Vegetarian

My favorite dumplings, these are creamy, savory, and salty and, when served with the cooked onion garnish and some sour cream, irresistible. Like the cheese filled version on page 60, they may be boiled and served with melted butter, but I think they’re best when fried in butter and served with sour cream. In addition to the variation, you can stuff these with cooked cabbage, cooked mushrooms, sauerkraut, or almost anything else you can think of.

Whether the noodle and wrappers made from its dough moved west from China or east from Italy is anyone’s guess, but it wound up everywhere. There is barely a square mile of turf between Mongolia and Hungary that doesn’t boast some kind of dumpling, and the variety is staggering. (And, if you consider the ravioli and empanada dumplings, they are universal.) But though shape and filling vary wildly, the doughs are pretty much the same throughout the world: they’re made either with egg or without. These are mostly made with, making the dough essentially the same as that used for fresh pasta.

Most cultures enjoy mushrooms, but none treats them more regally than the French. This prime example is best made with lots of butter (not bad with the smaller amount, either, of course) and wild mushrooms. But if you have access only to cultivated mushrooms, combine a couple of varieties—button with shiitake and portobello, for example, and, if possible, a small handful of dried porcini, reconstituted as on page 112. This can also be served as a side dish, especially with poultry.

A street snack of Central America and the Caribbean, empanadas can really be filled with anything you have on hand. This recipe and its variations offer several of the traditional fillings. Masa harina can be found at most supermarkets and Latin grocery stores. It adds a nice crunch to the dough, but regular flour works well, too.

A tapa based on piquillo peppers (see page 47), which are sold in jars and cans at specialty food stores and many supermarkets and are naturals for stuffing.

The most exciting pissaladière I ever had was served it the open-air market in the heart of old Nice. It was baked in a wood-burning oven a few blocks away, sent to the market by bicycle, and eaten standing up or at picnic tables shaded by huge awnings. The wedges were gently sweet and intensely salty; the crust, just a half inch thick, was perfumed with the local olive oil and was perfectly browned and crisp. It was so simple—mostly just sweet onions on a wonderful crust. You can make a wonderful pissaladière at home: just be sure to cook the onions very, very slowly.

The slices of this Provençal custard are gorgeous, a yellow-and-green mosaic enhanced by the tomato coulis (a fancy word for “sauce”). Best warm or at room temperature, but not as good if it sees the inside of a refrigerator, so serve—as an appetizer or a main course for a light meal—within three or four hours. With thanks to Marie Martin.

Falafel is the best known of bean fritters, and—because it’s usually made from chickpeas and/or fava beans—the best tasting. Canned chickpeas are too soft for falafel, but the recipe is pretty easy anyway; the dried beans are soaked, not cooked, and the frying is straightforward. The addition of an egg prevents the batter from falling apart, which is a common problem. It may not be strictly traditional, but it works. The little fritters are best in a huge pita, with a pile of raw vegetables, but they’re also nice served as a starter, with some greens and a little Tahini Sauce.

Farinata, which is nearly identical to the socca of Provence, is a cross between firm polenta and a primitive pizza. To me it’s the perfect no-work Mediterranean appetizer, a great thing to have in your repertoire if you want to make sure there’s something warm for guests to eat when they arrive—or if you just want to round out a pasta dinner for the family on a weeknight. Keep the pepper mill nearby when you serve the farinata; it’s best with an almost perverse amount of freshly ground black pepper. You can buy chickpea flour at health food stores, Italian markets, Middle Eastern stores, and specialty food shops.

A typical topping for crostini (and not a bad dish on its own), this hearty combination makes a great starter for a vegetarian meal. Cannellini beans are traditional here, but any white bean will work. The spread and bread may be made well in advance, but don’t combine them until just before serving.

Crostini is toast—no big deal. Yet it serves as a perfect base for dips and spreads, from Tapenade (page 604) to Fresh Tomato Salad (page 172). Good, too, with ricotta or goat cheese blended with chopped parsley or basil; tomato, country ham (like prosciutto), and olive oil; Brandade de Morue (page 56); or Canapés with Piquillo Peppers and Anchovies (page 48). Parsley or basil is always welcome as a garnish. If you’re making just a few crostini, you can use a toaster oven, but for large quantities a grill or oven works best. The toasted bread itself will keep for an hour or so; don’t top it until you’re ready or nearly ready to eat.

I learned how to make “summer rolls” in a tiny village in the Mekong Delta. I was not only the only non-Vietnamese at the table; I was also the only male. My pathetic technique was laughable to my co-workers, but I quickly got the hang of it. So will you. Rice paper wrappers, sold in Asian markets, keep forever. Their flexibility is truly amazing, and the simple variation will give you an idea of the different directions in which you can go. This is just a basic outline; these rolls can be filled with infinite variations of vegetables, meat, and even fruit, so don’t worry if you don’t have one or two of the ingredients here. You can cover these with a moist towel or plastic wrap and keep them for about an hour, no longer, before serving.

These are the Platonic ideal of our packaged cheese puffs, with the texture of macaroons and the flavors of fresh cheese and fragrant spices. Serve as a snack or stand-up food. You can prepare the dough ahead of time and refrigerate it until you are ready to bake or make the biscuits themselves ahead of time and store them in an airtight container for up to a day.

Compare this recipe, which is usually served cold as a panchan (small appetizer or side dish), with the Japanese version on page 184, and you’ll have a vision of the difference between Japanese and Korean cooking, which are closely linked and starkly different at the same time.

This stuff is great, and I have never tasted it in this country except in my own kitchen. I first had it in Turkey, where it was quite spicy, but have since learned that it’s equally acceptable milder. Dried urpa or aleppo pepper, or hot paprika, is the ideal seasoning—a bit of bite but not overwhelming—but judicious use of hot red pepper flakes is also good. You can also omit the heat entirely. This spread can be made hours or even a day in advance. Always, however, serve it at room temperature, never cold. Serve with bread or vegetable sticks; it makes a great sandwich ingredient too.

This brilliantly colored starter is an unusual and extremely elegant way of using beets. Serve it with chips, bread, or toast or as an accompaniment to any roast poultry dish. Make this ahead of time if you can; it’s best after marinating overnight.

Its flavor bears no resemblance to real caviar, its ingredients (except for the salt) have nothing to do with caviar, but its texture—supposedly—is akin to that of caviar. If there are enough seeds in your eggplant—not necessarily a good thing—I suppose you could argue that its graininess is like that of caviar. In any case, it’s a wonderful spread for Crostini (page 41), as a dip for fresh vegetables, or as a stuffing for roasted peppers or tomatoes (pages 492).

You are served this everywhere in Istanbul and everywhere told this story: the dish is so delicious that the imam or priest to whom it was served simply fainted—“bayildi.” (Some people say he was so very thrifty that he fainted at the profligate amount of olive oil used, but since olive oil is no longer especially expensive—and a half cup is not that much, after all—you can enjoy this dish without guilt.) As is almost always the case, the small, light-skinned “Japanese” eggplants work best because they lack the bitterness common to larger eggplants. If you cannot get those, use the smallest eggplants you can find. This dish is always served at room temperature (or cold), so make it ahead of time.

Like most other bean preparations, this is far better with beans you cook yourself than with canned (frozen beans, now available at many supermarkets, fall somewhere in the middle). But even with canned beans, it is so much better than commercially made bean dip you may never go back. If you cook the beans yourself, start with the recipe for Black Beans with Garlic and Cumin (you can cook red beans this way too), page 438, and cook them until they are quite soft. Reserve the cooking liquid. Serve with tortilla chips, toasted pita bread (not a traditional combination but a good one), or raw vegetables.

This delicious snack from Trinidad and Guyana is the perfect accompaniment to any cold cocktail, and if you think of it while you’re cooking chickpeas for another recipe, it’s incredibly easy. If you’re curious about Old World origins of New World foods, you’ll be interested to know that, in India, one of the many words for chickpeas is chana.