Asian

A rich, dark honey color, this tart-sweet-savory sauce does not resemble the cloying, sticky, bright red sauce that’s often served at Chinese restaurants. You can whip it up quickly to enjoy with snacks such as fried wontons. For spicy tropical flair, use unsweetened pineapple juice instead of water and include 2 teaspoons of minced ginger and a chopped Thai chile with the other seasoning at the beginning.

Used in Chinese, Japanese, and Southeast Asian cooking, chile oil is easy to prepare at home, and it’s infinitely better than store-bought. Its intense heat enlivens many foods, especially dumplings, which benefit when chile oil is part of the dipping sauce or used as a garnish. Some cooks add aromatics, such as ginger, star anise, and Sichuan peppercorns, to the oil, but I like to keep the chile flavor pure. While you may use other cooking oils, such as canola oil, my preference is for the kind of peanut oil often sold at Chinese markets, which is cold pressed and filled with the aroma of roasted peanuts. It is texturally light, has a high smoking point, and offers a wonderful nuttiness that pairs well with the intense chile heat. Lion & Globe peanut oil from Hong Kong is terrific. Use just the infused oil or include the chile flakes for an extra brow-wiping experience.

When you present dumplings with this sauce, the combination may recall an Italian pasta dish, but the sauce’s zesty qualities resemble the Latin flavors of Mexico more than of Europe. But on closer analysis, the combination of chile, ginger, herbs, and spices is definitely Asian, specifically Nepal’s Himalayan cuisine, which blends Chinese, Indian, and Tibetan traditions. In the Nepalese repertoire, this sauce is a type of achar (a moniker for chutneys and pickles) and is what typically accompanies momo; it’s great with Tibetan momo, too. With a tangy edge, moderate heat, and spiced depth, the sauce has a multilayered punch that begins seemingly subtle but finishes with a certain feistiness. Sometimes ground toasted sesame seeds are added for richness, but I find that they mute the other flavors too much.

This ubiquitous Asian condiment does not need to be purchased. In fact, it has a wonderful, bright flavor when made at home. In the late summer, when chiles are at their peak red color and spicy-fruity flavor, I buy a bunch at the farmers’ market and make a batch or two of this sauce. Keep the sauce uncooked if you enjoy a wild, robust flavor. Or, cook the sauce for a more mellow finish. I often blend different kinds of chiles so as to not create too much of a burn.

If you enjoy rice pudding, you’ll love these Thai packets of soft sticky rice flavored by coconut cream. Steaming in banana leaves lends an alluring fragrance to the rich rice, which encases soft banana and cooked black beans. The beans offer interesting texture and color contrast in these popular street snacks. According to legend, kao tom padt (also called kao tom madt) was all that some religious pilgrims had on their journey to visit the Lord Buddha. They presented their precious food to the Lord Buddha upon arriving, and that gesture continues today as these packets are still an offering at religious ceremonies. Thai cooks typically make these packets in large quantities and thus soak and boil a fair amount of black beans. For small homemade batches, canned black beans, drained and rinsed of their canning liquid, work fine. Omit the beans for nom n’sahm chaek, a Cambodian New Year must-have. You can also grill the steamed packets and serve them with the Coconut Dessert Sauce (page 221).

There are many ways to tweak a dipping sauce for Korean mandu (pages 44 and 46). The base is on the light side and great on its own, but you can add a variety of extras for more complexity and body.

Great on their own, Chinese jiaozi get a fantastic flavor boost when dipped in a zippy sauce like this one. The tart-salty-spicy combination adds a complex edge to the dumplings. There’s no such thing as a definitive dipping sauce, since cooks and diners mix up their own according to personal taste. At the least, your sauce should be tangy and savory. But add some nutty, hot chile oil, and your eating experience will enter a different orbit. Chinese dumplings are wonderful with an extra kick of ginger or garlic in the sauce, too. I prepare the sauce in advance, but you can set out the ingredients and invite guests to do it themselves.

Soft and chewy sticky rice dumplings have a nuanced natural sweetness that is savored by fans of East and Southeast Asian cuisines. As the recipes in this book show, they lend themselves to many occasions, cooking techniques, and fillings. Regardless of type, sticky rice dumplings never fail to please. Old-fashioned cooks pound just-cooked sticky rice to create their dough. Modern cooks like me reach for convenient glutinous (sweet) rice flour for our favorite sticky rice dumplings. Preparations involving poaching the dumplings and serving them in broth (like a sweet soup) are common in Asia. I grew up with this classic Vietnamese rendition, not realizing that fried shallots contributed to their richness until my mother revealed it to me one day. The intersection between sweet and savory contributes to these dumplings’ allure.

Mung beans are a staple legume in many Asian kitchens, where their delicate, buttery flavor lends richness to both savory and sweet treats. Like red beans, mung beans can be made into a lightly sweet paste to be stuffed inside a baked or steamed bun or dumpling. In fact, the two bean pastes are practically interchangeable. Whereas sweetened red bean paste is vaguely chocolate-like, sweetened mung bean paste resembles marzipan, both in texture and nuanced flavor. This is a Vietnamese version of the paste, with vanilla to round out the flavor and salt to inject a little oomph. Mung beans are sold at many Asian markets and health food stores. Look for the yellow ones that have been hulled and split. The green ones still have their tough skins.

Like an American “popper” snack, this diminutive sweet enjoyed in Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore should be eaten whole: when you bite into it, the dumpling squirts lovely melted palm sugar into your mouth. The lightly smoky, caramel-like sugar then blends with the chewy rice dough and rich grated coconut in your mouth. These dumplings, also called klepon, are typically celadon green, since the dough features pandan (screwpine) leaves, a beloved ingredient in many parts of tropical Asia (see the Note below on buying the leaves). I like to amplify their herbal essence with vanilla. If pandan leaves are unavailable, just the vanilla and water are fine. Many cooks add food coloring for a cheery mint-green note; I prefer not to. Seek out Malaysian and Indonesian palm sugar (called gula melaka and gula jawa, respectively) for the best results. It is sold at Chinese and Southeast Asian markets, usually as thick cylinders wrapped in paper or plastic. The reddish-brown sugar is solid but moist. Shave off thin pieces with a knife to measure it out easily. If palm sugar is unavailable, combine 1/4 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar and enough molasses (a good tablespoon) to moisten the sugar well enough to roll it into balls.

To those unfamiliar with red bean paste, the concept may seem strange, but millions of people the world over cannot imagine their favorite steamed or baked buns and deep-fried sesame seed balls without this lightly sweet, chocolate-brown filling. The richness comes from the beans themselves and from a touch of oil, though lard would be used by traditionalists. Some cooks use brown or white sugar; I use both for a deep, well-rounded sweetness. Red bean paste is sold canned, but it’s overly sweet and incomparable to homemade. Adzuki beans are available at most natural food stores, specialty grocers, and Asian markets. You can also use the small red beans sold at Chinese markets. Sometimes I add a pinch or two of salt for a savory edge, reflecting a Japanese style of bean paste. The recipe here is more in the sweeter Chinese fashion.

One of the most beloved Asian sweet dumplings is crisp-chewy fried sesame seed balls. A Chinese New Year specialty that may have originated during the Tang Dynasty as palace food, they have been adopted by cooks of countless cultures to be enjoyed year-around. At Cantonese dim sum houses, this treat is called jin deui and usually contains sweetened red bean paste. In Vietnam, the filling typically features buttery mung beans. Ground peanuts are a quick and tasty filling option; if you select the peanut filling, use an electric mini-chopper to grind the nuts, sugar, and salt, and aim for a sandy texture. Sesame balls can be made without a filling, though I find those to be a tad lacking. The sugar used in the rice dough makes for a golden brown skin that slightly shatters with the first bite. Slab brown candy, called peen tong in Cantonese and sold at Chinese markets, looks like pieces of parquet flooring. It has a complex flavor not unlike maple sugar and lends a glorious rich brown color to the finished dumplings. When it is unavailable, light brown sugar is a fine substitute. Pressing on the balls during frying is the trick to getting them to expand, resulting in their signature hollow center.

Cakey, spongy, and deliriously delicious gulab jamun is one of India’s great contributions to the world of sweets. Shaped as small spheres that are fried and then soaked in a fragrant sugar syrup, the rich brown dumplings are frequently on restaurant menus and are enjoyed during special occasions such as Diwali, the autumn festival of lights, which is also known as the festival of sweets. The dumplings, traditionally made from khoya (milk that has been cooked down), are named for their resemblance to juicy, purple-brown jamun fruit. Cardamom is typically part of the sugar syrup, but you can add saffron and/or rose flower water, too; gulab means “rose” in Hindi. Cooking down milk is labor intensive, and many modern Indian cooks instead use nonfat dry milk to great success. The whipping cream lends richness and enhances the milk sugars, which you can smell while making the dough and frying the dumplings. For the rose flower water, I use rose-scented distilled water from France, which is sold in small blue bottles and often found at well-stocked liquor stores. If you are using rose essence, use just a few drops; it is very strong.

Eating is practically a sport in Singapore, and these very popular pastries are part of he city-state’s eclectic and irresistible cuisine. Possibly Portuguese in origin, these intensely flavored pineapple tarts come in many shapes, from fancy open-faced tarts to carefully carved tiny pineapples. However, for the Lunar New Year, they’re made to resemble tangerines, a symbol of good fortune; in Chinese, tangerine is a homonym for “gold.” A decorative clove (not meant for consumption!) sits atop each one to mimic the fruit’s stem. Traditionally, fresh grated pineapple is used, but many modern cooks opt for canned pineapple. A long simmering turns the fragrant pineapple into a lovely amber-colored jam resembling tangerine flesh. Instead of adding food coloring to the egg-yolk glaze to enhance the pastry’s appearance, I add a touch of ground annatto seed to brighten up the dough. Without the natural colorant, the pastries still taste great.

Full of flavor and textural contrast, Filipino turon embody the Asian knack for taking the commonplace banana and turning it into a spectacular fried treat. A popular street food, these fried rolls benefit from the delicate crispness of Shanghai spring roll skins. The bananas become creamy inside during frying and rather custardlike. You can eat these rolls alone or gild the lily with a scoop of rich vanilla ice cream or drizzle of caramel dulce de leche. Thin strips of jackfruit can be rolled up with the banana, too. The shallow frying can get a little dramatic at the end, but it is well worth the clean-up.

A perfect taro puff (pictured) is ethereal; its gossamer shell crisp and not greasy. The underside of the dough is rich and creamy, enveloping a well-seasoned filling. I eagerly look for wu gok, as taro puffs are called in Cantonese, at dim sum restaurants. Unfortunately, most versions are lackluster and leaden by the time I pick them off the cart. Homemade ones are significantly better because they are consistently tasty and hold their crispness for hours. The dough and filling can be prepared in advance and refrigerated for a couple of days. Dumpling assembly is easy, and the deep-frying is fast. Brown and barrel-shaped with distinctive rings, taro is sold at Asian and Latin markets, often near other tubers like sweet potato. For this recipe, the large variety is used because its flesh is much drier than that of the small taro. Select a firm, full one with no signs of shriveling or molding. When cut open, taro should smell fresh; its flesh should be bright and feel firm like coconut. Store taro in a cool, dry spot and use it within a few days of purchase. Peeled and trimmed taro sold in Cryovac packaging works great. Feel free to substitute chicken thigh for the pork. Finely chopped bamboo shoots, water chestnut, or rehydrated shiitake mushrooms can replace the shrimp. Weighing the wheat starch and cooked taro and frying at moderately high heat ensures that the puff will hold together.

A favorite Indian snack, batata vada are thinly coated by a batter made with garbanzo bean flour, which fries up crisp and then settles into a delicate chewiness. Inside, the cheery yellow potato filling (colored by turmeric) speckled by mustard seed bursts with flavor from chile, ginger, lime juice, and fresh herbs. Each one is a small eating adventure in trying to parse the individual elements while enjoying the synergistic whole. You can make the experience more fun with plops of chutney. Called bondas in Southern India and batata vada in Northern India, these dumplings are beloved all over the country. In Bombay, they are shaped as patties and served in a bun as a hamburger-like sandwich called vada pao. Garbanzo bean flour (called bésan in Hindi) is available at Indian grocery stores and health food markets. It has numerous uses in Indian cuisine, as a thickener as well as in batters for fried snacks.

Soft and somewhat elastic on the outside, this Malaysian morsel contains a spritely filling of dried shrimp, shallot, ginger, lemongrass, chile, and grated coconut. After I tasted my first one in Kuala Lumpur, I quickly learned to say “choo-choo ba-dah” like a local so that I could buy them from street vendors whenever possible. Use the yellow-fleshed sweet potatoes with pale skin because this variety has a lower moisture content and will yield manageable dough that is not too sticky. For the dough, I have provided a range so that you can make dainty or moderate-size dumplings. To determine the amount of flour, use the original weight of the sweet potato. If it weighs 3/4 pound, use 3/4 cup (3 3/4 ounces) of flour. A 1-pound potato requires 1 cup (5 ounces) of flour. Whole unpeeled shrimp traditionally crown the dumpling, but modern versions sold by vendors often lack them. If you opt for the charming old-fashioned topping, purchase shell-on white shrimp (not tiger shrimp) which have edible, thin shells; they are sold at Asian markets.

These flavorful little fried dumplings and the spiced potato balls on page 183 are members of the vada family of Indian snacks. They vary in size and shape, with some resembling doughnuts, but they often feature a thick batter of ground legumes and are deep-fried to yield chewy-crisp skins. Whereas potato batata vada is coated with a batter made from garbanzo bean flour, this preparation is all about the nutty richness of mung beans. Moong dal vada are easy to prepare and really quite approachable; yellow split hulled mung beans are sold at Asian markets as well as health food stores. Get the beans soaking (I have had them sit for 16 hours) and the rest comes together quickly with the help of a food processor. These dumplings are best hot from the oil, but they are not bad reheated, either.

Banana leaf packets of coconut sticky rice are prepared in many parts of Southeast Asia. These spectacular ones from Indonesia are filled with intensely flavored chicken. Among my favorites, they are a fine example of Indonesian cooks’ ability to create foods that are lusty, earthy, and chock-full of complexity. Lemper ayam are a popular snack and can be simply steamed or grilled; during cooking the banana leaf imparts a deep tealike flavor to the rice. For the best, most robust flavor, grind the spices from seed and use the galangal and kaffir (makrut) lime leaf; these latter ingredients are available at Southeast Asian markets and specialty-food stores, as are the candlenuts and banana leaf. Traditional Indonesian cooks use toothpicks to close up the ends of the banana leaf, whereas many modern cooks staple them shut. Serve the packets alone or as an interesting side dish.