Dumpling

If your preference is for seafood, substitute this fish filling for the ones given for boiled Pork and Napa Cabbage Water Dumplings (page 31), the pan fried Meat and Chinese Chive Pot Stickers (page 33), or the Steamed Vegetable Dumplings (page 35). Regardless of cooking method, you’ll produce dumplings filled with the elements of classic Chinese steamed fish. For the best results, select the freshest fish possible—it should have a bit of sheen and be devoid of any off odors. Because this dough filling is light in color, I often encase it in jade green dough made with spinach for a pretty presentation (see page 23).

Whereas boiled dumplings have crinkly skins that are tender from having been immersed in hot water, and panfried dumplings have skins that are a combination of crisp bottom and chewy top, steamed dumplings are texturally in between—the skins are slightly chewy and soft. Gentle steam heat also protects the filling flavor and you taste it more, a bonus for delicate combination such as this one. Unlike many other Chinese dumpling fillings, this vegetarian filling is cooked first to allow the cornstarch to work its cohesive magic, binding the vegetables and pressed tofu together so that they are easier to control when you are assembling the dumplings. I like to use some of the liquid from soaking the mushrooms to season the filling with an earthy savor; if you do too, remember to strain the heady liquid through cheesecloth or paper towel to remove any bits of grit. For details on brown, meatlike pressed tofu, see page 17.

I first tasted pot stickers in the late 1980s at the tiny Mandarin Deli in Los Angeles’s Chinatown. Behind the glass window, a dumpling maker steadily worked, rolling out thin wrappers, filling them, and creating large pea pod–shaped dumplings. I watched intently, distracted only when my fragrant pot stickers arrived. The hearty dumplings were so hot that I burned my mouth, but they were well worth the minor injury. Pot stickers supposedly started out as boiled dumplings that a chef forgot about in the wok (guō) and they stuck (tiē) after the water had cooked away. His guests loved the contrasts between succulent filling, tender-chewy skin, and crusty bottom, and thus the pot sticker was born. The modern way to mimic the chef ’s delicious accident is to cook pot stickers in a skillet with water and oil, which steams the dumplings and fries their bottoms to a golden, toasty finish. They are technically called jiānjiao in Chinese, which means shallow-fried dumplings; but in the West, we commonly know them as pot stickers and pan fried dumplings. “Fried” dumplings can be pan fried or deep-fried.

This dough is the foundation of many excellent dumplings, including Chinese jiâozi, Korean mandu, and Nepali momo. The process of making the dough is easy to master, especially with a little help from modern tools such as a food processor (though you can mix the dough by hand). Asian wheat flour wrappers may be made with cold or hot water—the temperature is traditionally dictated by the cooking method. Boiled dumplings are said to require thicker skins made from cold-water dough in order to withstand the pressures of boiling, whereas pan fried and steamed dumplings require thinner skins made from hot-water dough for their gentler cooking processes. Over the years, I’ve found that homemade wrappers of medium thickness, a scant 1/8 inch thick in the center and about 1/16 inch thick at the rim, work well for all cooking methods. If dumplings are gently boiled as described for shuijiao on page 31, there is no need for thicker rappers. Producing medium-thick wrappers is easier with hot-water dough as it is more yielding than its cold-water counterpart. The resulting wrappers taste superior to store-bought ones, and they need no water to seal. Grocery store all-purpose flour with a moderate amount of gluten, such as Gold Medal brand, works exceptionally well.

Bursting with flavor, these northern Chinese dumplings are a specialty of Beijing. Dating as far back as the late Han Dynasty (25 to 220 c.e.), plump boiled morsels such as these are members of the jiaozi family of dumplings, which include pan fried guōtiē (page 33) and steamed zhēngjiao (page 35). Jiaozi are not just for a modest snack or meal, they are a must-have for northern Chinese Lunar New Year celebrations. Their shape resembles gold ingots, harbingers of good fortune. Easy to make for a crowd, shuıjiao (which means “water dumpling”) are especially good hot from the pot and tumbled in a soy-vinegar dipping sauce piked with chile oil. Pork and napa cabbage comprise the classic jiaozi filling, but you can use one of the lamb, beef, vegetable, or fish fillings on the following pages. Or substitute chopped shrimp or reconstituted dried shiitake mushrooms for half of the pork.

These are like sweet little gnocchi wading in a deep purple pool. Aside from being fun to make, the cheese and lemony-mint dumplings play off the sweet, warmly spiced compote and combine into a lighthearted dessert adored by young and old alike. I always like to hide a serving or two away to save for breakfast in the morning.

As is the case in many small towns, the most exotic fare found in my county is the Chinese-American buffet. My son, Joe, just loves the one at China Blossom in Greenwood. The family farm, Pluto, is forty-eight miles from town, so it’s quite a commitment to make the round trip. Every so often for movie night, I make a pile of these crisp-fried, creamy, seafood-filled pouches for him and his pal Lola and we just stay out at Pluto.

Mochi are sweet, filled Japanese dumplings that are served chilled. I’ve been fascinated by them from the first time I had one, but I’d always been told that they could be made only in factories. And since the commercial ones are artificially flavored and colored and filled with ice-hard ice cream, that didn’t surprise me. One day, I promised my friend David Chang of Momofuku that I’ d make fresh mochi for him. It became a mission. Once I learned how to do it, I found that it really wasn’t difficult at all to make the tender, sweet rice dough and flavor it naturally. And since I fill mochi with a compote, they’re fork-tender. The basil fluid gel is an ideal herbal foil to the compote. I use 2-inch demisphere molds when I make mochi, but I’ve found that an egg carton works fine. The secret to the dough is working quickly. This recipe makes twice as much as you need for the fourplay, but I hardly consider leftover mochi a problem. The mochi will keep for 1 day in the refrigerator.

Manti, a specialty of Kayseri, are said to have been brought to Turkey from China by the Tartars. I first saw them being prepared in a hotel in Izmir twenty years ago. I was accompanied by Nevin Halici, a cooking teacher, culinary historian, and ethnographer, who was then researching the regional foods of Turkey. She was going from village to village, knocking on people’s doors and attending the traditional lunches where women cook together. The second time I saw the little dumplings being made was in a hotel in San Francisco, where at the invitation of the Institute of Food and Wine she was cooking a Turkish meal for almost a hundred people. She shaped the dumplings into tiny, open-topped, moneybag-like bundles, baked them for 20 minutes, poured chicken broth over them, and put them back in the oven again until they softened in the broth. The following recipe is for the easier version, like ravioli, which many Turkish restaurants make today. It is really delicious and quite different from any Italian dish. They call it klasik manti, and often cook it in chicken broth (see variation), which is particularly delicious.

These pork dumplings can also be served by themselves without the soup. Just steam them instead of boiling them in the broth. You will have leftover filling, so you can make it once and serve it twice.

Späetzle are little noodles or dumplings made by pressing a sticky dough through a perforated tool right into boiling water—one of the simplest of all the techniques by which pasta is made. These whole-wheat späetzle are especially delicious, dressed simply with butter and grated cheese, and make a good alternative to potatoes as a contorno accompanying roasts or braised meats. The key to making späetzle is having the right tool or utensil, with holes large enough to let the sticky dough pass through easily and quickly. You might have a colander that works, but I recommend that you buy a späetzle-maker designed for the job. There are different kinds—some slide like a mandoline; others extrude the dough, like potato ricers—and both types are inexpensive and easy to use. And you’ll use your späetzle-maker often, I am sure, after you make and taste a batch of spätzle di farina integrale.

You can buy premade Chinese dumpling wrappers from any Asian grocery store, and in most cases they work as well and taste as good as homemade wrappers. However, Shanghai Soup Dumplings should be made with homemade wrappers or they will not hold their soup when steaming. If you are making wrappers for Shanghai Soup Dumplings, try to keep the center of the wrappers thicker than the edges when rolling the dough disks.

It is no coincidence that in Chinese, the word for "family" (jia) is the same as the word for "home"; home is a central part of family life in China. Parents, children, mothers-in-law, grandparents, and other family members often all live together for generations, taking care of one another. Jiaozi, or classic Chinese dumplings, is a dish that celebrates this supportive community. Often made at holidays, these labor-intensive dumplings are prepared in an assembly line, with the greatest to the least in the family all having a hand in their production. The process starts when wheat dough is kneaded, rolled flat into teacup-size circles, and stacked as dumpling wrappers. The next person in the line spoons a pork or vegetable filling (depending on the recipe) in the center of each wrap before passing them on to the "crimper." My first experience making jiaozi was at the house of one of my professors, Mr. Zhang. Having been invited to dinner, I was surprised when Mr. Zhang put me to work in the kitchen. I was the "crimper," charged with folding and crimping the edge of the dumpling wrappers to form plump, sealed pockets of goodness ready to be thrown into a boiling pot. That night, in the room full of brothers, sisters, cousins, and grandparents who were not my own, all of us working together to make jiaozi, I felt more like family than simply a guest in the Zhang home. Invite your friends and family over and put them to work. We like to make more dumplings than we can eat and freeze the extra for later. If you throw all the freshly made dumplings into a plastic bag, they will freeze stuck together into one giant block of dumplings. To avoid this, first spread out the uncooked dumplings on a lightly greased baking sheet, taking care that they do not touch each other. Place the sheet in the freezer for about 30 minutes. Then throw all the dumplings into a large resealable plastic bag and store in the freezer. When you are ready to eat them, do not defrost the dumplings, but cook them frozen exactly like you would fresh dumplings—just add 3 minutes to the cooking time.

Traditional pot stickers, complete with fresh dough and the requisite number of pleats, are best saved for a special occasion. This version, made with store–bought wonton wrappers, is easy enough for a weeknight meal. A flavorful filling of ground chicken and celery (left over from Sage Stuffing) is seasoned with sesame oil and soy sauce and enclosed within the simply folded wonton—no pleats involved. We do cook the pot stickers the conventional way, by first frying them and then steaming them until the water evaporates and the bottoms are crisp and golden. It is imperative to use dark chicken meat (from legs and thighs) because it doesn't dry out the way leaner white meat can.