There are few smells as divisive as fish sauce.

It seems like you either love it or hate the salty vinegar stench of fermented fish, oftentimes depending on whether you grew up eating it, because it carries such a distinctive sense of place, though the main components are just salt and fish.

For most of us, fish sauce seems appropriate to Asian flavors – particularly from Vietnam, Thailand, or the Philippines – but in fact, the condiment has a long history in European cooking, which dates back all the way to the fifth century B.C.

And its current use is far more diverse than many realize: a new Bay Area company importing artisanal fish sauce sells its stuff to fine Italian dining places like Delfina and Incanto.

Like so much of Western civilization, fish sauce was invented by the Greeks but popularized by the Romans, who slathered it on everything they ate. Fish sauce was the ketchup of the Roman Empire: like ketchup, fish sauce packs a punch of naturally occurring monosodium glutamate, or MSG, and also like ketchup, it was universally enjoyed across the social spectrum. The rich partook of a luxury product skimmed from the top of the barrel, while the poor used a bit of the dregs to flavor their simple meals.

In 2008, fossilized fish sauce found in the ruins of Pompeii helped archaeologists confirm when the city was destroyed. Huge vats of sauce made from boques, a fish that is only available in late summer, proved that the volcano erupted in August—otherwise, all the fish sauce would have been eaten already.

But even as fish sauce was prized for its flavor, the process of making it was relegated to the edges of town, due to the stench. The Roman writer Pliny the Elder (not to be confused with the Russian River beer) explained in his “Natural History” that fish sauce, or garum, was made from “the guts of fish and other parts that would otherwise be considered refuse; these are soaked in salt, so that garum is really liquor from the putrefaction of these matters.”

Sounds yummy, right?

In fact, the copious amounts of salt used in the production of fish sauce prevents microbial or bacterial decomposition, so the end result is not putrefied, but rather, fermented like a pickle. Nevertheless, the pungent smell can be difficult for the uninitiated to appreciate.

Although most fish sauce is made these days in factories, there’s a new movement afoot, locally and worldwide, to bring back the old-fashioned style, which is salted and aged in wood barrels for about a year.

Italian anchovy sauce, known as colatura di Alici, can now command about a hundred dollars per pound here in the United States. Some people have predicted that colatura is the next balsamic vinegar—a luxurious condiment that will go from exotic to ubiquitous in the next few years.

Meanwhile, a new Milpitas-based company is importing artisanal, “extra-virgin” fish sauce from Vietnam: Red Boat Fish Sauce is made from a single pressing of anchovies salted and aged in tropical-wood barrels on the island of Phu Quoc. At 10-12 dollars per bottle, Red Boat costs about twice as much as most Asian fish sauces, but it’s still a fraction of the cost of Italian colatura.

Robert Bergstrom, a partner in Red Boat, noted that his product doesn’t taste like most of the fish sauces available in this country, which are often watered down through multiple pressings, because it has a purer, somewhat milder flavor. “But the old ladies see it in the store and they limp out with three cases because they think they’re not going to find it again,” he said triumphantly.

Bergstrom has also been pleasantly surprised to find an enthusiastic market for fish sauce among Bay Area chefs: “Western chefs might taste it with an open mind—or palate—and think about what they can do with it. Those have been fun people to work with.” Italian restaurants like Incanto and Delfina have started accounts with Red Boat, but it’s also used at other upscale San Francisco restaurants like One Market, Fifth Floor, and Boulevard.

(Umami Burger, which recently opened its first Bay Area outpost, buys Red Boat, but the chain is very closed-mouthed about its recipes, including the basis of its homemade “umami ketchup.” Perhaps it should be noted, though, that the word “ketchup” is derived from a Chinese name for fish sauce.)

Across the Bay, Justin Yu, chef of Oakland’s Hawker Fare, swears by the fish sauces that he and James Syhabout import from Thailand to accompany their rice bowls modeled on Bangkok street food. Yu prefers to use the Tiparos brand for most dishes, but turns to a sauce labeled “Super” for something a little thicker, as part of the dressing on Hawker Fare’s green papaya salad or beef “larb.”

“Sourcing fish sauce is very important,” Yu said, because traditional recipes are based on a particular balance of flavors, which is quite different from the mass-produced fish sauces usually found in the United States. The Super fish sauce is made in small batches in Thai villages, so there are seasonal differences reflected in the flavor and color. At the end of the summer, he recalled, it tasted fruitier and more acidic, with an element reminiscent of strawberries.

Like chugging watered-down American beer just because it’s easy to find, pouring cheap squid-based fish sauce on dishes doesn’t cut it for Yu. For him, tasting authentic Thai fish sauce is a transportive experience, “like drinking a Corona in Mexico.”

**Active Ingredient Recipe*** 

A recipe for Beef Larb with a fish sauce dressing, from Justin Yu, chef of Hawker Fare. 

400g lemon Juice

150g fish paste (Mam Nem)

250g fish sauce (Tiparos or any kind)

150g sugar

25g whole thai Chili ( add more according to spice level)

100g of sweet rice

Side of flank steak

100g Thinly sliced onions.

75g mixed picked mint, cilantro, rarum

25g thinly sliced scallion rounds

 

1. To make the dressing, combine the first five ingredients and blend well.

2. Place sweet rice in a skillet and toast until dark golden brown. Try to toast the rice as much as possible before it burns, then set it aside and allow to cool. Once cooled, blend toasted rice into a fine powder.

3. Cut flank steak into two or three individual logs; oil them and grill until medium rare. If you do not have a grill, sear all sides of steak until nicely golden brown and finish in oven until medium rare. The flank steak does not need to be seasoned.

4. Thinly slice 5 or 6 pieces of flank steak. In a mixing bowl, add sliced flank steak, half a table spoon of rice powder, onions, herbs, and scallions. Toss the mixture liberally with dressing. With your hand, massage and macerate ingredients until nice and tender.

Note from Justin Yu: Please know that this salad is not an exact science. Everything is basically to taste.