Ginger

How a dish smells is important. It whets the appetite, brings us to the table, and opens up a host of pleasures. With coconut, cardamom, and coriander, this simple dish of baked tomatoes is heady and aromatic. It curdles a bit, but no matter. You will need some rice or bread to go with it. Creamed coconut, a block of pure dried coconut, is available at Asian markets and online.

The first time I included pumpkin in a coconut-scented laksa was for a Bonfire Night supper in 2004 (see The Kitchen Diaries). The soup had to be sensational to make up for our distinct lack of fireworks (I think we wrote our names in the air with sparklers). Rich, sweet-sour, mouth-tinglingly hot, and yet curiously soothing, it had everything you need in a soup for a frosty night. There is much pleasure to be had in the constant tweaking of a recipe to change not its essential character but its details. And so it has been with this soup. I have since gone on to remove the tomatoes or add some shredded greens as the mood and the state of the larder take me. Such improvisations, many made at the last minute, need to be done with care: you don’t want too many flavors going on. Vietnamese soups such as this are traditionally ingredient rich but should never taste confused. By the same token, to simplify it too much would be to lose the soup’s generosity and complexity and therefore its point. The laksa appears complicated at first but in practice it is far from it. Once you understand the basics, the recipe falls into place and becomes something you can fiddle with to suit your own taste. The basic spice paste needs heat (ginger, garlic, tiny bird’s eye chiles); the liquid needs body and sweetness (coconut milk, rich stock); the finish needs sourness and freshness (lime juice, mint, cilantro). The necessary saltiness comes from nam pla and tamari rather than salt itself. These notes in place, you can feel free to include noodles, tomatoes, greens, sweet vegetables, or meat as you wish. What matters is balance.

Sweet squashes marry well with the earthy flavor of beans and lentils. This is apparent in the dhal and pumpkin soup in The Kitchen Diaries and here in a more complex main dish that offers waves of chile heat with mild citrus and the dusty “old as time itself” taste of ground turmeric. Dried (which is the only way most of us know them) chickpeas are the stars of the world’s bean dishes, used to fill bellies everywhere from India to Egypt. Their character—knobbly, chewy, and virtually indestructible in the pot—makes them invaluable in slow-cooked dishes where you need to retain some texture. Fresh chickpeas are bright emerald green and have an invigorating citrus note to them that is completely missing in the dried version. I saw some for the first time this year. I have long wanted to put lemongrass with chickpeas, partly to lift their spirits but also to return some of their lemony freshness to them (I use more lemon juice in my hummus than most as well). This recipe, which just happens to be suitable for vegans, does just that. Like many of those slow, bean-based dishes, it often tastes better the next day, when all the ingredients have had a chance to get acquainted.

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.

If a cauliflower is happiest under a comfort blanket of cream and cheese, we can run with the idea, dropping the cheese and introducing some of the milder, more fragrant spices such as coriander and cardamom into the cream instead. With its toasted cashews and crisp finish of spiced fried onions, this is a mild dish, so I see no reason to soften the blow with steamed rice, preferring instead to eat it with a crunchy salad of Belgian endive and watercress (or some such crisp, hot leaf ), using it to wipe the sauce from my plate.

The sour crispness of red cabbage makes it a good ingredient for a relish. Something stirring—hot, sharp, sour, bright—to introduce to a gamey pâté or a wedge of pork pie with softly collapsing pastry. Not normally given to making pickles and chutneys, I find this startling relish manageable without feeling I am going too far down the preserving route.

Sprout tops share a luxury of growth and strong flavor with many of the Asian greens. One cold day in November I married them to an impromptu sauce of essentially Chinese ingredients. It worked. The tricky bit was working out what, in future, they needed to share a plate with. A slice of ham steak; a piece of lamb’s liver; a fillet of mackerel, its skin crisped on the grill; a pile of sticky rice with some finely sliced air-dried sausages; a grilled mushroom the size of a saucer. All will work. Eminently.

Galangal is a root that looks like ginger but has a sweet, perfumed taste. Find it fresh (the best choice), frozen, or powdered in Asian markets or gourmet food stores. The citrusy herb lemongrass can be grown from a store-bought stalk; place it in water on the windowsill until it sprouts before transferring it to a pot with soil. These rich fritters need a sweet, tangy sauce; if you don’t have time to make Tamarind Ketchup as the recipe calls for, use the simple Cilantro-Jalapeño Sauce (page 184), or whisk store-bought ketchup with honey, lime juice, and salt.

Orange zest gives these crispy snaps a hint of citrus. Barley malt syrup (for more about this sweetener, see page 68) stands in for the traditional molasses, and tastes virtually identical. If the maple sugar is clumpy, break it up with your fingers before creaming it with the butter. To make gingerbread people, roll the dough to just over 1/4 inch thick and press in raisins or other toppings to decorate the cookies.

The key to this dish is the texture of the eggs—they should be airy and light. For fluffy eggs, take them out of the pan when they are just barely cooked. For a richer dish, use milk instead of water, or add a cup of Cheddar or other mild cheese just before the eggs leave the stove. Serve with Cilantro-Jalapeño Sauce (page 184), Tamarind Ketchup (page 178), or Citrus Chutney (page 182).

Fresh local grapes are an uncelebrated fall fruit, mostly because of their chewy skin and intrusive seeds. But grapes that aren’t ideal for snacking can be more fragrant and sweet than table grapes, and their acidity balances pleasingly with rich roasted chicken. Choose from any white, green, or red variety that’s native to your region. Depending on their sweetness, adjust the amount of honey in the recipe. You may use bottled, unsweetened white grape juice instead of fresh grapes. For a comforting cold-weather meal, serve with Watercress Mashed Potatoes (page 185) and Sweet Potato and Cranberry Cornmeal Biscuits (page 189).

This is a popular dish in Japan that I love to prepare because it has so much going for it: complex sweet and tangy flavors, a heavenly ginger and garlic aroma, and wonderful textures. I’ve included puffed rice paper “chips” to add a nice crunch and a bit of flair. With its fiery colors, this dish makes a beautiful conversation-stopping presentation. I divided my recipe into seven small parts, each of which you prepare separately, then combine everything at the end. The trick here is to make sure you finish your prep before you cook—the actual cook time for the shrimp is only 5 minutes, so you’ll have to move fast! To make the recipe easy to follow, I have paired the ingredients for each step with the instructions.

These poached pears are especially luscious with their Pacific Rim accent. Locally grown, in-season, organic pears are far superior for this slow-cooked dessert than store-bought fruit shipped from far away.

This is a flavorful variation on the timeless pineapple upside-down cake. Here dried apricots are used, but the cake can be made with a variety of dried or preserved fruits with equally good results. It’s excellent topped with a dollop of whipped cream, ice cream, or creamy Greek-style yogurt.

This wonderful chutney can be used as an accompaniment for grilled lamb, rice pilaf, or even spicy pumpkin muffins.