soft but crisp texture to fabrics and improved their resistance to being soiled. It wasn’t until the 1850s that cornstarch became the useful food additive it is today. 

The Difference Between Cornstarch, Corn Meal, and Corn Flour

While we touched on this earlier, it’s important to distinguish the various granulated corn products you can find at the store. Here’s a broad breakdown:

Cornstarch is flavorless and odorless, and is used mostly to alter the texture of foods. It's almost pure starch.

Corn flour is a fine, ground powder made from dried whole corn kernels. It has an earthy, sweet taste. It contains parts of the outer hull as well as the germ and endosperm. It’s commonly used in baking and fried applications.

Corn meal is essentially the same as corn flour, but ground more coarsely. It imparts a more gritty texture to baked and fried goods. It’s often a key ingredient in cornbread and Johnnycakes.

How Does Cornstarch Work Its Magic?

Cornstarch is a starch, which means it's is a collection of semi-crystalline granules of starch molecules called polysaccharides. Those molecules are amylose and amylopectin, and they exist in different proportions depending on the starch source. The key to nearly all of cornstarch’s functional properties is gelatinization—the breaking down of starch molecules with heat and water, allowing those molecules to bond with more water. As you hydrate and heat cornstarch, the starch granules swell and soften, and they lose their hard, crystalline structure. Eventually, those granules burst; amylopectin leaches out into the surrounding water, and the mixture thickens. If that same mixture is cooled, the mixture generally becomes thicker.

In general, the relative proportion of amylose dictates how strong the gel will be; the higher the proportion of amylose, the higher the gel strength. Cornstarch has a relatively higher proportion of amylose (around 25%) compared to other starches like tapioca flour (18%), and that increased gel strength is one the reasons it is so useful in cooking.

What Can You Do With Cornstarch?

Concentrated starch additives like cornstarch are important primarily for improving the texture of foods. Here are some ways we can use cornstarch; some may be obvious, some may be new to you.

Thickening

At room temperature, if you mix cornstarch with water, you'll create a milky liquid that, over time, will gradually separate into two distinct phases, with most of the cornstarch settling to the bottom and a slightly translucent liquid settling on top. This is because cornstarch at that temperature isn't all that soluble in water; mixing it into liquid will create a suspension, where the particles of starch are dispersed in the liquid but not dissolved. This is why when recipes call for using a mixture of water and cornstarch to thicken a sauce, they will tell you to mix the combination thoroughly just before adding it to what you're cooking, as mixing produces a uniform suspension of the starch in the liquid.

But if you apply heat to the mixture, the cornstarch dissolves and forms a semi-clear gel. Compared to flour, cornstarch thickens a mixture faster and has a cleaner flavor; it also produces a clearer gel. That mild flavor and clear appearance makes cornstarch a great thickener for dessert glazes, fruit sauces, puddings, soups, stews, and any instance in which you might want a slightly glossier appearance and cleaner flavor than flour alone could provide.

2021-02-12-Chinese-Orange-Chicken-MHOM-24
Melissa Hom

However, cornstarch's gelling properties aren't infallible. Under certain conditions, a cornstarch gel is suboptimal, and sometimes undesirable.

  • Heat Stability: Cornstarch begins to gelatinize in water around 144–162°F (62–72°C), and fully gelatinizes around 203°F (95°C). But you also may have heard that you shouldn’t boil cornstarch for too long, since the sauce will begin to thin. Why? Prolonged, excessive heat can degrade those swollen starch molecules, and eventually decrease the potential thickening power, which leads to a thinner sauce than you’d expect. For this reason, it’s wise to add cornstarch toward the end of cooking—as is customary in many Chinese stir-fry dishes.
  • pH Tolerance: Acids tend to inhibit the thickening power of cornstarch. Much like heat, certain acids like acetic acid (vinegar) or citric acid (lemon juice) can severely hamstring the efficacy of cornstarch: in combination with heat, at sufficient concentrations these acids can break starch molecules down into component sugars. Interestingly, according to this study, adding a small amount of acid (keeping the pH between 3.6 and 5.5) increases the viscosity of the mixture. Finally, if you’re keen on adding acidity to a cornstarch-thickened sauce, consider adding the acid after the mixture has cooled. Researchers found no decrease in viscosity if acid was added to a gelatinized mixture after it had cooled to room temperature.
  • Retrogradation and Syneresis: Cooling gels made with cornstarch can present a few problems. When gel made from cornstarch cools, its properties change: it gets thicker and turns very slightly opaque as the starch granules reassociate in a process known as retrogradation. In some extreme cases, and if left in the fridge (or freezer) for long enough, thickened mixtures of cornstarch may break or split and form a watery layer. This ‘weeping’ is known as syneresis, and occurs frequently with cornstarch as the starch and protein molecules contract, forcing water out of the swollen granules. The main takeaway for most home cooks is that cornstarch isn’t the best option for foods that will require long-term storage in cold temperatures. You’re better off thickening that huge batch of beef stew with a standard flour roux or some alternative starch like potato starch or arrowroot starch.

Improving Stability of Fat-Water Emulsions

Here’s another useful trick: Starches can help to stabilize fat-in-water emulsions. We see this process occur in pasta dishes that utilize starchy pasta water: the excess starch in the water acts as a thickener and improves the emulsion, producing a smooth, glossy sauce. Béchamel sauce is another prime example; the flour disperses the fat and facilitates a smooth emulsion of butter in milk. The same principle applies to cornstarch, but the effect can be even more dramatic. Remember that compared to wheat flour, cornstarch is almost pure starch, so its capacity to thicken, as well as its capacity to disperse fat droplets and keep them from coalescing, is greater than that of flour. This study also suggests that the smaller the granule size, the better the stabilizing potential of a starch in an emulsion. Cornstarch has a smaller granule size (20 microns) than wheat starch (25 microns), which suggests that it is a slightly better choice.

bowl of mac and cheese
J. Kenji López-Alt

Kenji illustrates this effect beautifully in his 15-Minute Ultra-Gooey Stovetop Mac and Cheese and Nacho Cheese Sauce. The cornstarch yields a smoother, creamier, more velvety texture than flour or cheese alone.

Velveting Meat

20140714-how-to-water-blanch-velveted-meat-shao-zhong-13.jpg
Shao Z.

Velveting is a Chinese stir-fry technique that involves coating small pieces of meat in cornstarch and quickly cooking them in a hot wok. This technique has two advantages: It produces a thin layer of hydrated starch on the exterior of the small pieces of meat, which, when eaten, we perceive as a kind of tenderness and juiciness; and it serves to thicken any sauce that the meat may be cooked in, as the surface cornstarch leaches into the sauce, binds excess water, and makes the sauce more viscous.

Crispness and Tenderness in Baked Goods

Cornstarch is a frequent support player in baked goods. And unlike flour, cornstarch is nearly pure starch—there’s no gluten, no fiber. All that added starch content means that cornstarch typically improves the water binding capacity of a dough. Because it has no gluten, cornstarch tends to soften the texture of a baked cookie, for instance, producing what we call a ‘short’ texture. For crisp baked goods, cornstarch is equally helpful because it inhibits gluten development (which sometimes leads to a tough texture), resulting in crispier crackers.

Stack of cookies on marble
Vicky Wasik

Of course, there are drawbacks to using cornstarch in your baking. First, cornstarch doesn’t have any gluten potential. So if you’re looking for cookies with more structure and less of a crumbly texture, then cornstarch isn’t necessarily the best ingredient to incorporate into the dough. Second, cornstarch has none of the proteins that wheat flour has, so it offers little to no browning. Finally, if you’re relying on cornstarch to thicken a baked pie filling, then you may want to look to another ingredient, as its thickening power deteriorates when subjected to prolonged heating. As Stella suggests in many of her pie recipes, like this cherry pie, tapioca starch is a better choice.

Crispier Fried Foods

One of the greatest advantages of cornstarch is its potential to produce crispy coatings on fried foods. In dishes like Korean fried chicken, Southern fried chicken, or General Tso’s chicken, adding cornstarch to the batter or dredge raises the proportion of starch relative to other components in the coating (tough gluten proteins, for example). Some recipes—like Kenji’s stir-fried crispy tofu—use cornstarch exclusively to achieve ultra-crispy textures. More starch means greater water absorption and enhanced gelatinization of starches; frying drives off water, leaving a porous, brittle network that we perceive as crunchy or crispy when we bite into it. So the more of a starch network we build, the crispier the end product.

Like in baking, frying with cornstarch has its drawbacks. Again, it’s tough to produce any significant browning using cornstarch alone, which is why using a blend of cornstarch and wheat flour is common practice. Plus, using too much cornstarch can result in an excessively brittle coating, which might be undesirable for a particular dish.

Like any pantry ingredient, cornstarch is just another tool in the toolbox we call our kitchen. Need to thicken a sauce on the fly, with minimal effort, without muddying the color? Use cornstarch. Want a crispy coating that stays crispy in a sauce? Cornstarch is a solid choice. It all comes down to problem solving: How do you get the texture you’re looking for, in the least amount of steps, with the least amount of effort? In many cases, just a spoonful of cornstarch will do the trick.

We Tested 6 Flat-Bottomed, Northern-Style Carbon Steel Woks—Here Are Our Favorites

To find the best flat-bottomed carbon steel wok, we tested six woks—frying eggs, making fried rice, stir-frying greens, and boiling water.

WokShop Carbon Steel Wok against a white background
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

A dependable wok is the workhorse of so many cuisines across the globe—the key to executing stir fries and dishes like gai pad king or red-cooked pork. So, how do you choose one? If you live in a city, one good option is to visit your local Chinatown, where you can find a number of woks for an affordable price while supporting local businesses. That said, if you don't know what to look for, that strategy can be hit-or-miss.

For those seeking more guidance, we decided to test woks from online vendors, evaluating six popular models. After roughly 40 hours of testing, several pounds of fried rice, and smoking out my apartment kitchen almost daily, here are a couple of reliable options for a great flat-bottomed, carbon steel wok.

The Winners, at a Glance

The Best Overall Wok: Wok Shop Carbon Steel Pow Wok with Hollow Metal Handle, 14-Inch Flat Bottom

The Wok Shop Carbon Steel Pow Wok strikes the perfect balance between lightweight, heat conduction and transfer, durability, and handling. It features a large bottom surface area, and seasons quickly and easily. The Wok Shop also offers a model with a wooden handle and helper handle, which was not available for this review. Based on our findings, we would imagine the wooden handled version performs equally well.


It’s worth noting that Wok Shop is a small business and ships in batches, which could delay delivery depending on when an order is placed.

The Best Pre-Seasoned Wok: Yosukata 13.5-Inch Black Carbon Steel Wok 

The Yosukata Black Carbon Steel Wok is a heat-treated, pre-seasoned option with added durability and solid heat responsiveness. Its smooth, slick surface is easy to clean and seems built to last.

The Tests

  • Pre-Seasoning Step: Prior to testing, season each of the woks (using these instructions and a total of four rounds of seasoning), to level the playing field.
  • Egg-Frying Test: Over medium-high heat, fry an egg in two teaspoons of vegetable oil, to assess any imperfections in the existing seasoning. Repeat this test twice in each wok.
  • Stir-Frying Test 1: Stir-fry greens, looking at how easy it is to stir-fry and toss in each wok.
  • Stir-Frying Test 2: Make garlic fried rice, evaluating stickage and assessing batch-cooking, stirring, stir-frying, and saucing capabilities.
  • Responsiveness and Conduction Test: Boil six cups of water over high heat, studying heat responsiveness, conduction, and uniformity.
  • User-Experience Evaluation: Throughout testing, assess how easy each wok is to use, paying attention to the wok’s handle and build quality and how balanced it feels in hand.
  • Ease of Cleaning: After each test, clean each wok, following these instructions.

Why Carbon Steel? Why Flat-Bottomed? And Why Northern-Style?

Yosukata wok.
Yosukata's flat-bottomed, Nothern-style, carbon steel wok.Serious Eats / Tim Chin

Woks come in virtually all kinds of materials—from nonstick surfaces to cast iron to stainless steel. But for this review, we chose carbon steel woks. Why? Carbon steel heats quickly and evenly; it’s exceptionally responsive to the heat source and stores that heat reasonably well; it’s both durable and affordable; it’s generally suited to both gas and induction burners; and when properly seasoned, will have a practically nonstick surface (read more about why carbon steel is a great cookware material). Carbon steel shares many of the advantages of cast iron, but cast iron woks are heavier and thicker than carbon steel, a consequence of their different manufacturing processes.

This review only includes flat-bottomed models, since most home cooks don’t have access to a traditional high-output wok burner. Flat-bottomed woks sit easily on modern gas or electric ranges, whereas round-bottomed woks require a wok ring or some other mechanism for stability.

an illustration of a northern-style wok and a cantonese-style wok
Serious Eats / Vivian Kong

Finally, we chose to review Northern Chinese-style or “pow” woks with a single long handle. This style of wok differs from the Cantonese-style wok, which features two shallow handles and requires a different method of handling. For most casual cooks, the long handle of the pow wok is more intuitive—closer to a Western skillet—and is generally safer for the average home cook in terms of handling. Cantonese-style woks have shallow “pig ear” handles that tend to heat up quickly, which requires using a towel or pot holder to maneuver the pan.

A Note on Seasoning

A blue carbon steel wok from Made In.
Made In's Blue Carbon Steel Wok, which has undergone bluing.Serious Eats / Tim Chin

Some woks come pre-seasoned, which typically means that they are heat-treated and possibly seasoned with a thin layer of oil to jumpstart the seasoning process. In other cases, the carbon steel undergoes bluing, an oxidizing reaction in which the surface is treated with a compound and typically heated to produce magnetite, which is rust-proof, corrosion-proof, and reasonably nonstick. In still other cases, the metal is merely coated in a thin, protective film of oil to keep rust at bay. To level the playing field for testing, I gently scrubbed each surface with steel wool, a scouring pad, and salt to remove as much of any pre-seasoning as possible (in some cases, it was not possible). Then I wiped a thin layer of oil and seasoned each wok in a 500°F oven for 45 minutes, repeating each seasoning step for a total of four layers of seasoning on each wok.

Why You Should Trust Us

I grew up cooking with a wok. It was one of the first cooking tools that I encountered in the kitchen. In fact, my parents still use the same dinged up Cantonese-style wok from those early years. Its handles have been replaced three or four times, the seasoning is jet black and about two millimeters thick, and honestly, it will probably outlive me. Now that I’m a full-fledged cook with some years of experience in restaurants and test kitchens, this review is a great opportunity for me to revisit a piece of equipment that has provided a large foundation of my cooking life.

What We Learned

Fried Eggs: Evaluating the Woks' Nonstick Abilities

A fried egg in the Yosukata wok.
By the second egg, top-performing woks showed virtually no signs of sticking.Serious Eats / Tim Chin

Cooking eggs is the benchmark for testing the nonstick properties of virtually any cooking surface. Why? Eggs are rich in protein, which bonds to the surface of a hot pan in a process known as adsorption. Eggs are also mostly liquid, so they tend to seep into the cracks of the imperfect metal surface of a wok. Unless a wok is well seasoned, the amount of adsorption can be significant, which leads to lots of sticking.

In a perfect world, every wok would be well seasoned after years of cooking, practically guaranteeing a nonstick surface. But all of the tested models were brand new with only the four layers of light seasoning that I added. To maximize nonstick properties in this test, I made sure to heat each wok until it showed faint wisps of smoke, then swirled in a measured amount of vegetable oil until the surface was coated and just short of smoking. I fried one egg at a time, noting the time it took to release from the pan, as well as how much scraping was necessary to release the egg fully. I then repeated the test for each wok.

A closeup of a fried egg in a well-seasoned wok.
The best woks had wider cooking surfaces, which led to more direct contact with the heat source and even cooking.Serious Eats / Tim Chin


Top performers like our favorites from Wok Shop and Yosukata and the Helen’s Asian Kitchen and Zhen San Huan woks exhibited minimal (though not zero) sticking on the first fry, and the eggs released with gentle scraping using a fish spatula. By the second fried egg, sticking was virtually nonexistent in these models. Most notably, these woks had ample flat surface areas—between five and six inches—which meant more direct contact with the heat source.

Poor performers in this test were kind of a nightmare in comparison, showing plenty of sticking. The Made-In was perhaps the most egregious example: the eggs were completely stuck to the pan, and the yolks were either broken or overcooked by the time I managed to scrape everything off. Craft Wok was another subpar performer, but for a different reason. This hand-hammered model showed an uneven distribution of heat, which led to uneven cooking. While one side of the egg released reasonably well, the other side was stuck.

How Easy Was It to Stir-Fry Greens?

Greens being stir-fried in a wok
The best woks are easy to to pick up with one hand, making it easy to toss food.Serious Eats / Tim Chin

Unlike frying eggs, stir-frying greens is primarily a test of movement: How effectively does food pass through different zones of heat, producing a cooked but vibrant and fresh quality? For this test, I stir-fried multiple batches of leafy green vegetables like yu choy and Shanghai baby bok choy in each of the six woks in the lineup. I standardized each batch of vegetables by weight, using a measured amount of cooking oil, salt, and garlic as a simple aromatic. I tossed each batch every 30 seconds until the greens were cooked through.

The best performers in this test were the Wok Shop and Yosukata woks, which cooked the greens quickly and evenly. Most importantly, these models were light enough to flip and tumble food with one hand (the Yosukata was slightly heavier)—an essential skill for keeping food moving through zones of direct heat, steaming, and convection. These models were also fairly nonstick throughout cooking, showing no signs of burning or premature browning.

greens being stir-fried in a wok
A larger cooking surface and taller walls (like the one shown above) were key to being able to stir-fry successfully.Serious Eats / Tim Chin

Underperformers, like Made-In and Craft Wok, tended to cook greens unevenly. The Made-In wok’s limited flat cooking surface and smaller overall diameter made it difficult to toss greens effectively, and food tended to stay piled in the center of the pan. As a result, the Made-In browned the greens instead of cooking them uniformly. While the Craft Wok had a larger diameter and bottom surface area, the uneven distribution of heat made it difficult to cook the greens evenly. The walls were also a bit shallow, which made tossing a little tricky. Finally, the Craft Wok was a bit too heavy to handle with one hand. Similarly, the Zhen San Huan wok was virtually impossible to lift with one hand, so stirring was the only option (though it cooked greens much more evenly).

Fried Rice: How Well Did the Woks Handle a Multi-Stage Recipe?

Garlic fried rice being cooked in a wok
A multi-stage recipe like fried rice was a good way to test how responsive the woks were, as well as a number of other factors, like tossing ability and stickage.Serious Eats / Tim Chin

Even in its simplest forms, making fried rice is an effective test of a wok’s ability to shift gears and handle multiple stages of cooking. For example, many fried rice recipes begin with frying cooked rice in batches; the rice is emptied into a bowl, then the wok is reheated to continue cooking aromatics and any additions before finally incorporating the rice again. Throughout cooking, the wok rapidly heats, cools down, then heats up again. There are several potential points of concern: Does the rice stick to the pan? Do the aromatics stick to the pan or burn? Can you toss the rice in the pan to distribute sauce and seasonings evenly?

I made identical batches of garlic fried rice in each of the six woks. I recorded any differences in rice sticking, as well as performance when tossing and stirring. I noted heat responsiveness when cooking the garlic, and took an extra step to “sear” soy sauce around the outer edge of the wok to replicate the seasoning step in most recipes. Each batch was standardized by weight for each ingredient.

the surface of a wok with minimal bits of food stuck to it
The best woks showed minimal stickage post-cooking.Serious Eats / Tim Chin

The best woks in this test exhibited virtually no sticking when tossing and stirring rice. Models like the Wok Shop wok were easy to handle, and the tossing motion felt natural as the rice flipped up and cascaded back down to the center in separate grains. The top performers were also highly responsive to changes in heat, so that I could lower the temperature enough to cook the garlic without burning it. When it came time to crank up the heat, sear the soy sauce, and toss everything together, these woks heated back up in less than 30 seconds.

Underperformers like the model from Craft Wok showed some signs of rice sticking, and were generally a bit too heavy to toss food easily with the non-dominant hand. Because of that added weight, I didn’t feel particularly connected to or comfortable with these woks. Their heavier gauge also made them less responsive to changes in burner heat, and sometimes led to bits of burnt garlic.

Evaluating Heat Responsiveness

Craft Wok carbon steel wok against a white background
The underperforming woks, like this model from Craft Wok, had smaller flat cooking surfaces, which meant heat wasn't conducted as efficiently and water came to a boil much slower.Serious Eats / Tim Chin

Finally, it was time to boil water: a simple test for heat responsiveness and conduction, as well as uniformity of heating. For most wok cooking applications, speed is key. I heated six cups of water over high heat, starting at the same temperature (60°F), and recorded the temperature at 30-second intervals until the water boiled at 212°F (give or take a degree).

The speediest woks in this test—like the models from Wok Shop and Yosukata—boiled water at least two to three minutes faster than all the other models. They also showed limited signs of uneven heating, and the seasoning remained intact after boiling.

The slowest woks in this test included the models from Craft Wok and Made-In, which took upwards of 12 minutes to boil water. I noted that these woks also had the smallest bottom cooking surface in contact with the burner—between four and five and a half inches—which explains why these woks didn’t conduct heat as easily or react as quickly as other models.

A top-down view of the Zhen San Huan wok.
A look at the large surface area of the Zhen San Huan wok.Serious Eats / Tim Chin

Despite its heavy gauge and considerable weight, the Zhen San Huan wok boiled water in about 10 minutes, which was pretty fast compared to other models. Why? If I had to guess, it’s due to the large bottom surface diameter: The Zhen San Huan wok had the largest bottom diameter (eight inches) of all woks tested, which meant a significant portion of the wok was in direct contact with the heat source.

The Criteria: What We Look for in a Wok

Image of the wokshop wok with annotations as to what we like about it
Serious Eats / Tim Chin / Amanda Suarez

You can crunch numbers, nerd out on specific metallurgical properties (I’ll leave that to Kenji), or look at any number of attributes, but here’s the big takeaway: For the average home cook, a good wok should be reasonably easy to handle, should take on a seasoning well, should be durable, and should be very heat responsive.

Since the motions involved in wok cooking can be rather dynamic—think vigorous stirring, tumbling, and tossing—a proper wok should be relatively light without being flimsy. And given the lower heat output of home kitchen ranges, the ability to heat up quickly and reliably is even more important. Conductivity is key here, too, and correlates roughly with the thickness of the metal: According to Kenji in The Wok: Recipes and Techniques, “it will take about twice as long for a 2-millimeter-thick pan to conduct heat from the burner to the food than a 1-millimeter-thick pan.”

Finally, the ability to build a reliable and even seasoning is perhaps the most important feature of a wok. So, how easy is it to apply a layer of oil, heat that layer, and to what extent is that resultant surface nonstick?

The Best Overall Wok: Wok Shop Carbon Steel Pow Wok with Hollow Metal Handle, 14-Inch Flat Bottom

What we liked: The Wok Shop Carbon Steel Pow Wok was consistently a top performer across all tests. It was the lightest model in the lineup by nearly eight ounces, which made tasks like tossing and general handling fairly easy. Even with the wok full of rice, I was able to toss the wok with one hand while stirring with the other. This wok was also the most heat-responsive model, and was fairly sensitive to changes in flame output. I could crank up the temperature, but also cool down the pan on a dime.

With a generous bottom surface diameter and plenty of space above that surface, there is ample room for food to move dynamically during stir-frying. Foods also seemed to glide over the surface of the wok—especially after it was properly seasoned—so sticking was minimal. Because of its spun construction and the thickness of its metal, this wok appears to be very durable and the craftsmanship consistent. The hollow metal handle is also welded, rendering the wok a single piece of metal with no discernible points of failure. The all-metal construction makes it easy to season using any technique. Despite its light weight, this wok seems built to last and to withstand repeated abuse.

For the money and performance, exceptional heat responsiveness, durability, and ease of handling, the Wok Shop Carbon Steel Pow Wok is a great choice that will last a lifetime.

What we didn’t like: The wok’s thick metal hollow handle tends to heat up over time. This isn’t generally a problem when cooking quickly over a high-output burner. But at home, where recipes move more slowly, the handle can get a bit warm and uncomfortable. I found it necessary to use a towel at points in order to lift the pan. And if you’re not used to holding pans with a towel, handling can be a bit awkward. (Wok Shop does sell a handle cover and while we didn’t test it, it does have positive customer reviews.) The angle of the handle is a little more acute than other models, which may put some shorter cooks in awkward positions. The wok also doesn’t have a helper handle, which could be a dealbreaker for some.

Key Specs

  • Weight: 2 lb 15 7/8 oz
  • Metal Gauge: 14 (2.0mm)
  • Flat Cooking Surface Diameter: 6 inches
  • Lip-to-lip Diameter: 14 inches
  • Depth: 3.75 inches
WokShop Carbon Steel Wok against a white background
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

The Best Pre-Seasoned Wok: Yosukata 13.5-Inch Black Carbon Steel Wok 

What we liked: The Yosukata Black Carbon Steel Wok is a pre-seasoned, stamped wok with a smooth, beautiful blue-black surface. It's a fast, heat-responsive pan that performed well in nearly every test. Fried rice and vegetables slid effortlessly across the surface, and despite its smaller lip-to-lip diameter, there was still enough room to toss food. As the thinnest gauge model in the lineup, the Yosukata exhibited the fastest heat gain of any model, boiling water in nine minutes flat.

This model also features a helper handle, which gives added flexibility and stability when handling large quantities of food. The wooden handle is wedged and screwed into a welded base, and it stays cool throughout cooking. Because of that welded construction and added weight, this wok feels incredibly durable despite its slightly thinner gauge. It also has a welded metal helper handle, which is a welcome feature for stability.

If you’re looking for a pre-seasoned, durable wok that transfers heat quickly and has a smooth, attractive look, the Yosukata Carbon Steel wok is a great option that won’t break the bank.

What we didn’t like: This wok is slightly heavier than the overall winner, and the handle is large, so cooks may find it a little awkward to maneuver. The wooden handle is also tricky to remove if you’re trying to season the wok in the oven (a little gentle heating expands the metal, which helps release the handle). This model didn’t cook the best eggs off the bat, exhibiting minor sticking; but after cooking with this wok for a few days, the seasoning and nonstick properties improved.

(Note: The wok comes with a protective film of oil on the surface. Be sure to scrub this film off prior to seasoning or cooking.)

Key Specs

  • Weight: 3 lb 8 oz
  • Metal Gauge: 16 (1.6mm)
  • Flat Cooking Surface Diameter: 6 inches
  • Lip-to-lip Diameter: 13.5 inches
  • Depth: 3.75 inches
Yosukata wok against a white background
Serious Eats / Tim Chin

The Competition

  • Helen Chen's Asian Kitchen Flat Bottom Carbon Steel Wok: This spun wok performed well in testing, but its durability is suspect. The wooden handle screws into a riveted base, so there are a couple points of failure over repeated use. In fact, by the end of testing I could feel the handle start to loosen and the rivets seemed to be warping slightly. Additionally, the wooden helper handle is not removable, so it’s difficult to season this wok in the oven without burning and ruining the handle.
  • Zhen San Huan Hand-Hammered Carbon Steel Blue Wok: This beautiful, hand-hammered wok is a beast of a cooking vessel. The surface is treated with magnetite, which produces a stunning blue-black surface. At more than 7 pounds, the Zhen San Huan is not ideal for traditional wok tossing. It has a massive bottom surface area (8 inches) and was the thickest metal wok in the lineup. It had superior heat retention, but it was very slow to heat up on my stove. While this wok performed well in most tests, the heavy weight made maneuvering difficult. And given the hefty price tag (upwards of $250), this wok isn’t the best choice for everyone.
  • Craft Wok Flat Hand-Hammered Carbon Steel Pow Wok: Though attractive, this wok performed poorly in fried egg and stir-frying tests: Food tended to stick to the surface, and eggs needed a lot of scraping to release. Because it's hand-hammered, there are imperfections in the metal, and the distribution of heat seemed uneven. The wok is also quite heavy for its size, and felt awkward when tossing. The bottom surface of the wok I received was also slightly warped, so it was not induction compatible.
  • Made-In Blue Carbon Steel Wok: The Made-In Wok was a bit of a disaster in testing. It’s a heavy wok for its size, and there is limited space both at the bottom surface (5.5 inches diameter) and from lip-to-lip (12.5 inches). Food feels cramped in the pan, and tossing was difficult given the smaller area and the weight for the wok’s size. Eggs stuck considerably, and greens tended to brown too quickly during stir-frying. Overall, this pan doesn’t feel or perform like a wok.
  • Joyce Chen Flat Bottom Wok: We've recommended this wok for some time, but it has consistent stock issues and we couldn't get a new one for this review. We tried ordering a different flat-bottomed, carbon steel Joyce Chen wok (this model), but twice received a nonstick wok instead. According to customer reviews, this has happened to others.

FAQs

Should I buy a nonstick wok?

Absolutely not. Most nonstick coatings cannot handle the high heat necessary for a proper stir-fry. They start vaporizing, releasing noxious fumes long before they reach the proper temperature. They make browning difficult, and it's impossible to get food to stick in place against the wok when you want to clear a surface to cook in the middle.

Should I buy a cast iron wok?

Cast iron is a passable choice for a wok. Unless you can find a thin-walled cast iron model, in general cast iron woks are a bit heavier than carbon steel versions, so motions like flipping when stir-frying are cumbersome. In comparison to other metals, it takes a relatively long time to heat up and cool down cast iron. The advantage? It offers a better nonstick surface. Finally, if you opt for a cast iron wok that's too thin, it will be extremely fragile—it can crack in half when set down too hard.

Should I buy a stainless steel wok?

Stainless steel woks are not ideal. Not only are they extremely heavy and difficult to maneuver, they also take a long time to heat up and cool down—a fatal flaw for anything that requires rapid, on-the-fly heat adjustments—like a stir-fry. Foods—particularly proteins—have a tendency to stick to steel.