Southeast Asian

Shrimp can be paired with strong flavors—in this case, a tangy and sweet tamarind sauce with a touch of heat—and still retain their briny character. The tartness of the tropical pod comes through in the sauce, but it is balanced by the other seasonings, just as it is in a well-prepared Indian tamarind chutney. These shrimp are at home with a bowl of rice for soaking up the sauce, but they also make an interesting cross-cultural hand roll tucked into a warm corn tortilla and eaten like a taco. As long as you have frozen cubes of tamarind liquid on hand, this recipe is quick to prepare.

A great way to cook shrimp is to grill them whole, with heads and shells intact. The unpeeled shrimp cook in their own juices, staying moist, and the shells pick up a little char, releasing a sweet, toasty aroma. Since I also like grilled squid, I often serve a mixed grill of squid and shrimp. Squid with tubes only about five inches long are especially tender. The best shrimp to grill are big white ones that have edible thin shells. To find them, head to an Asian market, where you will also find the squid. Before cooking the shrimp, follow Vietnamese tradition and neatly trim them. Then, cut the squid to create fringe that will curl back during grilling, to resemble trumpet flowers. I recommend cleaning the squid yourself because the flavor is superior to that of precleaned squid. To create a full menu, add one of the canh soups (pages 58 to 66) and some grilled summer squash (see the Note that accompanies Grilled Chicken on page 81).

These hand rolls are a simple and healthful do-it-yourself meal: you assemble the ingredients and invite guests to do the rest. It is a relaxing experience, with everyone making their own hand rolls, eating, sipping cold beverages, and chatting. In Vietnam, freshwater ca loc (snakehead fish) is often used for this dish, encased in clay and roasted in rice straw, wrapped in banana leaf and grilled over charcoal, or just placed directly on the grill. I prefer the simplicity of the last approach. Trout is the perfect substitute for ca loc, as its sweet flesh stands up well to grilling. The skin crisps wonderfully, too.

Most people are introduced to galangal, a relative of ginger, by way of Thai curries and seafood soups. The rhizome is seldom used in Vietnamese cooking, but when it is, it is paired with other bold-flavored ingredients. Here, its pungent heat brightens a northern fish kho, with the bittersweet caramel sauce tempering its fire. Use the smaller amount of galangal if you want a dish with less intensity. Although salmon isn’t native to Vietnam, it takes on the robust flavors of the kho remarkably well. Fresh side pork (pork belly), which you can find at Asian markets, is the stealth ingredient here, enrobing everything with its richness to create a unique surf-and-turf combination. The result is spicy, savory, and a touch sweet.

In this classic southern Vietnamese kho, catfish steaks are simmered for about an hour, which turns them a mahogany brown and gives them a deep savory flavor tinged with sweetness. You may enrich the dish with oil, though I prefer the old-world technique of my mom’s friend Mrs. Ly, who renders pork fat and simmers the cracklings with the fish. Buy a whole fresh catfish (about three pounds, gutted weight) at a Chinese, Southeast Asian, or Latin market and ask the fishmonger to cut it into one-inch-thick steaks. Use the center-cut steaks for this recipe and save the head, collar, and tail pieces to make Sour Fish Soup with Tamarind, Pineapple, and Okra (page 66), in place of the fillet. Serve the kho with the soup, a boiled green vegetable or Crunchy Pickled Bean Sprout Salad (page 193), and rice. For the best taste, combine a little piece of the fish, some rice, and a bit of sauce in each bite.

For everyday meals, Viet cooks often prepare kho, simple dishes simmered in a bittersweet caramel-based sauce. Similar to the Chinese braising technique called red cooking, Vietnamese kho cooking transforms ingredients into richly colored and flavored foods. Economical to prepare but lavish tasting, these dishes also keep well for days, a plus in the old days of no refrigeration. If you are new to seafood kho dishes, start with this one. You will experience shrimp in a totally new way. Nowadays it seems a mistake to overcook seafood, but here you purposely do it to allow the flavors to penetrate thoroughly. The shrimp cook vigorously, releasing juices that combine with the other seasonings to create a dark, tasty sauce. The onion nearly disintegrates, and the final addition of oil lends a rich note. Traditional cooks use extra lard or oil to give the shrimp, which are still in the shell, an appetizing sheen, but I use peeled shrimp because they are easier to chew.

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.

These crunchy, nutty rice crackers flecked with white or black sesame seeds turn up in a variety of roles on the Vietnamese table. They may be munched as a snack, used like a tortilla chip to scoop up food, or crumbled and mixed into dry noodle dishes. Although I prefer bánh đa crunchy, some folks add them to noodle soups, where they soften into chewy accents. They may even be soaked in water until pliable and then wrapped in rice paper with other ingredients to create hand rolls. These unique crackers are mostly available at Viet markets and delis and at some Chinese markets with a large Vietnamese clientele. They are usually stocked near the rice paper. Dried and untoasted, the crackers look like translucent rounds of hard plastic. Eight-inch ones are easiest to work with. Look for them bundled in short stacks of six to eight, wrapped in plastic or packed in bags and sealed with staples (which means they are probably locally made and very good). Pretoasted crackers are often broken, so skip the convenience and buy them untoasted. Once toasted and cooled, the crackers are broken into lovely shards and served. Here are two options for toasting them.

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.

Here is a handy marinade that I use for beef stir-fries. The combination of fish sauce and soy sauce gives the meat a wonderful savoriness that is uniquely Vietnamese.

Raised by resourceful and persnickety parents, I always cut and bone my own chickens because I know I will get the pieces the way I want them. Left over bones and scraps are frozen in plastic bags for future stock-making sessions. When the bags are full, it is time to make stock. If you don’t maintain a supply of bones in the freezer, you can buy necks, backs, and wings at the meat counter of the supermarket or at the butcher shop. Many Asian cooks don’t salt their stock, assuming that salt will be added later. I prefer to salt my stock lightly, which allows me to gauge its overall flavor better. If time is tight, make the quick version included in the Note that follows.

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.

The unusually tart flavor and slightly thick texture of this sauce is great with a simple grilled fish or boiled green vegetable. It is easy to make when you have frozen cubes of tamarind liquid on hand, and can be prepared hours in advance of the meal and left at room temperature.