Southeast Asian

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.

Although they are nothing more than egg and the classic Vietnamese combination of pork, onion, and mushrooms, these omelets are rich, savory, chewy, and a bit crispy at the edge, and they taste remarkably good. Enjoy them hot from the pan, at room temperature, or even cold. The wedges are usually served with rice, though I have also stuffed them into baguette sandwiches (page 34).

Several years ago, my mom told me about one of the most memorable foods of her childhood: deep-fried birds the size of sparrows. They were prepared by itinerant Chinese cooks who would stop by her parents’ home and offer various specialties, the best of which was this crunchy delicacy, eaten bones and all. The cooks never revealed their trade secrets, but several times Mom spied them dunking the birds in boiling water before frying them. The recipe sounded so simple and delicious that I decided to try to re-create the dish using quail. This recipe is the result of my experiments. Rather than boiling the birds, I steam them, which better preserves the flavors of the marinade while gently cooking the meat. Then I coat the quail with seasonings that help to color and crisp their skin. After the coating dries, I quickly deep-fry them. The moment you bite into one of these freshly fried birds, the tangled aromas of rice wine and ginger come wafting out. Look for quail at Asian and Mexican markets, where they are often sold frozen in six-pack trays. Check carefully before you buy, avoiding packages with freezer burn.

Few dishes can be at the magnificence of a whole roast duck, a treat that most Vietnamese purchase at Chinese barbecue shops. For an easier at-home version that is just as rich and succulent, I use whole duck legs (thigh and drumstick). They are relatively inexpensive at Asian markets, and they freeze well, which means you can stock up for when you don’t have time to shop. The legs are steamed first, during which most of the fat melts away, and then they are roasted to crisp the skin. Finally, the honey glaze is applied, which puts a lacquer like finish on the skin while the meat stays moist. A simple hoisin dipping sauce adds a little extra sweetness to each bite. Present the duck with Everyday Daikon and Carrot Pickle (page 192) or Tangy Mixed Vegetable Pickle (pages 194) and accompany with a green vegetable stir-fried with just salt and a touch of sesame oil, a light soup such as Creamy Corn and Shiitake Mushroom Soup (page 74), and rice.

This is my riff on the classic Vietnamese pairing of chicken and fresh straw mushrooms. Because only canned straw mushrooms are available here, I have used fresh oyster mushrooms, a good stand-in with a subtlety that complements the snow peas. If oyster mushrooms aren’t available, use fresh shiitakes, removing their stems and slicing the caps into 1/4-inch-thick pieces. For a light meal, serve this quick stir-fry with Napa Cabbage and Shrimp Soup (page 58), a simple stir-fried vegetable like thinly sliced summer squash, and, of course, rice.

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.

Golden orange and crispy, this Hanoi specialty blends the fragrance and crunch of sweet potatoes with the brininess of shrimp. The fritters, which look like roughly formed nests on which whole shrimp rest, are cut into bite-sized pieces and bundled in lettuce with fresh herbs and cucumber. My mother taught me to soak the potatoes with a bit of slaked lime (calcium hydroxide), which Southeast Asian and Indian cooks use to crisp ingredients for frying and pickling. It is basically moistened food-grade slaked lime powder, the same compound used to treat corn for making Mexican masa. The Vietnamese call it voi and it is sold in small, round plastic containers in Chinese, Thai, and Viet markets, usually stocked in the flour aisle. Two varieties are available, red and white. I prefer the white one, though the red one, which has been colored by the heartwood of the cutch tree and is traditionally chewed with betel leaf, may also be used. A small container of slaked lime lasts for a long time because only a little is needed.

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.

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.

Rice is king in the Vietnamese kitchen, but wheat also plays a role in foods such as these steamed buns. A classic Viet riff on Chinese bao, the buns encase a hearty vegetable-and-meat mixture, with a creamy wedge of hard-boiled egg in the center. Traditional bao are made from a yeast-leavened dough, but many Vietnamese Americans leaven the dough with baking powder. This New World innovation is faster and the dough is easier to manipulate. The buns are also more stable in the steamer than the yeasted version, which can sometimes deflate during cooking. Viet delis sell soft ball-sized bánh bao, but I prefer more manageable baseball-sized ones. I use bleached all-purpose flour, which yields slightly lighter-colored buns than unbleached flour. Like all bao, these buns are great for breakfast, lunch, or a snack. They will keep in the refrigerator (stored in an airtight container) for a few days and are easily reheated, making them a great homemade fast food. For additional flavor, serve them with a simple dipping sauce of soy sauce and freshly cracked black pepper.

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.

In this dish from my youth, the chicken is marinated and poached before it is battered and fried until crunchy. Poaching the chicken first enables you to deep-fry in less time, yields more tender meat, and mellows the pungency of the garlic. Small pieces of bone-in chicken are traditionally used, but I prefer to fry boneless, skinless thighs for convenience. Rolling the chicken in panko (Japanese bread crumbs) yields a crispy shell that keeps for hours.

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.

When Vietnamese cooks stuff fowl for roasting, the dressing is often made with sticky rice. These preparations, which bridge Vietnamese and French culinary traditions, commonly include lotus seeds, too. My family prefers the flavor of chestnuts, however, which we simmer in chicken stock, butter, and cilantro. The presence of shiitake mushrooms and Cognac in this recipe illustrates yet another marriage of East and West. This dressing is good with roast turkey, chicken, game hens, and goose. While you may stuff the birds, I find baking the dressing separately is easier, plus the grains on the bottom form a tasty crust. Shelling and peeling chestnuts is time-consuming, but this recipe doesn’t require many of them. For guidance on buying and peeling the nuts, see the accompanying Note.

A harbinger of good fortune, xoi gac is traditionally served at Viet weddings and Tet celebrations, paired with roast pork or sausages. As my mom says, “Red is a lucky color and the sticky rice helps the luck stay with you.” This sticky rice is named after the gac fruit (Momordica cochinchinensis) whose cockscomb red pulp and seed membranes stain the grains with brilliant color and impart a light fruity fragrance and flavor. Rough skinned and cantaloupe sized, the fruit is believed to promote health and energy. (In fact, it is full of antioxidants.) Because this exotic fruit is not yet widely available in the United States, Vietnamese American cooks often substitute food coloring when they make this dish. I prefer a combination of tomato paste and ground annatto seeds, which better mimics the real thing. If you travel to Vietnam, buy some gac powder from one of the spice vendors at Ben Thanh Market in Saigon, and use 2 tablespoons of the powder in place of the tomato paste and annatto.