Salsa Is Hot -- As Condiments Go, This Is An American Favorite

BY THE TIME I WAS 5 years old, I had discovered and fallen in love with salsa.

I didn't know it was salsa. Nobody called it that. It was in big glass bowls on the counters of every hot dog stand in the Savin Rock amusement park (outside of New Haven, Conn.).

Right next to the mustard, it was called relish. It still is. But it's a form of salsa. So are the raitas and chutneys of Indian dinners, the fiery sambals in Indonesia and Vietnam and the fruit-augmented barbecue sauces of the South.

All of this seems timely to point out because of a kind of culinary cultural revolution has been taking place in America. This decade, for the first time in our collective digestive histories, "salsa" has replaced ketchup as the predominant American condiment.

The reason?

Probably television. You don't need ketchup to invite friends over to watch a sitcom or a ball game. But you do need chips. And a dip.

What, exactly, is a salsa?

It's the Spanish word for sauce. But it belongs to the wider category of side dishes that complement other foods. Even if the "other" food is merely a potato chip.

Some salsas are basic and straightforward (like chopped tomatoes, chilies, onion, garlic, a little lime juice and cilantro - salsa cruda). Others are exotic and elaborate.

Salsas differ from traditional Euro-American sauces or gravies in that they are not usually derivatives of the food they accompany. In fact, usually they contrast with them, where a typical sauce for meat or fish usually is made from either pan drippings or stocks made from the dish being served.

It is precisely this appreciation of difference and contrast that give fresh salsas their appeal. It's why a mere chopped tomato and a bit of marinated raw onion tastes special on a dry corn tortilla chip or a bruschetta. And why a cold fruit salsa tastes outstanding on grilled fish.

Salsas are easily made in the home kitchen. All it takes is a sharp knife (or a blender or food processor), fresh ingredients and some imagination. Lacking the latter, you can refer to a few good cookbooks.

"The Great Salsa Book," by Mark Miller (with Mark Kiffin and John Harrison) was published last year by Ten Speed Press ($14.95) and is a useful compendium of dozens of salsas: from chopped fruit to simmered beans, from corn and chile to grapefruit-persimmon.

Miller is the owner-founder of the Coyote Cafe in Sante Fe (and a few other restaurants). Kiffin and Harrison are two of his lead chefs. Miller lists a few guidelines for quality salsa preparation:

"While there are no absolutes," he wrote, "I like to characterize salsas as a combination of raw, cooked or partially cooked ingredients that are put together to form a harmonious chord. In a good salsa, each component retains its own taste, texture and personality, so that each bite will contain a myriad of flavors."

-- Use fresh, ripe ingredients.

-- Avoid dusty, old spices. Use fresh herbs.

-- Use good-quality oils and vinegars.

-- Cut the ingredients the same size, preferably small.

-- Where possible use ingredients with a variety of colors.

-- Use fresh-fruit salsa immediately; allow other salsas a half hour or more to "marry" flavors.

And, says Miller, throw a salsa party.

What is becoming impressive is the quality and imagination of some store-bought salsas - usually by small, local or regional producers. Almost cottage industries.

Quinn's of Ellensburg was started by sisters Betty Quinn Moer and Susie Quinn Cochran - transplants to the Northwest from Arizona. In 1987, the sisters began selling some of their salsas through the catering division of Nordstrom. Five years ago, they moved into their own cannery in Ellensburg and began to create salsas under their own labels.

Quinn's Peperonata won the 1995 Best of the Northwest award at the Idaho Specialty Foods Association show and consideration is being given to competing with national brands at major food shows. Its Peach Salsa (made with habenero peppers, peaches, fresh ginger and Walla Walla Sweet onions) is so zingy you can spoon it over roast pork, or add a shot of Grand Marnier and tequila and ladle it over ice cream.

I topped a pizza with Quinn's Salsa Verde (onions, corn and tomatillos), adding ground pork and Jack cheese. A friend asked if she could spoon some on a hot dog, which I thought sacrilegious, until I scrutinized the label:

"The gang at Quinn's have come up with a salsa that would turn even a Kosher hot dog into a stick of Southwest dynamite. You'll want to sneak spoonfuls out of the jar."

And, none too sneakily, she did.

You really should try making your own salsas. They're truly easy. And fun.

Zarela Martinez' "Food From My Heart" (MacMillan; $25) is a wonderful, personal cookbook published in 1992. Her recipe for Pico de Gallo Norteno (above) is a basic salsa cruda or salsa fresca.

John Hinterberger's restaurant and food columns appear in The Seattle Times in Sunday's Pacific Magazine and Friday's Tempo. Teresa Tamura is a Times photographer.

Pico de Gallo Norteno (Makes 4 cups) 2 to 4 fresh jalapeno or serrano chilies, tops removed but not seeded 1 clove garlic, peeled 4 large, ripe red tomatoes, peeled but not seeded, about 2 1/2 pounds 6 to 8 green onions with some green parts

1/4 cup loosely packed fresh cilantro leaves 1 teaspoon dried Mexican (or other) oregano Juice of one large lime Salt to taste With a large sharp knife, chop chilies very fine. Mince garlic. Coarsely chop tomatoes. Finely chop green onions and cilantro. Place tomatoes, garlic, green onions and cilantro in a large bowl. If the tomatoes are very dry and juice-less, gradually add up to 1/2 cup of cold water to achieve a light salsa consistency. Stir to mix the ingredients. Add the chilies a little at a time, tasting, until it is as hot as you like. Add the oregano and squeeze the lime juice into the salsa. Salt to taste.