Dutch Oven

This dish—an adaptation of an Anne Willan recipe I used to make at the Soho Charcuterie—is what my dad most often requested when I came home to visit. Rillettes are a classic French preparation similar to pâté that are made by slow-cooking fatty meat until it falls apart, packing the meat in the rendered fat, and allowing it to congeal. The resulting rough spread pairs elegantly with Rosemary Cheese Crackers (page 8) or Cornbread Toasts (page 18), grainy mustard, and pickles. The most important thing to keep in mind is that rillettes need to cook very slowly at a low, steady temperature, so make sure the cooking liquid doesn’t boil once you put the dish in the oven.

This exotically spiced curry of chicken, tomatoes, peppers, dried fruit, and nuts is proof of Southern food’s cosmopolitan roots. Served with steamed rice, slivered almonds, and fresh parsley, it is wonderfully bone-warming and fragrant.

Étouffée is a traditional New Orleans one-pot dish whose name literally—and appropriately—comes from the French word for “smothered.” Like gumbo, étouffée is a highly seasoned stew of fish or meat and vegetables that is served over steamed rice. Also like gumbo, it has a big-hearted, homey quality that makes it one of my favorite dishes to serve to crowds (especially when they include friends who aren’t from the South). Although serious purists might disapprove, I never make étouffée the same way twice, and I don’t take sides when it comes to never-ending debates about the proper shade of roux or whether there’s room for tomatoes in a bona fide étouffée. For me, one of the joys of Cajun and Creole stews is their variability, so feel free to experiment.

When Paul Prudhomme’s first cookbook, Chef Paul Prudhomme’s Louisiana Kitchen, came out, I think I made every last one of his gumbos in the span of a few weeks. To this day, his are the recipes I always refer to when I make gumbo. More often than not, however, I don’t have time to make ultra traditional, slow-cooking gumbo, so I’ve adapted my own quicker—and often lighter—versions that take a fraction of the time but still pack loads of soulful flavor. Served over rice with ice-cold beer, it’s all the excuse you need to throw a block party.

Every summer when the Carolina shrimp are in season, Nana’s, which is one of my favorite restaurants in Durham, makes a delicious shrimp chowder that is the inspiration for this light and succulent soup. Nana’s version is rich and creamy—closer to a traditional potato chowder—but because I love the sweetness of the corn and shrimp together, I make mine thinner, more like a corn chowder. To give this dish extra oomph, I add the shrimp at the very end, so they are tender and extra sweet, and top with Crispy Fried Oysters Four Ways (page 117).

A few years ago, at Easter, in addition to the usual spread of ham and sides, I made a gratin of white beans, country ham, and collards from Frank Stitt’s very fine Southern Table cookbook. That dish, which everyone raved about, and the leftover ham bone—a prized ingredient that should never, ever be put to waste—inspired this low-on-the-hog soup.

No matter how many tomato sandwiches, salads, or platters of thick, salted slices we eat, come August we can never seem to keep up with the overabundance of tender-ripe Beefsteaks, Early Girls, Cherokee Purples, and Arkansas Travelers taking up semi-permanent residence on the kitchen counter. Everyone develops a strategy for the happy problem of too many tomatoes: in some people it inspires bouts of generous and indiscriminate gift giving; in others, a frenzy of canning and freezing. This light and satisfying take on cream of tomato soup is my favorite solution.

You can replace the zucchini with other vegetables, such as eggplant or bell peppers. Turmeric, which is related to ginger, is what gives curries and prepared mustard their distinctive yellow color. Look for it in the supermarket’s spice aisle.

This sweet and spicy soup is wonderfully rich, even though it’s made without a drop of cream. If your carrots don’t taste sweet enough, add up to a teaspoon of sugar in step two.

Like many other bean- and legume-based soups, this one is flavored with bacon. It can be served at the start of a Sunday dinner, or as a weeknight meal itself when paired with a green salad topped with Lemon-Parmesan Vinaigrette (page 347).

Caraway seeds often season cabbage dishes; here they give pork a tangy coating. If you plan to make the cabbage to serve on the side, begin preparing that recipe first, since the total time is about an hour.

This stew is so popular that practically every Viet cook has his or her own version. I have read recipes that call for curry powder, annatto seeds, tomato paste, and beer. But this is how my mother learned to make bò kho decades ago. Although in Vietnam it is traditionally eaten for breakfast, here in the States it has become lunch or dinner fare in the Vietnamese American community. It may be served in shallow bowls with warm French bread for sopping up the flavorful sauce, or it may be spooned over rice or wide rice noodles (bánh pho). The addition of chopped Vietnamese coriander or Thai basil leaves is something that my parents picked up when we lived in Saigon. Also, despite the name, this is not a kho dish. Here, kho means “to simmer” or “to stew.” No caramel sauce is involved. Traditionalists like to use the boneless beef shank sold at Chinese and Viet markets for this dish, which they cook for hours to yield a chewy-tender result. Once in the States, my family switched to beef chuck, which is flavorful, suited to long cooking, and more readily available.

The Vietnamese love exotic meats, and when such delicacies are unavailable, they enjoy dishes that mimic the real thing. This northern stew features a stand-in for ba ba, a freshwater snapping turtle that thrives in the south, where heavy rains offer it perfect muddy living conditions. Since the turtles are hard to find in the drier, colder north, cooks there add extra pork instead. The original southern stew also calls for pork belly. Although I’ve never tasted the real stew, I grew up eating the mock version, which, with its brilliant yellow color, robust flavors, and varied textures, is excellent in its own right. The fried tofu has a meaty consistency, and thick rounds of unripe plaintain (peel included) add interesting starchiness, astringency, and texture. Both ingredients soak up the sauce and complement the savory, rich chunks of pork. While pork shoulder works well, the best way to imitate ba ba meat and the classic stew is to use skin-on boneless pork shank (available at Chinese and Viet markets). It provides a nice balance of chewy meat and gelatinous skin to imitate the turtle, while its fat recalls the original pork belly. The sour cream is a substitute for a tangy fermented rice mash called me, a favorite northern Vietnamese ingredient that is scarce in the States. Fresh red perilla and garlic add the final flourishes to a delicious combination of flavors. Serve the stew with plenty of rice.

Here’s a wonderful kho that transforms an unusual-looking but exceptionally flavorful beef cut into elegant, tasty morsels. The cut, known as rough flank (a.k.a. beef nam or beef plate), is a favorite for stewing and other types of long cooking. You have probably eaten slices of it in restaurant bowls of pho, where it is typically identified as flank (though it is not the same as the flank steak used for stir-fries). It is usually displayed as upright rolls in Chinese and Vietnamese markets; when unrolled, it is long and narrow, with loosely textured meat separated by layers of tough membranes. If you are unfamiliar with the cut, it may appear strange at first, but I urge you to try it. Look for meaty pieces with a minimal amount of membrane. If the cuts are small, buy two pieces, select the choicest parts for this recipe, and save the trimmings for another use, such as pho (page 209). In this recipe, the beef is tied into small rolls that are simmered for hours. It absorbs the seasonings and softens, while still retaining a characteristic slight chewiness. Sliced into beautiful spirals, the meat is presented in a pool of dark, savory sauce. Each intense bite is beefy, bittersweet, salty, and gingery. Enjoy the dish with bowls of hot rice.

This kho involves a little more work than the pork and eggs kho on page 146. You must first marinate the meat and then sear it before it settles into its long simmer. The extra steps produce a rich, roasty undercurrent of flavor that permeates the dish. These riblets have special meaning for my mom because her family prepared them for their month-long Tet festivities. An entire pig was slaughtered for the celebration, and the ribs were used in this kho. Since it reheats well, it is the perfect make-ahead dish for the Lunar New Year, a time when everyone is supposed to relax, rather than slave in the kitchen. When purchasing the ribs, remember to ask the butcher to cut them into strips for. For the best flavor, sear the riblets on a grill.

This is a fine example of a Vietnamese hybrid dish. In many Viet cookbooks, the prescribed method for cooking potatoes is the double-fry approach (a Belgian technique introduced by the French), which yields nongreasy potatoes that are crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. Atop the perfectly fried potatoes is a mound of stir-fried beef, the juices of which penetrate the potatoes to give them great savoriness. Enjoy this East-meets-West dish as is, with a boiled green vegetable or green salad to round out the meal. Or, treat it like a stir-fry and eat it with rice (as I like to) as part of a traditional Viet meal.

Smooth, well-seasoned meat and seafood pastes have many uses in the Vietnamese kitchen. Here, a pinkish orange salmon paste is shaped into small cakes before undergoing a two-step cooking process: an initial steaming to cook the cakes, followed by broiling, grilling, or frying to crisp the outside. The cakes are sliced and served as an appetizer or dunked into Simple Dipping Sauce (page 309) and eaten with rice for dinner. If you have enjoyed Thai fried fish cakes (tod mun), these will remind you of them. When my mother came to the States, she substituted salmon for the rich-tasting tuna she had used in Vietnam. I have since prepared the cakes with the ahi tuna available here, but the results were too firm and dry. The fattier salmon is superior. If you can’t find skinless salmon fillet, buy 2 1/3 pounds of skin-on fillet and remove the skin before you cut the fish into chunks. The cakes can be frozen after they are steamed and then thawed and crisped for a good last-minute meal or snack. The recipe is also easily halved, but I advise you to make the whole batch and tuck away the extras for when you need a quick dish.

In Vietnam, the delicate anchovies (ca com) used for making fish sauce are also fried and enjoyed as a snack like a Spanish tapa or as part of a meal along with a simple soup, boiled or stir-fried vegetable, and rice. Even though these small fish are sold frozen at Viet markets, I like to use smelts, which are the perfect North American substitute. Delicate and sweet, they have soft, edible bones that allow you to “eat them like French fries,” as a fishmonger once told me. And the batter remains crispy long after the last fish is fried. Use the freshest smelts you can find or substitute other small fish available in your area, such as fresh anchovies.

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.