When word got around that scientists had discovered a seaweed that tastes like bacon and is healthier than kale, we were obviously intrigued. What is this new wonderfood? And how do we try it now?
After a chat with Chris Langdon, head researcher on the bacon seaweed project at Oregon State University, we learned two things:
1. This seaweed isn't exactly new. It's called dulse, and people have been eating it for centuries. The only new thing about it is the specific strain Langdon and his team are growing at OSU—which they've been growing for 20 years.
2. It's not special because it tastes like bacon. All dulse tastes like bacon if you cook it up just right, according to Langdon. What's special about this particular strain is that it grows quickly, which Langdon hopes will make it an efficient and lucrative crop.
But we still needed to know: How can seaweed end up with the smoky, salty, meatiness that enthralls bacon lovers everywhere?
For answers, I reached out to Langdon's research chef, Jason Ball, who provided me with some instructions as I headed out on an epic quest to taste the bacon-flavored seaweed myself. This is what I learned along the way:
This stuff is not easy to track down.
I live in New York City, where there's no lack of diversity when it comes to food. You could have the best Italian food you've ever had in your life, and then walk a few blocks and have totally authentic Thai. But, despite the epic food adventure that is NYC, my best choice for dulse was to stroll into Whole Foods and pick up a bag of pre-dried seaweed that Langdon says he often finds "rancid."
So I entered the shady market of online seafood shopping, browsing sites that look like they were built in 1999. I finally hit the jackpot with a website that sells all kinds of "superfoods," dulse included, and had a one pound bag of fresh seaweed waiting at my door a few days later.
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It smells kinda funky, at least at first.
My first thought upon opening that giant package of dulse was: This. Smells. Terrible. I could only equate the skunky smell to my college years—strolling through the halls of dorms, I banged on doors and threatened to call campus security on the people clearly smoking pot inside. (I was the RA everyone hated. Sorry, not sorry.)
Post-frying, the seaweed smelled less like death and more like a greasy diner that serves everything fried—and I could breathe through my nose again.
It cooks really fast. Like superhuman speed type of fast.
After burning my way through a handful of dulse, I finally realized the sea veggie needs only a couple of seconds in oil to crisp up. Anything longer than that leaves you with a bitter, crumbly mess.
As soon as you drop dulse into hot oil it changes from a reddish-brown color to a murky green. Then you've got to scoop it out and repeat. It happens so fast I could only fry one piece at a time because if I turned away to grab a new piece the first one would burn.
It doesn't exactly taste like bacon.
If you drop $40 on a package of fresh dulse expecting to replace bacon forever, you're going to be disappointed.
"You couldn't fool me with it," said Katie, my 6-years-a-vegetarian roommate. "Like, you couldn't feed it to me hidden in something and expect me to be like 'Aw f*ck, I just ate bacon.'"
I'm also a vegetarian, and I haven't tasted animal flesh in more than 4 years. So, although my first bite of dulse did taste like bacon (I think), I enlisted some carnivorous coworkers to really put this stuff to the test.
Not one was convinced the seaweed could replace the bacon in their lives. Some downright hated it, like the woman who said she wouldn't be shocked if I told her I pulled it from underneath my kitchen cabinet. Others found it delicious, just not bacon-y, and said it would be a good alternative to potato chips.
Bottom line: It's not bacon. So it's not going to taste exactly like bacon.
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It tastes better as an ingredient than it does by itself.
Munching on dulse alone just isn't going to do it for you. Plus, people don't usually go around eating plain strips of bacon anyway (if you do, we won't judge). But if you add it to a DLT (dulse, lettuce, and tomato) or pop some on top of a baked potato, it tastes way better.
The DLT and baked potato I made at home were delightfully satisfying—at least for a non-meat-eater like me. Dulse did add an unfortunate mouthful-of-seawater aftertaste, TBH, but my roommate says she didn't taste it, so maybe it's just me. And I could happily stuff the sandwich in my face (despite the aftertaste) knowing the dulse gave me an extra boost of iodine, a metabolism-boosting mineral that most people don't get enough of, plus fewer calories than real bacon.
If at all possible, buy it smoked.
Full disclosure: I didn't exactly follow Ball's instructions. When we chatted, he said the absolute best way to bring out dulse's bacon-y flavor is to cold-smoke it before you fry it. Apparently it adds the smoky, umami flavor my colleagues said the seaweed lacked. But the only place I found that sold pre-smoked dulse online stopped taking orders three days before I started my bacon-seaweed journey. And DIY cold-smoking was just not in the cards this week. Alas, do as I say and not as I do—get it smoked.
