Vegetarian

In our family, this dish is usually made with chicken. Then Megan started trying to convince us that tofu was actually good. I tried it reluctantly, and I was kind of surprised to find that the tofu wasn’t bad (shocking, I know). So even though I’m not a true tofu believer, this is pretty good, especially if you use baked tofu, which holds together when you cut it up much better than regular tofu does.

This tasty recipe is like pizza, but easier. It takes about 2 minutes to prepare, looks impressive, and tastes great. Puff pastry isn’t used much in the United States, but Europeans can’t do without it. It’s really easy to work with, and the results are always perfect. To thaw frozen puff pastry, put it in the refrigerator the night before you want to use it.

We have two recipes for tacos in this book, which may seem repetitive, but the only similarity is the tortillas and cheese. This version has the great combo of black beans and corn, with a little bit of zip from the sauce.

Ground cooked mung beans are used as an ingredient and a garnish in Vietnamese cooking. In both roles, they contribute a buttery richness, a highly desirable characteristic known as bùi. You must steam the yellow hulled and split beans, as they easily turn mushy and lose their nuanced flavor if boiled. A stainless-steel Chinese steamer is ideal because the tray is easy to manage and clean. If the tray holes are larger than 3/16 inch in diameter, line the tray with parchment paper, leaving a few holes uncovered for heat circulation. This is particularly important if you are steaming a small quantity of beans and don’t want to lose too many to the steamer bottom. It is not as crucial with a larger amount because the beans expand and stick together as they cook, forming a barrier of sorts. Dried mung beans expand to about three times their original volume during cooking, so if you need 1 cup cooked, start with 1/3 cup raw dried beans.

Rice that has been slowly toasted and then ground is mixed into smooth meat pastes for added texture and depth or sprinkled onto foods as a garnish. It can be purchased, usually packed in small plastic bags, but it is more fragrant and flavorful when freshly made. Some cooks like to grind the rice in an old-fashioned hand-cranked coffee or spice grinder. I prefer the speed of an electric coffee grinder that I reserve exclusively for grinding spices.

Cut into strips, these sunny yellow sheets add splashes of color and flavor to foods. When thin and delicate like a crepe, they are perfect for mixing into rice and garnishing bun thang noodle soup (page 217). When thick and fluffy, they punctuate boldly flavored foods, such as Beef and Jicama Hand Rolls (page 30) and Headcheese (page 170). Regardless of thickness, egg sheets are made the same way, in a nonstick skillet and flipped over to cook both sides. Here, I have given you directions for preparing thin sheets, which are a little trickier to make. I have included instructions for thick sheets in the Note that follows.

With modern refrigeration, there is no need to make fresh tamarind liquid each time you need it. Just as some cooks freeze cubes of stock for when they need only a small amount, I keep a stash of frozen cubes of tamarind liquid on hand. They cut down on prep time and can be used whenever a dish needs some tartness. For information on buying tamarind pulp, see page 333.

I appreciate the convenience of canned coconut milk, but I admit that freshly made coconut milk has a bright flavor and soft, luscious mouthfeel that no canned product can ever match. And although you may opt for the ease of canned coconut milk most of the time, making your own milk at least once will prove rewarding. Coconut milk is extracted from the meat of mature coconuts, which have a dried brown husk (as opposed to the green husk of young coconuts). Look for one that is heavy for its size, an indication that it has lots of meat, the source of the rich milk. Give the coconut a shake to make sure there is liquid inside, a sign that the flesh has not fermented. Traditionally, the meat is grated, steeped in hot water, and then strained to yield the milk. The grating is done with a special round serrated blade, or the cook grates the meat while seated on a squat wooden stool to which a blade is attached. The food processor method given here is a great time-saver and yields excellent results.

This is a cornerstone of Vietnamese cooking. The term nuoc mau was originally coined in southern Vietnam. Northerners know this same ingredient as nuoc hang (merchandising water), probably because it was so often used by food hawkers to enhance the appearance of their wares. Its ability to impart incredibly savory-sweet flavors is the key to simmering meats, seafood, eggs, and/or tofu for everyday kho dishes. Some cooks substitute brown sugar, but the results tend to be too sweet. The inky sauce also lends rich brown color to grilled meats, much as molasses does in American barbecue. Traditionally, the sauce is made by pouring boiling water into the caramelized sugar, a somewhat dangerous step that causes the mixture to bubble and spew dramatically. This method immediately arrests the cooking, so that the sugar doesn’t burn to a bitter black stage. I find it easier to place the pan in a sink partially filled with water, which cools the caramelized sugar, halting the cooking, and then add the water to dilute the sugar. The result with both approaches is the same bittersweet, inky sauce that is a staple in every Vietnamese kitchen.

When definitive heat is what you want in a dish, fresh chiles are what you add. But when you want to inject subtle spiciness and preserve the delicate nuances of a dish, this aromatic mixture is the solution. I grew up with this condiment on the family dinner table, where it sat in a small jar alongside dispensers of fish sauce, soy sauce, salt, and pepper. Its flavors are gentler than commercially produced chile sauces, which often overpower dishes with their vinegary taste. Slowly frying the garlic and chile melds their individual flavors, so that when you add a bit of this mixture to food, it doesn’t assault your palate with its boldness. It is particularly good with stir-fry dishes and certain noodle soups. There are different kinds of chile heat, and through practice and experimentation you will learn when to use them.

This simple garnish is great way to finish dishes with a little richness and some bright green color. Small steamed rice pancakes (page 268), sticky rice with roast chicken (page 246), and trout hand rolls (page 110) are only a few of the dishes that benefit from scallion oil.

These terrific shallot slices are like bacon bits—a garnish for when you want to add final rich notes. For them to turn out well, you must first remove all the excess moisture from the fresh shallots. Many Viet cooks skip that step and fry up presliced dehydrated shallot. Sold at Chinese and Vietnamese markets, the time-saving alternative sadly lacks flavor and depth, much like the difference between onion soup made from scratch and a packaged mix. However, they are convenient and inexpensive, which perhaps explains why hành phi are sometimes overused to embellish food. I am a traditionalist when it comes to this garnish. I prepare it the day I need it so that it stays crisp, and I always start with fresh shallots to capture their subtle sweetness. I especially like them sprinkled on bánh cuon (steamed rice crepe rolls, page 270) and xôi bap (sticky rice with hominy, page 247).

Slightly sweet, this simple, creamy sauce is used to finish various sweets in the Viet repertoire. Use it cold, warm, or at room temperature, depending on the preparation.

One of the distinctive aspects of eating Vietnamese food is the large plate of lettuce and herbs that accompanies many grilled and fried dishes. For example, Sizzling Crepes (page 274) would be incomplete without the texture, flavor, and color of the lettuce, herbs, and cucumber that arrive with them. It is this final layering of cooked and raw ingredients that contributes to the uniqueness of Vietnamese food. Select lettuces with pliable leaves. Butter, red or green leaf, or soft varieties of romaine are ideal. Baby lettuces make a beautiful presentation and usually don’t need to be torn into smaller pieces. Always avoid crisp lettuces and those without broad leaves, such as oak leaf. They don’t wrap well. This plate can accompany any Vietnamese dish that is typically eaten with vegetable and herb garnishes. In the case of the herbs, a minimum of cilantro and mint must be included. Some foods taste particularly good with certain herbs, however, so specific recipes may suggest including red perilla, Vietnamese balm, fish mint, or sorrel. For details on these herbs, see page 17.

Every time I make this easy dipping sauce, I am amazed at how good it is, especially when paired with such simple dishes as grilled chicken, fish, squid, shrimp, or summer squash or with Poached Chicken with Lime Leaves (page 84). Depending on how you tilt its balance, the sauce may hit your palate with pungency, saltiness, tartness, and/or heat. Kosher salt is the best type to use for this recipe. It is coarse, less assertive than iodized salt, and a little sweet. Assembling this sauce is fun, fast, and up to each individual. As the cook, all you have to do is set out individual dishes filled with the ingredients.

Used sparingly to coat food lightly, this sublime sauce goes well with seafood, chicken, and even boiled green vegetables. If you are portioning it for your guests, serve it in small, shallow dishes, as a little of it goes a long way. This sauce is so good that a family friend drank his serving. While an electric mini-chopper makes quick work of mincing ginger (cut it into 1/2-inch chunks and use a little lime juice to move things along), a sharp knife will allow you to hone your knife skills. For the best flavor, select a heavy knob of ginger with smooth, thin skin.

Nutty, rich, and just a touch sweet, these candied coconut ribbons are part of the regular assortment of sweets offered to guests during Tet. When I was growing up, the holiday was filled with visits to the homes of relatives and close friends. While the adults chatted and wished one another well for the year, I satiated myself with the sweetmeats and confections. These candied coconut ribbons were my favorites. Several years ago, I decided to make my own from a loosely written recipe found in an old Vietnamese cookbook. I mailed batches to my mother (a coconut lover) and invited her criticisms. After several rounds, I arrived at this recipe. Don’t be daunted by the need to crack open a coconut, as it is much easier than it sounds. In the end, you will be rewarded by the sweet coconut aroma that fills your kitchen and by a big batch of tasty candied coconut.

These sweetmeats are not traditional New Year fare, but since navel oranges are at their peak in California during Tet, the peels have found a place in my annual candy-making production. I use blemish-free organic oranges because the peel is what matters in this recipe. (Scrub the oranges well if they have a waxy coating.) The pith is included, but all the bitterness is removed in the candying process. For a touch of decadence, dip the peels in melted dark chocolate.

In this classic cold sweet soup, maroon adzuki beans and chewy clear tapioca noodles, jokingly called worms in Vietnamese because they are slippery and sticky, swim in rich coconut milk. I usually prepare all the ingredients in advance and then bring everything together at the last minute. The beans and coconut milk base may be prepared a few days ahead and refrigerated until serving time, and the sugar syrup keeps in a jar in the refrigerator indefinitely. The noodles, however, are best if readied only a few hours ahead. Adzuki beans are sold at Asian markets and health-food stores. Once you have made this version, you may substitute other beans, such as black beans, hulled mung beans, or black-eyed peas. You may also blend the beans for a mixture of colors and flavors.

Warm Vietnamese sweet soups may be rich and thick, like the preceding recipe, or light and clear, like this one. Here, buttery lotus seeds are paired with longans, a Southeast Asian fruit similar to lychees. During cooking, the dried longans give off a slightly smoky vanilla scent, which is underscored by the vanilla extract. My father swears that this soothing soup helps him sleep soundly. For me, the draw is the interplay among texture, taste, and fragrance. Lotus seeds normally require long simmering, but they quickly reconstitute when boiled with baking soda, as is done here. (The alkalinity and salt content of baking soda speeds the cooking.) When shopping for the lotus seeds, choose slightly opened ones that have had their bitter green centers removed. If you can’t tell from the packages whether they have been removed, choose one of the higher-priced brands. Dried longans resemble giant raisins and are often shelved near the lotus seeds in Chinese and Vietnamese markets. Look for both of them in the same aisle where you find dried mushrooms and beans.