Ground Pork

A contemporary take on the ground meat–stuffed marrow. This economical supper stands or falls by the way the meat is cooked. The real flavor here comes from the caramelization of the sugars in the meat. To make the most of this, I have the oil at quite a high temperature as I add the meat, then resist the temptation to stir or turn the meat too soon. Continual movement will result in “wet” rather than crisp-edged, golden ground pork.

The deep sweetness of a roasted pepper makes it a suitable candidate for an exceptionally savory filling. I have tried several over the years: beef with cinnamon and tomato; minced chicken, lemon, and chiles; and more recently mozzarella and cherry tomatoes. Each had its merits, especially the latter with its tart juices. The latest manifestation of the stuffed pepper in my kitchen is one of highly seasoned ground pork with rosemary, Parmesan, and garlic. I think of it as the best yet.

Kale is just one possibility for bulking out this supper of pork balls and broth. I use it because I like the fullness of its leaves with the smooth pork balls. You could use any member of the greens family, and particularly Savoy cabbage. The important bit is not to overcook the greens.

Blizzard food at its best. This buttery crusted pie, filled with rib-sticking pork, will fortify you for any winter's night.

The funny thing about gyoza is that I never cooked them—until I moved to America. Back home I always went out for these extremely popular, garlic-infused pan-fried dumplings, which have a special place in the hearts of Japanese. When I arrived in America, gyoza was one of the comfort foods I missed the most, so I started cooking them at home. That’s when I realized how easy it is to prepare perfect gyoza: they simply need a fragrant, juicy, flavor-packed filling; crispy skin on the bottom and silky skin on top; and a spicy dipping sauce. Now my kids and I love to make homemade gyoza together. This recipe is the classic pork-filled version that I grew up with. Keep in mind that you can conveniently freeze uncooked gyoza for up to a month. To prepare, follow the fry-steam technique below with the frozen dumplings—no need to defrost. Just extend the cooking time by 3 minutes. Note: You can also prepare this dish without pork belly. Just substitute more ground pork (1 pound total). But I love using pork belly here because it adds so much flavor and richness to the gyoza.

I still remember the first time I tasted this dish. I was sixteen years old and working my first cooking job to earn some pocket money at a restaurant in my hometown that served European food. Until then, I had almost no exposure to Western cooking (I hadn’t even tried pizza yet!). This dish was a bit of a culture shock for me, but I quickly became enchanted with Italian pasta. For the recipe, you can substitute ground veal or ground pork, if you like. Any leftover sauce can be frozen for up to a month.

Everyone in Japan knows ja-ja-men, with its spicy miso and garlicky flavors. Think of it as the Japanese version of spaghetti and Bolognese sauce, a favorite at home and casual restaurants. This may sound counterintultive, but I love eating this dish on a hot summer day—its spices reenergize me.

Spice alert: this ramen is guaranteed to make you sweat. These snappy noodles are very popular in Japan, even in the summer—some people, I guess, don’t find our sultry and humid hot season sticky enough! I, for one, prefer this ramen in the winter, because its rich pork and miso broth is warm and comforting.

Like Miso Ramen (page 19), Shio Ramen hails from the northern Japanese city of Sapporo, and is a perfect antidote to a frigid winter day. Shio means “salt” in Japanese, and indeed, the clear broth has an appealing sea-salt flavor. These noodles are a relatively late addition to the ramen lineup, but they’re now popular across Japan. This is the classic recipe, which is loaded with fresh vegetables.

This ramen is a wintertime standard in Japan, and no wonder: it hails from the city of Sapporo in the far northern island of Hokkaido (home of the eponymous beer), a part of the country that’s very frigid and snowy in the winter. The hearty pork and miso-flavored broth in this dish is the perfect warm-up for even the chilliest day. Miso ramen is a relative newcomer to the noodle scene, becoming popular only since the mid-sixties. But corn, a surprising ingredient for a Japanese dish, has been grown in Hokkaido since the nineteenth century.

Mexican chorizo has a flavor all its own. It is not only easy to make, but its ingredients are also commonly found in your local supermarket. Unlike its Spanish cousin, this chorizo is not cured or smoked. And because most Mexican recipes call for the chorizo to be removed from its casing, stuffing it is not necessary. Just measure out the chorizo into small portions before storing, and it is ready whenever you are.

Meatballs are the ultimate comfort food. And while these are satisfyingly delicious, they also pack a spicy punch. The chipotles add an unexpected smoky heat to the tomato sauce, which only gets better with time. So make them in advance for a no-stress meal, and make sure to make extra so you can have some for leftovers.

Meatloaf is one of my dad’s self-professed specialties. He will spend an hour putting it together, and I swear he adds a pinch of just about every spice in the cabinet. Here we have narrowed down the list substantially, but it is still every bit as good as his. Sorry Dad.

This is the way the rest of my family makes of wonton soup. When I make this for myself, I use vegetable broth and sauté a cup of cabbage to use instead of the pork. I also like to whisk in a beaten egg before the wontons go in for my own version of egg drop–wonton soup.

Pot stickers are one of my family’s favorite appetizers. In fact, my cousins even eat them as the main course. My problem with ordering them from a restaurant is that they never have a vegetarian option, so I prefer to make them at home, where I can sauté chopped cabbage to substitute for the pork.

Whereas fried sticky rice dumplings have their alluring crispy-chewy skins, steamed sticky rice dumplings are as soft and comforting as a well-worn pair of jeans. They retain the charming soft texture and natural sweetness of sticky rice. I grew up break-fasting on Vietnamese bánh ít (“small dumplings”), though they can certainly be a satisfying brunch, lunch, or snack food. Filled with a surf-and-turf mixture of shrimp, pork, and wood ear and shiitake mushrooms, these dumplings are enjoyed warm, dipped in a pool of soy sauce and pepper. The banana leaf imparts a wonderfully tea-like quality to the dumplings during the cooking process. These are easy to make, especially when the filling is prepared a day in advance. Viet cooks often use boiling water to create glutinous rice dough, but the dough is easier to handle and control when cold water is used. I combine two kinds of glutinous rice flour (see page 15) to arrive at a texture that is pleasantly chewy, not overly sticky. The rice flours are available at Asian markets, as is fresh or frozen banana leaf.

Thai food is full of bold juxtapositions of flavor and texture. For these crystalline dumplings, the chewy skin is made from tapioca pearls (saku in Thai). The filling of pork, peanuts, shallot, palm sugar, and fish sauce is crumbly, sweet, salty, and savory. To eat, the dumplings are wrapped in lettuce leaves with fresh herbs and hot chiles. Saku sai mu is a popular street food in Thailand; here in the States, I have purchased them at Thai markets and snack shops. Making the dumplings at home ensures freshness and availability, and the ingredients can be found at most supermarkets. Hard-core cooks may handmince pork shoulder or chicken thigh and seek out cilantro root and palm sugar from Southeast Asian markets, but ground meat (avoid superlean pork or chicken), cilantro stems, and brown sugar are terrific stand-ins.

It is easy to overindulge in these chewy-soft dumplings because they slip right down your throat. Just as you are savoring the rich scallion oil, well-seasoned filling, and tangy-sweet-spicy dipping sauce, the dumpling is gone, and you must eat another. The skin of this central Vietnamese specialty is traditionally made of tapioca starch; I add a little wheat starch for firmness, lest the dough become unpleasantly rubbery. Some Viet cooks laboriously wrap each bánh bot loc in a banana leaf and steam them. I don’t have such patience and boil mine for the “naked” (tran) version. When peeling the shrimp, save the shells for a stock to use in the sauce.

Certain childhood treats stick with you, and for me these crisp turnovers are a tasty reminder of our life in Saigon. Sister Thien, our cook, and a family friend whom we called Uncle Thu, would make the dough and fill it with this delectable mixture of shrimp, pork, and jicama. Although they were hot right out of the oil, I could barely wait to dive in. My piggishness often led to a burned tongue. These are not easy to find abroad in expatriate Vietnamese enclaves, and I wasn’t able to rediscover the flavor and texture from my youth until I made them myself. For a baked version, substitute this filling for the one in the empanada recipe (page 111). Note that in the central region of Vietnam, bánh quai vac is the name of unrelated rice-or tapioca-based dumplings.

If you like pot stickers and steamed buns, you’ll love these spongy-crisp panfried treats from Shanghai, where typically they are cooked in humongous shallow pans (much like large paella pans) with wooden lids. These buns are made of yeast dough that is filled with an aromatic pork mixture and then fried and steamed in a skillet. Cooking under cover with a bit of water delivers plenty of moisture to puff up the buns. Ground beef chuck or chicken thigh can stand in for the pork in this recipe. A bāozi is a mini bāo (bun) and for that reason, I like to keep these true to their name and shape small ones. However, you can elect to form sixteen medium-size (2 3/4-inch) buns. Roll the dough circles out to 3 1/4 inches in diameter and use about 4 teaspoons of filling for each bun; increase the water and cooking time a tad.