Asian

When I first tasted this Shanghai specialty in Vancouver a few years ago, I wondered how it could have escaped me so long. The stupendous filling is remarkably simple, with a mild bite from the raw daikon radish, smokiness from the ham, and richness from the sesame oil. The pastries can be shaped as rounds with an arty spiral pattern of layers or as oblongs with a handsome linear pattern of layers. They are a classic Chinese banquet morsel, but there’s no need to wait for a special occasion. Enjoy them as a snack, accompanied by other dumplings or a clear soup.

Literally translated as “crisp skin for cakes,” this northern Chinese flaky pastry employs techniques similar to those for French puff pastry to create tender, layered pastry. What’s unusually clever about the Chinese approach is that aside from the usual letter-type folds and turns, the dough is rolled into a cylinder as part of forming the wrappers. The cylinder can then be cut in ways that allow you to form pastries with layers that fall in a spiral or linear pattern. When deep-fried, this pastry becomes super-rich, but surprisingly not greasy. It may also be baked, though the result is not as spectacular. Some cooks don’t add sugar and salt, but I find seasoning the dough sparks the flavor. For the best results, use lard rather than vegetable shortening. If you have ever found making puff pastry difficult because of the firmness of the butter, this dough is a godsend. It comes together quickly and is amazingly easy to work by comparison.

Certain childhood treats stick with you, and for me these crisp turnovers are a tasty reminder of our life in Saigon. Sister Thien, our cook, and a family friend whom we called Uncle Thu, would make the dough and fill it with this delectable mixture of shrimp, pork, and jicama. Although they were hot right out of the oil, I could barely wait to dive in. My piggishness often led to a burned tongue. These are not easy to find abroad in expatriate Vietnamese enclaves, and I wasn’t able to rediscover the flavor and texture from my youth until I made them myself. For a baked version, substitute this filling for the one in the empanada recipe (page 111). Note that in the central region of Vietnam, bánh quai vac is the name of unrelated rice-or tapioca-based dumplings.

Many rich, filled Asian pastries, such as Indian samosas (page 115) and Vietnamese bánh quai vac chiên (page 118), employ straightforward dough made of wheat flour, fat, and water. Some cooks use oil for richness, but vegetable shortening creates a wonderful crispness. Pastries made with this dough are not blistery, but rather smooth and undulating with delicate puffy bubbles. Though you can make the dough by machine, the quantity of ingredients involved doesn’t justify the cleanup. I actually prefer the simplicity of preparing dough by hand because it is quick and fun. Rather than cutting the shortening into the flour, you rub the ingredients together to evenly coat the flour—a method referred to as moyan dena by Indian cooks. Despite this being a flaky pastry, the dough is kneaded to develop gluten so that it can hold up well during frying. A bit of leaven ensures a light texture. The resulting dough is strong, yet flaky and crisp.

Bite into a freshly fried samosa, and you’ll realize that the quintessential Indian snack is no simple food. When made well, the crisp shell is delicately rich and flaky. The filling inside varies, but a tangy potato mixture is the most common. Many believe that samosas arrived in India via the ancient trade routes that linked West Asia with Central Asia and South Asia. In fact, related pastries are called sanbusak in the Middle East and samsa in Central Asia. Samosas are fabulous alone or with a dab of mint and/or tamarind chutney. Add some chai tea, and you have a perfect snack. Or serve them with a salad for a great lunch. Many cooks use russet (baking) potatoes, but I prefer Yukon Golds for their flavor and cheery yellow color. Choose potatoes of the same size to ensure that they’re done at the same time.

Like fried lumpia (see page 87), these savory-sweet turnovers are beloved Filipino snacks. Empanadas in the Philippines are usually deep-fried, as they are in other places, such as Argentina, where the Spanish pastry has also been adopted. Filipino-American cooks, however, mostly wrap theirs in a short pastry crust and bake them, with delicious results. If you’ve never had Asian pastries like those in this section, this is a good one to start with because it is easy to prepare and love. For richer, deep-fried empanadas, swap the filling below for the one used in the Shrimp, Pork, and Jicama Turnovers (page 118) or Curry Puffs (page 125) recipe. Feel free to substitute other ground meat for the beef.

If you like pot stickers and steamed buns, you’ll love these spongy-crisp panfried treats from Shanghai, where typically they are cooked in humongous shallow pans (much like large paella pans) with wooden lids. These buns are made of yeast dough that is filled with an aromatic pork mixture and then fried and steamed in a skillet. Cooking under cover with a bit of water delivers plenty of moisture to puff up the buns. Ground beef chuck or chicken thigh can stand in for the pork in this recipe. A bāozi is a mini bāo (bun) and for that reason, I like to keep these true to their name and shape small ones. However, you can elect to form sixteen medium-size (2 3/4-inch) buns. Roll the dough circles out to 3 1/4 inches in diameter and use about 4 teaspoons of filling for each bun; increase the water and cooking time a tad.

Nowhere else in Asia has Chinese bāo been embraced and appropriated to the extent that it has been in the Philippines. An extremely popular snack, Filipino siopao tend to be large, sometimes the size of a soft ball. They are filled with all kinds of things, including slightly sweet meat and gravy mixtures (asado siopao), dense meatloaf-like concoctions (bola-bola siopao), and even balut, the beloved partially incubated duck egg. Quite oft en in Filipino meat-filled buns, there’s a wedge of boiled egg inside, which is why I’ve included it in this chicken rendition for a mother-and-child reunion of sorts. Siopao dough can be made from rice flour, which results in superwhite buns, but I prefer wheat-flour buns because they have a chewier texture and more flavor.

Whether steamed or baked, buns stuffed with Cantonese char siu pork are among my favorite dim sum. I rarely pass up the opportunity to savor how the spongy, slightly sweet dough complements the savory-sweet, rich meat. For spectacular buns, make this filling with homemade roast pork (page 224); in fact you can prepare a triple batch of filling from a single recipe of roast pork. If you elect to use store-bought pork, wait to salt the filling until after it is done and you can taste it to see what it needs; the meat is often well seasoned already.

When you buy stuffed buns in Asia, there is usually a vegetarian option that features vegetables and pressed tofu. The fragrant, tasty filling is delightful and satisfying enough to please meat lovers. While you can feature just one vegetable, such as a leafy green, I like to create a varied filling that’s full of surprising textures and flavors. It’s important to cut the vegetables and pressed tofu into small, thin pieces so that the cooked filling is easy to measure and wrap up in the dough.

Cantonese cooks have been creating curried bāo fillings for years, but for buns with both a Southeast Asian and an Indian edge, stuff them with this curried chicken filling that contains plenty of spice and a touch of coconut-milk richness. The ingredient list looks daunting only because of the number of spices, a combination that yields aromatic, flavorful results. If you have a good curry powder, such as Sun Brand, feel free to substitute 1 tablespoon for the spices below; decrease the amount of salt if the curry powder contains salt already. Or skip the toasting and grinding and substitute equal amounts of ground spices for the whole ones, using two pinches of black pepper for the peppercorns. The flavors will still be good.

Baked buns, called guk bau in Cantonese, are a wonderful southern Chinese creation. They can be filled with a whole host of things, including sweet bean pastes and savory preserved pork shreds. Some have a crumbly crust that’s akin to coffee cake topping. My favorite renditions are slightly shiny and sticky from having been brushed with a lightly sweet honey glaze. Whatever the filling inside, whether it is spicy chicken curry, roast pork, vegetables, or bean pastes, you can’t lose. Commercially produced Chinese baked buns are nearly cloying and super soft, whereas these have a delicate flavor and texture resembling that of challah.

Because ovens were rare, Chinese cooks have been steaming their bread dough for thousands of years, most likely since wheat-milling technology arrived in northern China by way of the Silk Road. There are many ways to present the steamed bread, and the Chinese knack for stuffing it with a savory or sweet filling is perhaps the most well known and well loved. The filled buns, or bāo, are a delicious, convenient fast food in many parts of Asia, where you can buy them from street vendors and snack shops. Here in the States where stopping at a neighborhood bāo stand isn’t the norm, I make the buns myself in small batches and enjoy them for lunch or as road food, whether I’m driving or flying. They can be reheated until soft , allowed to cool, and then kept in a plastic bag until you’re ready to eat. Medium-size buns are the easiest to make, so you may want to start with those. After you’ve made buns with the various fillings presented here, create your own fillings. To make steamed rolls that can be used for mini sandwiches.

There are several methods for making Chinese yeast dough, some of which employ starters and leavening, such as lye water and ammonium carbonate. This dough uses ingredients available at regular American supermarkets, and the results match the best I’ve experienced in China. Many Asian cooks employ—to great success—a cakey, snowy-white Cantonese style dough made from low-gluten cake flour or from a quickie flour and baking powder blend. This dough is different; it has more depth, and its loft and resilience comes from combining yeast and baking powder; fast-rising yeast works like a champ. All-purpose flour with a moderate amount of gluten, such as Gold Medal brand widely available at supermarkets, is what I prefer for this dough. Use bleached flour for a slightly lighter and brighter finish.

Many Asian cooks have incorporated Chinese spring rolls into their repertoires, but those of Filipino descent have embraced the rolls with the most zeal and flair. Derived from lūnpiá, a term from the Fujian (Hokkien) Chinese dialect, lumpia are one of the quintessential foods of the Philippines. In fact, I’ve seldom been to a Filipino celebration where there isn’t a platter of crisp lumpia, whether it be large ones like these or the diminutive finger-size lumpia Shanghai, which is obviously named after its Chinese parent. Banana-filled lumpia is a deliciously popular sweet snack called turon (page 194). Unfried lumpia sariwa are made by rolling up a lettuce leaf and filling of vegetables and meat in a spring roll skin. Fillings for fried lumpia vary from cook to cook, but they often have trademark Filipino touches, such as lots of fried garlic and onion. Simply seasoned, the meat (pork, chicken, or beef), shrimp, and vegetable mixture is precooked but not bound by cornstarch. Thinly sliced green beans are particularly pretty in the rolls and a touch of patis (fish sauce) adds another Filipino note. Vinegar is a favorite seasoning in the Philippines, so it’s apropos to dip the finished rolls in a tangy soy and garlic sauce. But if you’d like extra tropical flair, dunk the rolls in the Sweet and Sour Sauce on page 217 made with pineapple juice, ginger, and chile.

Most American diners are familiar with the Cantonese spring roll skins made with an egg and flour pastalike skin, but there’s another kind from Shanghai that is made without eggs and is cooked before it is stuffed and rolled. The resulting rolls are skinnier and fry up a little crisper than their Cantonese counterparts. Shanghai spring roll skins can also be used, unfried, like a soft flour tortilla for popiah handrolls, a favorite food in Fujian, Chaozhou, Taiwan, Singapore, and Malaysia. In the Thai repertoire, popiah tod refers to fried spring rolls. Asian cooks have also used these skins for Vietnamese cha giò rolls and Burmese samosas. Excellent commercial Shanghai spring roll skins are available at Chinese and Southeast Asian markets, and I didn’t know if making them at home would be worth the trouble. They’re a bit tricky to prepare, but once you understand and get the hang of the unusually sticky, elastic dough, the process becomes addictively fun as you aim for perfect round skins. I rarely achieve it, but the skins fry up beautifully every time. A moderate-gluten flour, such as all-purpose Gold Medal brand, works extremely well. If you are a first-timer, visit Asiandumplingtips.com to watch the video demonstration and to observe the unique cooking process; double the recipe to ensure plenty of extra dough for practice.

The Chinese repertoire has many kinds of rolls—savory, sweet, thin, fat, fried, and unfried—and they’re all hard to pass up. The Cantonese fried version is bigger than its Shanghai kin, and it is encased in a large version of a wonton skin. Cantonese spring rolls, also known as egg rolls, have gotten a bad rap in America because they’re often greasy, overly doughy, and bland. However, when made from thin skins and a savory-sweet mixture of fresh vegetables and meat, Cantonese spring rolls reveal their worth as a splendid snack. Resembling gold bars and symbolizing wealth, prosperity, and good fortune, spring rolls are savored during the Lunar New Year, which is called the Spring Festival in Chinese. Cantonese spring rolls often combine pork and shrimp, but I prefer to keep the focus on tasty roast pork, which is best when homemade. Finely chopping and shredding the ingredients is time consuming, but you want the filling to be compact so that it fills out the long shape of the roll. Lighten your workload by making the filling and skins in advance.

There are numerous fillings for fried spring rolls, and this one is my take on an old-fashioned Shanghai filling. The surf-and-turf combination of pork and shrimp is punctuated by earthy bamboo shoots and shiitake mushrooms. Whereas the Cantonese filling on page 79 is savory-sweet (and can be used here), this filling is more robust and offers wonderful depth, so much so that dunking them in a touch of vinegar is all you need to create a wonderful mouthful. Most spring roll fillings are cooked first because the frying is fast, and you want to ensure that the meat is cooked and that there’s a minimum of moisture, so the skins don’t soften up too much as they sit once out of the fryer. When preparing this and other similar fillings, cut the main ingredients so that they match in size and roll up well. I typically buy pork tenderloin steaks and freeze them for 10 to 15 minutes to make them easier to cut. Canned bamboo shoots work well so long as they first are boiled briefly to eliminate any tinny flavor. Spring rolls are great as a snack but also terrific for a light lunch along with a green salad.

These open-faced dumplings are a requisite part of the Cantonese dim sum repertoire. In contrast to their dainty size and frilly edge, shāomai (siu mai in Cantonese) are packed with a pork filling that’s typically punctuated by earthy mushrooms and crunchy water chestnuts. The dumplings here are made from thin wonton skins that have been cut into circles. Don’t confuse them with the Jiangnan version from the area between Shanghai and Nanjing, which is made from hot-water dough wrappers and filled with a sticky rice mixture. Both go by the name shāomai, which literally means “cook and sell,” reflecting their perennial popularity. Feel free to add chopped raw shrimp to the filling (cut back on the vegetables) for variety. Any of the wonton fillings can be used, too; but do remember to double the pork and shrimp filling on page 41 or quadruple the shrimp filling on page 70, adding a beaten egg white in each case to insure a smoother texture. The shape of siu mai enables them to hold a lot more filling than other dumplings of the same size.

Soup marks the beginning of many Asian meals, and a little bowl of delicate wontons floating in fragrant broth is a fine way to kick things off. The clean flavors prepare the palate for anything that may follow. Shrimp-laden dumplings star in this simple recipe, but you may want to adorn the finished soup with some blanched leafy greens, such as spinach, bok choy, or watercress, and perhaps even slices of roasted Cantonese Char Siu Pork (page 224). Instead of the shrimp filling, you can use a half batch of the pork and shrimp filling for the Fried Wontons on page 69.