Wok

Eating this crab is somewhat akin to eating a pile of barbecued ribs. Coated with a garlicky-sweet-spicy sauce, the crab requires a little work to get at all the delicious bits (and perhaps a cold beer to wash things down), but your effort pays off. Vietnamese cooks traditionally cut up live crabs before stir-frying them. That is a run-of-the-mill task for fearless types like my mom. Most cooks, however, wince at the thought of chopping up a live crustacean, especially one with large claws. To avoid getting pinched, I briefly boil the crab, which also sets the meat and tomalley, making the crab easy to take apart. Since freshness is crucial, use whatever kind of live crab is available in your area, the feistier the better for optimal flavor. Asian markets are typically reliable sources. In Northern California, I’m blessed with the large Dungeness crab. Outfit the table with metal nutcrackers, communal bowls for holding shells, and a finger bowl for each person.

This Vietnamese version of Chinese salt-and-pepper shrimp is bursting with bold flavors, and the high-heat searing seals in the juices. Use shrimp in their shells for the extra crunch and smokiness they develop during searing. Ideally their heads will be intact, too, as the juices trapped in the heads add to the richness of the finished dish. Purchase white shrimp with edible thin shells for this recipe; they are usually available at Asian and Latin markets.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Asparagus is often thought as a vegetable that requires delicate seasoning, but this hearty stir-fry proves that notion wrong. The sweet, heady sauce is essentially the same sauce called for in Water Spinach Stir-Fried with Garlic (page 179), but the addition of meaty shiitake mushrooms produces a more robust dish. Prepare this easy stir-fry during springtime when asparagus is at the height of its season, or substitute 1 1/4 pounds green beans or long beans other times of the year. Be sure to use high-quality dried mushrooms, and don’t skimp on the soaking time, or they won’t develop their naturally full flavor or velvety texture.

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.

Because cool-season crops such as cabbage and cauliflower are difficult to grow in Vietnam, they enjoy a special status. In fact, my dad remembers how his mother carefully tended the cabbage heads in the family garden, covering each one with a cooking pot to encourage the leaves to curl. When we came to the States and found cabbage so readily available, my mother began fixing this easy stir-fry regularly for our weeknight suppers. I have since followed suit, and also sometimes serve it as a simple lunch with rice. The naturally sweet and spicy cabbage ribbons are enriched by a coating of egg, while a final splash of fish sauce adds a nutty, briny flavor.

When I was a child, my mom often kept me busy making wontons, putting three or four packages of the skins and a big bowl of pork-and-shrimp filling in front of me. (That’s 150 to 200 wontons!) She served the fried wontons to family and guests alike, who delighted in dipping the crispy morsels into our homemade sweet-and-sour sauce, a lighter version of the Chinese classic flavored with fish sauce instead of soy sauce.

Loaded with beef, crunchy texture, and heady sweet flavors, this specialty of southern Vietnam echoes Chinese mu shu pork and Malaysian and Singaporean poh piah. But instead of rolling the filling in a wheat flour–based wrapper, rice paper is used. Bò bía are traditionally made by street vendors in a to-go format that recalls a Mexican burrito. When we lived in Saigon, my sister Ha and her best friend, Loan, were addicted to the rolls. On the way home from school, my parents or our driver would take them by one of the hawkers strategically positioned on a street corner, hot wok at the ready. Hand rolls and money were exchanged through the car window, with the girls giggling as they dove into their favorite snack. Because we don’t have those wonderful street vendors here, our family makes bò bía at home as a prelude to a big meal or the focus of a light lunch. We set things up at the table for everyone to assemble his or her own rolls. Th is do-it-yourself approach is ideal because these rolls, unlike salad rolls (page 32), can be messy and should be eaten as soon as they are made.

The best thing about kimchi is this: It packs so much flavor and complexity, you can use it to make lightning-quick meals that taste as if they took hours to prepare. This fried rice, for instance, comes together in mere minutes. Cutting up the cauliflower might be the most time-consuming part. And yet this dish is downright addictive. If you don’t have a wok, you can use a large nonstick skillet for this fried rice, but it will take a little longer to cook.

You can find ground bean sauce, a gloopy paste of fermented soybeans, salt, sugar, and sesame oil, in Asian grocery stores or order a jar online.

I often come home from Chinatown with a squid and a bag of choy sum. The fishmonger will have done most of the dirty work for me, leaving me to give the body sac a final rinse before slicing. Squid is ideally suited to this quick, high-temperature cooking.

Bok choy or, better still, gai lan will be perfect here. Eat it hot and spluttering from the pan.

Of all the flavors that seem to bring out the rest of the cabbage family’s earthy greenness, few work as effectively as those of Southeast Asia. Ginger, green onion, and garlic have a natural affinity with chlorophyll-rich vegetables of any sort, but the saltiness of the fish sauces with which Thai and Vietnamese cooks season their food does much for cabbage leaves. I often serve this with roast duck, which appreciates such seasoning, or as a side order for a mushroom stir-fry hot with chiles and soy.

There will be quite a bit of this left over for the next day. Lovely reheated with cold ham.

Broccoli doesn’t stir-fry well from raw. The beaded crown—the tight flower buds—tends to burn before the stem even approaches tenderness. Heads that have been briefly blanched in boiling water will, however, stir-fry deliciously, soaking up the ginger and soy or whatever other seasoning you might throw at them. In the last year or two I have taken to adding them to stir-fries of ground lamb or pork, letting the meat thoroughly caramelize in the thin pan before adding the greens. It’s a very quick, bright-tasting supper, invigorating and toothsome. But you do need to be brave with the meat, letting it glisten and almost crisp before you add the rest of the ingredients.