Gluten Free

If you are unfamiliar with Asian sweets, this delicious cake may surprise you. There is no flour in the batter, and the cassava (the source of tapioca starch) makes the texture slightly gelatinous but firm. The mung beans function like ground nuts do in Western cakes, lending richness and body to the batter. While the cake bakes, the kitchen is filled with the aroma of coconut, and when it is served, the result is pleasingly soft , chewy, and sweet. I’m grateful to Mrs. Oanh, a friend of my mother’s, for sharing this recipe. A similar preparation in the Filipino repertoire is called cassava bibingka. Look for grated cassava (usually imported from the Philippines) in the frozen-food section of Southeast Asian and Chinese markets. Because coconut is the primary flavor in this recipe, it is especially important to use thick, rich, flavorful milk, whether it comes from a can or is freshly made. For a special treat, serve a wedge of this cake with a scoop of Coconut Sorbet (page 282).

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.

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.

Made with milk, rather than cream and eggs, this ice cream is thickened with cornstarch, which Vietnamese cooks use to yield a smooth texture. The result is a lighter-than-usual ice cream that allows the lemongrass to shine. When preparing the lemongrass, you need to remove only the dry outer leaves and trim any dry edges at the very top. You can then use as much of the stalk as you like, as it is discarded after the milk is infused. In fact, sometimes when I trim lemongrass for other recipes, I freeze the tough top sections for making this ice cream.

At a glance, this recipe may look like the one for Sizzling Crepes (page 274), and in fact these crepes from the central region begot sizzling crepes. But the popularity of the child has eclipsed that of the parent, and nowadays it is hard to get banh khoai unless you make them yourself or go to the source, Hue, where delightful crepes live up to their name. They are crunchy, rich from being cooked in a fair amount of oil, and full of toasty rice flavor. Banh khoai are traditionally fried in special small cast-iron skillets (five to six inches in diameter) with long handles (so you can avoid the splattering hot oil). They are difficult to find, however, so I use an eight-inch cast-iron or heavy nonstick skillet.

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.

Named for the ssssseh-ao sound that the batter makes when it hits the hot skillet, these turmeric yellow rice crepes are irresistible. Fragrant with a touch of coconut milk, they are filled with pork, shrimp, and vegetables and eaten with lettuce, herbs, and a mildly garlicky dipping sauce. Most Viet cooks make sizzling crepes with a rice flour batter, but the results fall short of the nearly translucent ones made by pros in Vietnam. To reproduce the traditional version, which captures the alluring toastiness of rice, I soak and grind raw rice for the batter. It is not as daunting as it sounds. You just need a powerful blender to emulsify the batter to a wonderful silkiness. Adding left over cooked rice and mung bean, a technique I found buried in a book on Viet foodways, gives the crepes a wonderful chewy crispiness. Make your crepes as large as you like. These instructions are for moderately sized eight-inch ones. In Saigon, the same crepes are typically as big as twelve inches, but in the central region, they are as small as tacos. At my house, we serve and eat these crepes as fast as we can make them.

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.

The featured ingredient in this homey egg dish is mam nem, a thick, taupe sauce made of salted and fermented fish that is pungent and earthy like a delicious stinky cheese but mellows when combined with other ingredients. This southern Vietnamese seasoning is usually labeled fish sauce, but is different than light, clear regular fish sauce, or nuoc mam. Before using it, shake the small, long-necked bottle vigorously to blend the solids and liquid. In this recipe, the cellophane noodles absorb the savory depth of the sauce and plump up during steaming to give the egg mixture its firm texture. At Vietnamese restaurants in the United States, a small piece of this steamed egg is often included as a side item on rice plates. At my house, I prefer to serve it as a main dish, accompanied by rice, a quick soup (canh), and stir-fried water spinach (page 178).

Long before I knew about Chinese American egg foo yong, I was dipping these tasty pancakes in fish sauce and soy sauce and enjoying them with hot rice. When my mother was short of time, she would prepare a couple of plates full of these yellow, pink, and green pancakes for dinner. They are incredibly easy to whip up and yet taste fancy. The edges get fluffy and crispy from frying in a liberal amount of oil, and each rich bite contains a bit of tasty shrimp. I don’t devein the shrimp for these pancakes because I have found that it leaves unattractive lumps. But if you prefer to devein them, do so.

These nearly translucent, soft steamed rice crepes are served plain with slices of gio lua (sausage), or they are filled and shaped into small rolls, as they are here. Finished with cilantro, shallots, thit rouc bông (cotton pork), and a little sauce, these rolls were one of my father’s favorite foods to prepare for our family when I was growing up. In Vietnam, making bánh cuon was usually left to professional cooks who had mastered the technique of steaming a thin rice batter on fabric stretched over a pot of boiling water. In the 1970s, Vietnamese expatriates devised an easier method of making the crepes in a nonstick skillet. For the batter, they blended cake flour (very fine, soft Thai rice flour was not readily available then) with tapioca starch and cornstarch. While that approach works fine, I prefer to use Thai rice flour in place of the cake flour because it yields a more delicate result that is closer to the original version. The tapioca starch and cornstarch help the batter set up nicely and contribute to achieving the tender yet chewy texture of the traditional crepes.

Made of a simple rice flour batter, these dainty and rich rice pancakes are akin to blini. Bánh bèo are eaten all over Vietnam and boast a number of regional variations. They come in sweet (ngot) and savory (man) varieties, and in sizes ranging from 1 1/2 to 3 inches in diameter. They may be served directly from the small ceramic dish in which they are steamed or transferred to a serving platter. This recipe for savory bánh bèo features a classic topping of fragrant bits of briny shrimp, rich scallion oil, and mildly sweet chile sauce. I use small, inexpensive dipping sauce dishes for the molds. Look for them at Asian housewares and restaurant-supply stores and at some Asian markets.

Bánh Chung are sold at Viet markets and delis, but making them yourself guarantees high quality and is a great way to take part in an ancient Vietnamese tradition. An intersection of cooking, art, and engineering, the cakes come together in an ingenious way, and it is remarkable how so few ingredients create such meaningful and tasty food. See Feasts for the New Year, page 259, for more information on the tradition surrounding the cakes. While some people wrap the cakes free-form, I prefer using a simple homemade wooden mold (see Note for details) to produce beautiful cakes with straight edges, believing that since the ingredients are modest, the presentation matters. The process is surprisingly easy: the mold is lined with bamboo leaves and then banana leaves, the edible ingredients are added, the package is closed up, and the mold is removed, so the cake looks a little box. The cake is then securely wrapped in foil and boiled for several hours. The instructions for these cakes come from my mother and her friend Mr. Lung, who decades ago wrote an extensive article on the subject. When we left Vietnam, Mom carried the piece with her so she could replicate bánh chng here. The ingredients are available at Chinese and Vietnamese markets. Dried bamboo leaves are bundled up in plastic and are usually near the dried mushrooms. Be sure to select a fatty piece of pork for the best flavor, and bright green banana leaves for beautiful color.

In the winter months, when khúc, a green that looks like edible chrysanthemum leaves but tastes like spinach, is in season, cooks in northern Vietnam pound the leaves and use the juice to color the dough for these dumplings, which are filled with buttery mung bean and caramelized shallot. Sticky rice appears twice in the recipe, as the flour in the dough and as pearly grains covering the dumplings, making them look like snowballs. My mother remembers these jade green dumplings as the perfect antidote to the north’s cold, dreary winters. Well-positioned street vendors would lure customers with steamers full of piping-hot bánh khúc, which were piled on top of one another in the tray and had to be carefully pried apart before the exchange of money and food could occur. This is her recipe, which substitutes spinach for the khúc. For convenience, I use prewashed baby spinach leaves and purée them in a food processor. Measure the spinach carefully to ensure the dough won’t be too soft or mushy. Regular oil and ground pork stand in for the traditional filling enrichment of freshly rendered pork fat and hand-chopped pork belly. To yield nice round dumplings, I stray from tradition and steam them in a single layer, rather than piling them up.

The ingredients of this intensely flavored chicken dish resemble those of a curry, but here they are stir-fried, rather than simmered together in a sauce, to retain their individuality. You’ll taste the sweetness of coconut milk and shallots, the heat of chiles (fresh and dried in the curry powder), and the citrus of lemongrass, plus the bell pepper adds color and softness. My mom makes a similar dish using whole skinless drumsticks. She cooks them first on the stove top with very little water so the meat absorbs all the flavors. Then she finishes the drumsticks in the oven, so the outside is dry while the inside stays moist. Her dish, which she regularly prepared for our family when I was growing up, inspired this quicker approach.

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.

Fragrant and delectable, these meatballs are made from a fine chicken paste seasoned with toasted ground rice and enriched by tiny bits of pork fat. Although they are traditionally grilled, I cook them in the oven, where they are less likely to overbrown or even burn. They are served with rice paper, lettuce, fresh herbs, and a sweet-and-spicy sauce, and diners assemble their own hand rolls. You will need to soak 16 to 18 (8- or 10-inch) bamboo skewers in water for at least 45 minutes before you thread the meatballs onto them. At the table, set out kitchen scissors or knives for diners to cut their meatballs in half before wrapping them. (Like cherry tomatoes, these meatballs are hard to eat if left whole.) This is a hands-on dish that requires only a dinner plate at each place setting.

From French Poule au pot to Chinese Hainan chicken to this classic Vietnamese preparation, poached chicken offers clear, pure flavors. In my family, we enjoy the hot poaching broth as the soup course (canh) and slice up the cool chicken for the main dish. The chicken is strewn with fine strips of fresh, tender young lime or lemon leaves, to provide an unusual bright, citrusy contrast. Thai lime leaves, known also as makrut or kaffir leaves, are particularly wonderful if you can find them. At the table, we ladle the broth into our bowls and add a squirt of lime juice and a spoonful of rice. In between eating bowls of broth, we eat the chicken and citrus leaves with more rice, dunking them first in a sauce of lime juice, salt, and pepper. Add a simple stir-fried vegetable and you have a satisfying meal. Purchase the best-quality chicken available for this recipe. Immersing it in an ice bath once it is cooked produces tight skin that Asian diners appreciate: a bit chewy and somewhat crunchy but not greasy. Also, as the chicken cools, a delicious layer of gelatinous juices forms between the skin and meat. Since cooling takes a while, you need to poach the chicken about four hours in advance of serving, or even the day before. Traditionally, the chicken is cut through the bone into small pieces for serving, but I prefer to slice the meat, except for the wings, off the bone.