Vegetarian

If you have never tried a Vietnamese che (sweet soup), this one is a good place to start. The perfume of the banana comes through wonderfully, and the tapioca pearls, enrobed in coconut milk, cook up to resemble large orbs of clear caviar. Once the tapioca pearls have fully expanded and set, the texture of this mildly sweet treat is like that of a thick Western-style tapioca pudding. Small, creamy bananas, such as the Nino variety, also known as Finger or Baby, are traditionally simmered for this sweet soup. They are sold at Asian and Latin markets. If they are unavailable, substitute regular bananas. Regardless of the variety, use ripe but firm, blemish-free fruits.

Sweet, loose-skinned, and with few seeds mandarin oranges are more popular in Vietnam than regular oranges. The small fruits are commonly eaten as a peel-and-eat snack, but may they also be juiced and frozen for sorbet. Served alone or with a cookie, the sorbet is an elegant conclusion to a meal. Find the best tangerines, clementines, or satsumas in your area and juice them yourself. Avoid pasteurized juice, which can have an unpleasant cooked flavor.

This easy sorbet captures the essence of coconut in frozen form. Vanilla amplifies the alluring fragrance of coconut, while salt underscores the sorbet’s delicate sweetness. High-quality canned coconut milk works fine, but freshly made coconut milk yields the best results, with wonderfully delicate and complex flavors.

Salting eggs is a simple preservation method used throughout Asia. Egg shells are porous, and after weeks of curing eggs in brine, the yolks turn bright yellow and richly flavored, while the whites become creamy and salty. The salted eggs are usually boiled and eaten as a snack or light meal with plain rice or Basic Rice Soup (page 67). The yolks are also used alone in special preparations, such as Moon Cakes (page 300). Traditionally, duck eggs are salted, but chicken eggs are easier to find and more affordable in the United States. Any kind of salt works, but fine sea salt doesn’t crystallize after boiling like both regular table salt and pickling salt sometimes do.

Shaped like half-moons, the plain buns are used like rolls: they are split open, a morsel of roast pork, duck, or char siu (barbecued pork) is tucked inside, and if there is a sauce, a little is drizzled over the meat. The resulting tiny sandwich is a great hors d’oeuvre or starter course. Steamed buns made from scratch take time. It is worth the effort to make your own dough for filled buns, but when you want the buns only as a small side dish, a shortcut may be in order.

Here , simple dough made of glutinous rice flour, water, and salt is shaped into small, round disks and steamed on banana leaf circles, which impart fragrance and prevent sticking. The result is bánh day, eggshell-white cakes that are eaten in pairs with slices of Viet sausage slipped between them. The cakes are sweet and chewy, while the sausage provides a savory counterpoint. If you don’t have time to make the sausage at home, pick some up at a Viet market or deli.

Imagine my mom’s delight when she first spotted canned hominy at American markets (and later, hulled mung beans). Gone were the days when she had to soak and treat dried corn kernels with slaked lime before cooking them to prepare this treat. She also had to soak and skin unhulled mung beans before she could steam and grind them. By the time this dish appeared at the table, nearly two days had passed. But it was all worth it: the rice and hominy formed a chewy, soft base for the buttery yellow mung beans, toasted sesame seeds, and fried shallots. Serve this sticky rice dish alone or with slices of Viet sausages or roasted chicken, duck, or pork.

A Batch of Rice in which the grains remain distinct is called com roi (separated rice), while rice that has been compacted by hand into dense balls or logs is called com nam (pressed rice). Like Japanese onigiri (rice balls), com nam is both shaped and eaten by hand. You simply pick up a piece, press it against a boldly flavored food like Caramelized Minced Pork (page 131), Cotton Pork (page 134), or sesame salt (see Note), and pop the morsel into your mouth. For many Vietnamese of my parents’ generation, com nam is an old-fashioned food that conjures up memories of home, perhaps because it was a creative way for moms to get their kids to eat more rice, the main source of sustenance. As a reminder of such times, my dad regularly prepared com nam and then presliced it for family road trips, picnics, and whenever we wanted a fun alternative to eating rice from a bowl.

When preparing this Chinese classic, Vietnamese cooks, like their northern neighbors, often rely on canned creamed corn, once considered an exotic foreign import in Asia. The velvety sweet-savory result fuses East and West. Here in the States, fresh corn is plentiful, and making this soup with kernels cut from the cob yields bright flavors that aren’t cloying. Neither cornstarch nor egg is needed to create a creamy texture. The natural starch in the corn provides it. Some cooks add a variety of embellishments to the soup, but I prefer to keep it simple, using only sliced shiitake mushrooms for their flavor, texture, and visual appeal. Make sure you use the sweetest corn possible, whether from your local market or farm stand, fresh or frozen.

When my family lived in Vietnam, these noodles were considered special because Western noodles (called nui, the Viet phonetic equivalent of the French nouilles) and butter were expensive imports. Once we arrived in the United States, we indulged in them to the point that they were no longer dear. In fact, I forgot about them for years, only to rediscover their garlicky, buttery, nutty goodness at a Vietnamese French restaurant in Westminster, California. Nowadays, I prepare these noodles not just because they are a comfort food from my youth, but also because they are good. The unusually savory quality of the dish is due to Maggi Seasoning, a soy sauce–like condiment and Vietnamese staple that was most likely introduced to Vietnam by the French. It is fine to use dried pasta for this recipe, though fresh fettuccine or even flat Chinese egg noodles yield a superior dish.

A specialty of Central Vietnam, these preserved vegetables pack plenty of punch in each garlicky, savory, sweet, and crunchy morsel. Served as a small side dish, they are a flavorful addition to any meal and even make a bowl of plain rice satisfying. Traditionally, the vegetables are cut into thick, stubby sticks, salted, and then partially dried outdoors on bamboo trays before they are left to sit in a mixture of fish sauce, sugar, and garlic. Here in the States, the oven speeds up the process considerably. I use small young daikons and large carrots and cut them into rounds instead of sticks.

Lovely to look at, these rosy shallots are also wonderful to eat. Their delightful tanginess and mild bite cut the richness of foods like beef or pork kho and Viet sausages, headcheese, or pâté. They are also good in a Western salad or sandwich. Tipplers might even try a few in a gin on the rocks. These shallots are a must for Tet celebrations. In fact, there is a traditional Tet couplet that includes dua hânh as one of the required foods for the holiday. My family doesn’t wait for the Lunar New Year to eat them, however. My mom and I make them year-round, using this recipe from my late aunt, Bac Dao. A widow most of her life, she often prepared large batches of various foods and divided them up among her family and friends. These shallots were usually among her gifts. Use small shallots (sold at Asian markets in red plastic net bags, each weighing about a pound) that are firm and without sprouts or mold. If shallots aren’t available, substitute red pearl onions (sold at most supermarkets).

My mom, who was born in Northern Vietnam grew up with this regional pickle. Quan, my brother-in-law, is addicted to it, and when he visits her, he never fails to find the jar that she always keeps in her fridge. While dua góp sometimes contains different ingredients, such as green papaya, this combination of cauliflower, bell pepper, and carrot offers a nice balance of flavor, color, and texture. Traditionally the pickle is served with rich meats and fried fish, but the vegetables are great alone as a quick nibble or as part of a charcuterie platter (Vietnamese or otherwise), antipasto spread, or sandwich plate.

The Vietnamese name for this fast pickle literally translates as “sour stuff.” Although it doesn’t sound enticing, it is exactly what you want to serve whenever you need a simple garnish (or side) that is tart, sweet, and crunchy. I keep a jar of it in the refrigerator for stuffing baguette sandwiches (page 34), for serving alongside grilled meats such as Grilled Garlicky Five-Spice Pork Steaks (page 143), and for adding to Duck and Chinese Egg Noodle Soup (page 220). Some people like the vegetables on the sweet side, but I prefer a tangy flavor and therefore use less sugar. When selecting daikons, look for evenly shaped, firm, smooth, unblemished roots.

This Southern Vietnamese specialty is technically a pickle because the vegetables steep in brine, but it is eaten in large amounts, more like a salad, with intensely flavored pork and fish kho (dishes simmered in caramel sauce). The texture and flavors of the vegetables provide the perfect bright contrast to the inky, deep flavors of kho. Flat, delicately flavored Chinese chives are traditionally combined with the bean sprouts and carrot. Because these chives can be hard to find, I often substitute leafy green scallion tops. Select small scallions the width of a chopstick or medium scallions. Larger ones can be too harsh. If you can find Chinese chives, substitute a nickel-sized bunch for the scallions.

Introduced to Vietnam by the French as salade russe, this salad is a fine example of how Viet cooking blurs culinary and cultural traditions. Home cooks incorporated it into their repertoire, and I grew up treating it as any other Viet vegetable dish. During the summer, my mother served it with roasted chicken that had been marinated in garlic and Maggi Seasoning sauce. While there are many versions of this salad, I prefer combining the three root vegetables with chopped egg and a creamy herb vinaigrette. Use red beets for a beautiful magenta salad, pink or golden beets for a jewel-toned salad. For an interesting barbecue menu, serve the salad with Grilled Lemongrass Pork Riblets (page 145), Grilled Corn with Scallion Oil (page 183), and a lightly dressed green salad.

In Vietnam, small clay charcoal-fired braziers are used to cook dishes like this smoky eggplant topped with scallion and served with a garlic-chile dipping sauce. Here in the States, I often make this dish in the summer when the farmers’ market is brimming with an incredible array of eggplants. (The vegetable is at its sweetest in August and September.) You can cook the eggplant over a gas burner, or even bake it, but you’ll have the best results on a grill. Small globe eggplants, meaty Italian eggplants, and slender Japanese eggplants all work well for this recipe.

People often ask me what I remember about my life in Vietnam. I always respond that my memory is filled with photographic images of people and places, but because I was only six years old when we fled, I had not yet experienced enough of life to have fuller pictures. However, one of my most vivid memories is of our cook, Older Sister Thien, squatting and fanning the small charcoal brazier on which she grilled corn on the cob. As the corn cooked to a charred chewy sweetness, she brushed on scallion oil made with home-rendered lard. The aroma and taste were heavenly. Here is my updated version with regular cooking oil. With so many varieties of corn available in summertime, you should have no trouble finding the sweetest one for grilling. This is traditionally a snack food, but it is also a wonderful addition to an Eastern or Western barbecue. Parboiling the ears before grilling ensures that the corn is evenly cooked and the grill work is fast.

Eggplants are prepared in many ways by Viet cooks, but my two favorites are deep-fried, as in this recipe, and grilled or roasted until smoky and soft , as in Grilled Eggplant with Seared Scallion (page 184). Here, I coat thickish eggplant slices with a thin batter, which yields deep-fried pieces with a moist interior and a delicate crust that remains crisp well after frying. For the best results, use slender, firm, blemish-free Chinese, Italian, or Japanese eggplants. They have an appealing meatiness and fry better than large globe eggplants.

It is hard to imagine the Viet table without water spinach (a.k.a. morning glory in English, rau muông in Vietnamese, and ong choy in Cantonese; illustrated on page 174), a long, tubular leafy green that is part of the lifeblood of the country and appears in many guises. The tender tops with their pointy leaves are often boiled or stir-fried. The hollow stems are sometimes laboriously split into slender pieces, dropped in water to curl, and then the crunchy raw spirals are used as a garnish for certain noodle dishes, such as Crab and Shrimp Rice Noodle Soup (page 215); as a bed for a beef stir-fry; or as a lightly dressed salad. Water spinach is also pickled. Even today my parents become wistful at the mention of a rustic meal of boiled rau muông, soup prepared from the left over cooking liquid, a heady fish kho, and rice. So, it was a sad moment when we arrived in the United States to discover that we could not afford water spinach, which cost nearly two dollars a pound and was not widely available. What had once been an everyday vegetable was suddenly a splurge. When my parents did buy it, my mother would stir-fry the greens with garlic and fermented shrimp sauce (mâm tôm) and finish the dish with lots of lime. Aromatic, earthy, and tangy, the traditional combination was a comforting reminder of our culinary roots. Nowadays, rau muông is thankfully much less expensive and is easily found at Chinese and Southeast Asian markets. During the peak summer season, prices are downright cheap. Here are two options for stir-frying the bounty: first, the soulful dish of my youth, followed by a more modern preparation flavored with garlic and oyster sauce, which pairs well with Eastern and Western dishes (try it with a steak). If you can’t find water spinach, Western spinach can be used for either of the two stir-fries that follow.