Pork

With the fresh, zesty taste of basil and garlic, these juicy sausages are a perfect homemade accompaniment to a variety of egg dishes. Ask the butcher to grind up the pork butt, and make sure the pork is well chilled (32°F) before starting on this recipe. The meat and fat need to stay very cold during the grinding and mixing process. Otherwise, the sausage comes out mealy because the fat doesn’t maintain its form and melts into the meat.

These robust, aromatic sausages pair well with many egg dishes. For best results, most of these ingredients should be chilled before you start. The fat needs to stay separate during the mixing process or the sausages will be mealy. Properly handled ingredients, especially the fat and meat, are the key to good sausages. Both the meat and the fatback should be brought down to 32°F, so place them into the freezer for about an hour. Fatback, which is the fresh unsmoked layer of fat that runs along the pig’s back, is sold at butcher shops. Don’t confuse it with salt pork: They’re not the same thing. The easiest way to get ground juniper berries is to grind them in a spice grinder. If you don’t cook all the sausages in one meal, the patties freeze well for several weeks as long as they are well wrapped. The best thing is to wrap the patties individually in plastic wrap, wrap six to eight of the plastic-wrapped sausages in aluminum foil, then put the foil packages in a resealable plastic freezer bag and mark the bag with the date they were frozen.

Pork belly is not bacon because it is not cured. Pork belly is what bacon is made from. It is a delicious breakfast meat all by itself, especially when allowed to sit overnight with a little salt, pepper, and maple syrup before slowly cooking in a low oven. Most of the pork bellies in America are cured and smoked for bacon. However, raw bellies are rich, succulent, and very versatile. It may be difficult to find fresh pork belly at the supermarket, but the meat manager can probably special-order it. Otherwise, visit a reputable butcher and look for the leanest pork belly that you can find. (Even lean ones have generous amounts of fat.) It’s most convenient to cook pork belly when it is trimmed into pieces smaller than a whole belly. A three-pound piece is manageable at home. Start this project a day ahead of when you want to serve the meat, since the pork belly needs to marinate overnight, and then cook for about three hours.

With its golden crust and slightly sweet, subtly spiced flavor, this dish is especially good with eggs. Though much of the fat in pork belly is rendered during cooking, you’ll still have enough to achieve a nice caramelized color in this flavorful hash. Make this a day ahead of time if you like—it’s wonderful the second day. Serve pork belly hash with over easy, scrambled, or poached eggs (see pages 74 to 75).

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.

Peppers, the red, collapsed horns in particular, are heavily linked with Hungary and its rust-colored stews. The Hungarians make ground paprika from them too, which has become their most famous culinary export. Despite their South American origins, Hungary is where I have found the most dazzling displays of peppers in the markets. Two minutes, even less, from the river and the Szabadsag Bridge, Budapest’s market stalls glow deep rust and gold with tins of paprika and strings of dried mahogany chiles. I love the crumbling wooden stalls of scarlet-capped mushrooms with their stray pieces of iridescent moss, wicker baskets of black sloes, and small sacks of red berries, and the apparently precarious piles of peppers, Christmas red, clean white, and burnt orange turning scarlet. The long peppers that curl back on themselves have the intrigue of Aladdin’s lamp but are awkward in the kitchen, tending to tip their stuffing out into the baking pan. You can roast them, though, with olive oil and lots of salt, and eat them with sesame bread torn into chunks. The most useful, called Gypsy and the size of a fat rodent, are perfect for stuffing: with spinach and cream; translucent onions, capers, parsley, and garlic; cracked wheat, green olives, and toasted pine nuts; ground lamb and cumin. But mostly they are baked with a shake of the olive oil bottle and a grinding of salt until they collapse, wrinkle, and melt into silken strips. You’ll need bread then, in fat, rough chunks, and maybe a glass of bright beer. From August to the close of the year is when the market has the most from which to choose. After that the peppers come dried, in long strings of tobacco, madder, and soot. They shouldn’t be despised. By then the stalls are mostly piled with roots and cabbages, endless sausages, and wholesomely fatty pork. The paprika stalls, stacked with red and gold tins, are kitsch in a Hansel and Gretel way, their shelves covered in fastidiously ironed lace, like the old women who run them. Gulyas, or goulash, means “cowboy” and was traditionally cooked over an open fire. My paprika-scented pork stew—you could use beef-departs not too radically from the classical dish. I include dried mushrooms and cook it in a low oven, giving it a particularly deep, smoky flavor.

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.

To our list of ingredients that balance the leek’s (and onion’s) tendency toward sweetness, we can add green peppercorns. Outside the anise-scented emporiums of Chinatown they are difficult to track down in their fresh state, but bottled ones in brine are perhaps even better here. Deep-winter stuff, this. Some fresh, crisp greens might be appropriate with it, some winter salad leaves or maybe a plate of lightly cooked spinach. Whatever, I do recommend some plain, steamed potatoes to balance the general richness. Green peppercorns in brine are available in cans or bottles from well-stocked specialty markets and delicatessens.

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.

Fresh pork hock is not an easy piece of meat to carve. I just do the best I can, cutting the soft meat away in pieces and laying them in a shallow bowl or deep plate. Then ladle the thin, aromatic broth around it.

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.

These irresistible ribs are an import from China that have been adopted—and adapted—by Japanese cooks. I like to prepare them with classic Chinese five-spice seasoning, because I love the rich fragrance and flavors of this mixture of cinnamon, anise seed, star anise, cloves, and ginger. But many cooks in Japan prefer to make the spareribs with simply sansho pepper or freshly ground black pepper and salt (use 1 teaspoon of either pepper with 1/2 teaspoon of kosher salt). Try these different spice combinations to see which ones you like best!

The elegant preparation I introduce here, braised pork belly served in a “sandwich” with a tangy hoisin sauce, is a mouthwatering appetizer. But this dish is also fundamental to ramen noodle cooking. Sliced, it’s a classic topping for ramen noodles. And the braising liquid has many uses. You flavor ramen broth with it; simmer bamboo shoots in it, a classic garnish; and even cook hard-boiled eggs in this liquid, which are then sliced in half and added to a bowl of noodles. (See page 24 in the ramen section for an example.) This recipe takes a little bit of time but is very simple to execute—do not be afraid. In fact, when you’re cooking the pork or simmering it in the braising liquid, just set a kitchen timer and forget about it. You don’t have to watch it closely.

What I love about this recipe is how well fresh Italian pasta works combined with these Asian flavors. It’s a true crossover dish, the pasta adding wonderful flavor and texture to the earthy and spicy notes in the sauce. Pork and eggplant is a natural combination that reminds me of Sichuan cuisine. Chinese eggplants, by the way, have a delicate skin, so when you peel them you can leave on some strips of skin for aesthetic purposes. This stir-fried dish is unwieldy to cook for four servings, so prepare it in two batches.

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.

This Southeast Asian–influenced dish is perfect for summer dining: it is light and refreshing, with tangy sweet-and-sour flavors. I love green papaya, an ingredient that has an appealing crunch and natural sweetness. Lemongrass, another one of my favorite Southeast Asian ingredients, adds a wonderful lemony fragrance. I cook with both at my restaurant.

One of Thailand’s signature dishes, pad thai is as popular in Japan as it is here in America. Rice noodles are easy to overcook, so be sure to prepare this dish in small batches. If you do want to serve four people, prepare enough ingredients for four servings (including doubling the sauce), but cook the recipe in two batches, one after the other. Also, use a nonstick skillet, if possible, because rice noodles can stick to a regular pan.

This dish is perfect for anyone with a hearty appetite. In Japan, it’s especially popular with teenagers, who devour large plates of these satisfying and filling fried noodles. Yaki udon is also a staple of Japan’s izakaya, or eating pubs, especially as a late night snack or complement to a frosty mug of beer. This recipe works best in servings of two. If you’d like to make it for four people, just prepare the dish in two batches.

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.