Southeast Asian

When preparing this Chinese classic, Vietnamese cooks, like their northern neighbors, often rely on canned creamed corn, once considered an exotic foreign import in Asia. The velvety sweet-savory result fuses East and West. Here in the States, fresh corn is plentiful, and making this soup with kernels cut from the cob yields bright flavors that aren’t cloying. Neither cornstarch nor egg is needed to create a creamy texture. The natural starch in the corn provides it. Some cooks add a variety of embellishments to the soup, but I prefer to keep it simple, using only sliced shiitake mushrooms for their flavor, texture, and visual appeal. Make sure you use the sweetest corn possible, whether from your local market or farm stand, fresh or frozen.

An elegant preparation of northern Vietnam, this soup is special-occasion fare. Rather than simmering the rice until it disintegrates into a silky creaminess, the grains are cooked until their ends “bloom” into flowerlike petals, an effect achieved by parboiling the rice and then simmering it for a shorter time than for standard cháo. Tapioca pearls thicken the soup and lend an interesting shimmer, and the halved shrimp turn into pink corkscrews as they cook, adding a final flourish to the presentation.

When my family lived in Vietnam, these noodles were considered special because Western noodles (called nui, the Viet phonetic equivalent of the French nouilles) and butter were expensive imports. Once we arrived in the United States, we indulged in them to the point that they were no longer dear. In fact, I forgot about them for years, only to rediscover their garlicky, buttery, nutty goodness at a Vietnamese French restaurant in Westminster, California. Nowadays, I prepare these noodles not just because they are a comfort food from my youth, but also because they are good. The unusually savory quality of the dish is due to Maggi Seasoning, a soy sauce–like condiment and Vietnamese staple that was most likely introduced to Vietnam by the French. It is fine to use dried pasta for this recipe, though fresh fettuccine or even flat Chinese egg noodles yield a superior dish.

The Vietnamese repertoire also includes panfried Chinese egg noodles, which are cooked just like rice noodles and crowned with a delicious stir-fry. Full of varied flavors, textures, and color, this stir-fry pairs exceptionally well with the egg noodles. I use fresh noodles about 1/8 inch thick. Their texture is superior to dried noodles, and they offer more body than thin ones.

Here is a soup that my father taught me. In a ceviche-like approach, raw fish is marinated with onion, ginger, and cilantro. The semicooked mixture is then placed in the bottom of soup bowls, and the final cooking is done by the hot rice soup. When brought to the table, the seemingly plain white soup conceals a pleasant surprise of fish. Pair it with one of the salads in Chapter 1 for a Vietnamese soup-and-salad meal.

Viet cooks prepare this chao in several ways, and I prefer the easy northern approach of sauteing seasoned chicken and adding it to the hot soup. Traditionally, a chicken would be boned, its carcass cooked with the rice to make the soup, and the boneless meat sauteed and added later on. This old-fashioned approach saves fuel costs and time, but the residue from the bones ends up suspended in the soup. I prefer to use stock, either homemade or a blend of purchased broth and water. The final sprinkle of chopped Vietnamese coriander (rau ram) and sliced scallion adds contrasting color and flavor.

This rice soup is the closing dish for the popular Vietnamese seven-course beef feast, where its primary role is to settle the stomach after six indulgent courses. At that point, I find it hard to enjoy the soup because I’m usually stuffed. But I regularly make this soup for lunch. It is a good way to get sustenance without feeling weighed down.

Warm, creamy, and comforting, chao is a staple of the Viet diet. It is eaten at all times of day, and is the magical antidote for whatever ails you—a stomachache, a cold, a hangover. With less than a cup of rice, you can create a pot of soup that will feed people in biblical proportions because it keeps thickening as it cooks and sits, requiring ever more liquid to thin it down. At its most basic, chao is rice simmered in liquid—water, homemade stock, or canned broth (the latter two are best)—until all its starch has been released. The thick finished soup is a versatile canvas. For a flavorful savory addition, eat it with Salted Preserved Eggs (page 101) or a sprinkle of Cotton Pork shreds (page 134). For richness, put a raw egg into the bowl before ladling in the hot soup. For a simple seafood soup, drop in raw peeled shrimp just before serving. Or, make one of the four chao recipes that follow.

This classic Vietnamese noodle dish features a lightly crispy bed of panfried rice noodles topped with a slightly tangy, saucy stir-fry of beef and vegetables. It is among my favorites. For this preparation, I usually start with dried noodles the size of pappardelle (or wide egg noodles), mostly as a matter of convenience because soft , room-temperature fresh rice noodles are hard to come by. If you should find good fresh rice noodles, use them the day you buy them. You will need to buy a pound for this recipe, and you don’t have to boil them. They are already cooked and coated with oil, so just toss them with salt and panfry.

Rich with contrasts, this soup is easy to like. The tamarind and pineapple provide a sweet-and-sour edge, while the okra, tomato, and bean sprouts offer spongy, soft, and crunchy textures. The catfish and cumin ground the dish with their pungent, earthy qualities. If rice paddy herb (rau om) is available, use it for a citrusy accent. Sour fish soups are eaten throughout Southeast Asia. The Viet version often includes sliced taro stems (bac ha), a flavorless ingredient known for its ability to absorb other flavors. I generally omit the stems because they don’t contribute much to the soup, and instead increase the amount of okra, which is added at the end. If you can’t find fresh okra, use frozen whole okra, thawing it and slicing it before you add it to the pan. When fresh or frozen pineapple isn’t around, don’t resort to canned. It is not the same. The soup will be a bit tangier but equally sensational without the pineapple.

The ingredients for this recipe resemble those for rice noodle bowl with beef (page 224). But instead of having big assembled bowls, diners compose their own small bowls, soaking the tender, sweet, salty pork in sauce, tearing up lettuce and herbs, adding some noodles, and then nibbling on their creations. Traditionally, a meal of bún cha is unhurried and encourages long conversation. A famous Hanoi rendition of this northern Viet specialty combines sliced pork belly and pork patties made from chopped shoulder, but I prefer a less complicated and healthier version that uses marinated pork slices. A grill best mimics the traditional brazier used in Vietnam, but the pork slices can also be roasted in the top third of a 475°F oven until nicely browned (about 9 minutes on each side).

When riêu is brought to the table, expect a full-bodied soup laced with rich-tasting seafood and tangy tomato. Viet cooks prepare a fish riêu like this one as an everyday canh, or the more extravagant crab and shrimp riêu noodle soup (page 215) for a special occasion. Carp is the fish typically used in this soup, but since it is not commonly available at regular markets, my family switched to salmon, which has the fattiness to pair perfectly with the tomato, dill, and garlic of a classic riêu. We used salmon steaks for years because the bones and skin enriched the broth. But steaks can be difficult to handle during cooking and later on in the bowl, so I now use salmon fillet. In the classic northern Vietnamese tradition, the fish is seared first to firm its flesh. The searing not only helps the fish hold its shape, but also provides a nice textural contrast in the finished soup.

This simple soup embodies the Vietnamese canh tradition. The peppery qualities of Vietnamese coriander (rau ram), one of the cuisine’s most popular herbs, are fully displayed, with its headiness standing up well to the beef. Traditionally, hand-minced beef was used, but ground beef is both convenient and fully acceptable. For the best beef flavor, use the tastiest ground beef available, such as what you would select for a good hamburger. Natural, organic, or grass-fed beef is great. Also, remember that ground beef with a little fat, typically chuck, will add richness to the broth.

This Northern Vietnamese boodle dish hits all five major taste sensations: salty, sour, sweet, bitter, and umami (savory). The unusual ingredient combination includes galangal, shrimp sauce, sesame rice crackers, and sour cream, the last standing in for me, the same mash of fermented cooked rice traditionally used in mock turtle stew (page 153). For many Vietnamese, the definitive cha ca is the rather complicated version served at the landmark Hanoi restaurant Cha Ca La Vong. There, the fish is cooked partially on a grill and then finished at the table in a skillet of oil, scallion, and dill. While that restaurant rendition is delicious, my family takes an easier path to making the dish. We broil the fish and then enrich it with scallion and dill seared in hot oil. The fish can also be grilled over a medium-hot fire, but the small pieces can be difficult to manage on a grill.

My Dad and I used to catch small perch at the local harbor for this soup. Amid the sailboats and cabin cruisers, we would lower our poles, the lines baited with thawed frozen peas, to catch the three- to four-inch-long fish, the American equivalent of Vietnamese ca ro. We would bring home about a dozen fish, and my mom would gut them for this classic Viet combination of sweet fish, sharp mustard greens, and ginger. One day, Mom protested that cleaning the fish took too much time, so we stopped catching them, and the soup didn’t grace our table for years. On a trip to Vietnam, I saw a fishmonger at Ben Thanh market in Saigon cleaning ca ro, which reminded me of how good this soup is. Back home, I decided to use whole tilapia, which is sometimes identified as ca ro in Viet markets. It worked just like traditional ca ro in this soup, but its larger size made it much easier to prep and cook. Now, this brightly flavored soup is back on my table as an ideal balance for bold, rich foods like Grilled Lemongrass Pork Riblets (page 145). Whole tilapia is sold at Asian and Latin markets.

My mom often prepared this southern noodle bowl for weekend lunches. It is remarkably easy to make, and with the exception of the beef topping, all of the ingredients are at room temperature and can be readied ahead of time. Noodle dishes like this one are popular at Vietnamese American restaurants, where the topping options usually include grilled pork, grilled pork and shrimp, or grilled chicken. The stir-fried beef version is homey fare that rarely appears on menus. I have provided directions for four other versions of this rice noodle bowl at the end of the recipe, for anyone who wants to replicate his or her favorite restaurant dish.

To put a tasty canh on the table nightly requires that you make the most of staple ingredients like gio, a raw meat paste used extensively in the Viet kitchen. In fact, I freeze small amounts of this meat paste for whipping up classics like this fragrant soup laden with dumplings made from it. As the dumplings poach, they flavor the broth. Edible chrysanthemum leaves (cai cuc) add their deep green color and musty floral perfume. Called tong ho in Cantonese and shungiku in Japanese, the greens are sold at Asian markets and are easy to grow, too. Watercress may be substituted.

One way to imbue canh with flavor is to include lots of vegetables. This recipe, along with Opo Squash Soup (page 60) and Chicken Dumpling and Chrysanthemum Leaf Soup (page 61), amply illustrates this technique. Here, the broth is further enriched with the addition of dried shrimp, which contribute both brininess and color. When I want a more special presentation, I cut the shrimp in half horizontally to yield two symmetrical halves. Once in the hot soup, the halves curl into beautiful spirals. This light soup is a great addition to nearly any Viet meal.

Opo squash, a popular light green–skinned Asian gourd, shows off its delicate sweetness in this quick soup, which blends the opo with chicken or pork to yield a rich flavor that tastes like the broth simmered for hours. Look for opo squash at Asian or farmers’ markets, selecting specimens that are blemish free and feel heavy for their size. When you gently squeeze the squash, it shouldn’t yield to its spongy core, a sign of overmaturity. If an opo squash is unavailable, zucchini may be substituted. The flavor will be milder but still tasty.

This soup borrows heavily from Vietnam’s northern neighbor. Mì vit tiem is one of my mom’s favorites, and she is partial to a version made by her friend Mrs. Tan, who, along with her husband, once owned a Chinese barbecue restaurant in San Diego. Unlike pho, which most Viet home cooks know how to make, mì vit tiem is usually left to the pros. The trick is cooking the duck legs until tender (but not mushy), mahogany brown, and deeply seasoned. The traditional approach is to marinate them, flash fry them for color, and then simmer them in the broth. Some cooks even refry the legs right before serving. When my mom finally asked Mrs. Tan for her secret, she divulged that she roasted and then steamed the duck legs, instead of frying and simmering them. Her method evenly colors the duck, seals in the seasonings, preserves the integrity of the meat, and easily removes much of the fat. I developed this recipe using Mrs. Tan’s method. Traditionally, the duck leg is served whole on the side for diners to attack with chopsticks and spoons. Since that is hard to do, even for a native chopstick user like me, I slice the meat and serve it in the bowl.