Deep Fry

A fish fry would not be complete without hushpuppies, yet another dish Southerners prepare with corn. Meme always added grated onion to the meal leftover from frying the fish, and then added an egg and enough buttermilk until the consistency looked about right. My late father-in-law used to host fish fries, cooking up what they’d caught over the weekend at Lake Lanier. Now, I never actually had one of his hushpuppies, but I’ve spent fifteen years trying to replicate one, based on what his family describes. He used beer instead of buttermilk and, it seems, lots of onion. It doesn’t matter how much onion I add, there’s never enough onion. I have a sneaking suspicion that a special food memory created on a sunny summer afternoon has bypassed reality and it’s actually not about the onion. No worries, I’ll keep trying. There are impossible quests that produce far worse results.

Dede always grew okra, and I usually have a few plants every summer. Once, I grew them in container boxes on the roof of my apartment in New Jersey, framed by the Manhattan skyline. Guests were astonished at the sight when we would go out on the deck. The plants are beautiful, sometimes growing to five feet tall with pale yellow blossoms similar to hibiscus. When I was working in France for Anne Willan, we once needed okra for a recipe test. It was nowhere to be found in the local markets, so we ordered a case from Rungis, the French wholesale market on the outskirts of Paris, only to use less than a pound! The gumbo was a disappointment, falling short of Anne’s strict standards. Since we had almost a full case to use, I made this fried okra, which Anne called “popcorn fried okra.” It was a huge hit. I can pretty much guarantee that this was the only time in history fried okra was enjoyed as a snack with apéritifs before dinner. I called Meme every week to tell her about my work and what I had learned. When I told her about the “popcorn fried okra,” she giggled like a schoolgirl.

For an over-the-top po’ boy, try these crabs in a French loaf dressed with shredded lettuce and sliced tomato, or serve them on a bed of heart-healthy Classic Cole Slaw (page 35) for a new Southern twist on an old favorite.

Po’ boy sandwiches are found all along the Gulf Coast and are a New Orleans tradition. There are various tales about the origin of the name: that it’s a slang version of “poor boy” and the sandwich used to be an inexpensive, yet filling meal; that the sandwich was given out to streetcar workers on strike, who were essentially poor boys; or that it is a bastardized version of the French “pour boire.” This last theory holds that the sandwich was a sort of olive branch that men would bring home after a night of drinking and carousing around town. Whatever the name’s origin, it is an excellent sandwich. Although one can find roast beef and gravy po’ boys or fried potato and gravy po’ boys, possibly the most popular version of this iconic Louisiana treat is fried seafood po’ boys made with shrimp and oysters from the Gulf. The key to light and crispy fried food is to use the right oil. Peanut oil is a great choice for frying: it has a mild, pleasant flavor; does not take on the tastes of foods as readily as other oils do; and has a smoke point of about 450°F, meaning you can safely heat it to a very high temperature.

The fish fry is right up on the list of orchestrated Southern feasts, along with the “pig pull” and “dinner on the grounds.” It’s a great party and wildly different from throwing a few burgers on the grill. And fried fish are just flat-out good. My grandparents met at a fish fry in 1930 and were inseparable through almost 65 years of marriage. They were a great team but there was no doubt who was the boss. For as long as I can remember, they had a motor home. They drove as far south as the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico and to Fairbanks at the far end of the Alaska Highway, where they caught a small plane to the North Pole. I was able to take several long trips with them when I was young. Once the three of us drove north, through Detroit into Canada, east to Nova Scotia, where we caught the ferry to Newfoundland. We were on the one main road in Newfoundland to St. John’s and were about halfway across the island when Meme looked at my grandfather and said, “Sam, pull over in that gas station. I’m ready to go home.” He did, and we did.

In south Georgia, farmland not used for peaches is often planted to pecan groves. Evenings in the fall, we would search for the elusive nuts hidden among the fallen brown leaves, the bare trees black in the evening shadows, the sunset sky a colorful vermillion. We’d return home and store our harvest in large sacks of netting. After shelling and cleaning, Mama and Meme made these nuts for the holidays.

Fried Apple Rings are a great substitute for donuts. I actually learned to make these in Germany when I was an exchange student. My host family made them for special occasions. Although they are sprinkled with cinnamon sugar, the tart apples keep them from being overly sweet. They are best eaten warm, because when they cool, the juice from the apples can make the batter soggy.

One of the most beloved Asian sweet dumplings is crisp-chewy fried sesame seed balls. A Chinese New Year specialty that may have originated during the Tang Dynasty as palace food, they have been adopted by cooks of countless cultures to be enjoyed year-around. At Cantonese dim sum houses, this treat is called jin deui and usually contains sweetened red bean paste. In Vietnam, the filling typically features buttery mung beans. Ground peanuts are a quick and tasty filling option; if you select the peanut filling, use an electric mini-chopper to grind the nuts, sugar, and salt, and aim for a sandy texture. Sesame balls can be made without a filling, though I find those to be a tad lacking. The sugar used in the rice dough makes for a golden brown skin that slightly shatters with the first bite. Slab brown candy, called peen tong in Cantonese and sold at Chinese markets, looks like pieces of parquet flooring. It has a complex flavor not unlike maple sugar and lends a glorious rich brown color to the finished dumplings. When it is unavailable, light brown sugar is a fine substitute. Pressing on the balls during frying is the trick to getting them to expand, resulting in their signature hollow center.

Cakey, spongy, and deliriously delicious gulab jamun is one of India’s great contributions to the world of sweets. Shaped as small spheres that are fried and then soaked in a fragrant sugar syrup, the rich brown dumplings are frequently on restaurant menus and are enjoyed during special occasions such as Diwali, the autumn festival of lights, which is also known as the festival of sweets. The dumplings, traditionally made from khoya (milk that has been cooked down), are named for their resemblance to juicy, purple-brown jamun fruit. Cardamom is typically part of the sugar syrup, but you can add saffron and/or rose flower water, too; gulab means “rose” in Hindi. Cooking down milk is labor intensive, and many modern Indian cooks instead use nonfat dry milk to great success. The whipping cream lends richness and enhances the milk sugars, which you can smell while making the dough and frying the dumplings. For the rose flower water, I use rose-scented distilled water from France, which is sold in small blue bottles and often found at well-stocked liquor stores. If you are using rose essence, use just a few drops; it is very strong.

Stuffed with intriguing spice-laden fillings, curry puffs are a very popular snack in Malaysia, Singapore, and Thailand. In food-crazy Singapore, there are even plastic curry puff molds available for cooks to make perfect-looking puffs. The filling varies, but the most popular ones feature potato or sardines, both of which are lifted from their humble origins with a heavy dose of fragrant spices and/or chile heat. The dough depends on the cook, who may prepare French-style puff pastry with margarine and bake the results, stick with simple flaky pastry (page 113) to produce old-fashioned crisp fried puffs, or employ Chinese flaky pastry to yield puffs whose shape resembles magnificent clam shells. For a spectacular treat, I prepare curry puffs with Chinese flaky pastry. These deep-fried wonders are out of this world. For old-fashioned puffs, substitute either of the curry puff fillings for the one in the Vietnamese Shrimp, Pork and Jicama Turnover recipe (page 118). See the Lazy Day Tip below for making puffs with commercial puff pastry. Anyone who has made empanadas (page 111) will be a whiz at filling these.

When I first tasted this Shanghai specialty in Vancouver a few years ago, I wondered how it could have escaped me so long. The stupendous filling is remarkably simple, with a mild bite from the raw daikon radish, smokiness from the ham, and richness from the sesame oil. The pastries can be shaped as rounds with an arty spiral pattern of layers or as oblongs with a handsome linear pattern of layers. They are a classic Chinese banquet morsel, but there’s no need to wait for a special occasion. Enjoy them as a snack, accompanied by other dumplings or a clear soup.

Many Asian cooks have incorporated Chinese spring rolls into their repertoires, but those of Filipino descent have embraced the rolls with the most zeal and flair. Derived from lūnpiá, a term from the Fujian (Hokkien) Chinese dialect, lumpia are one of the quintessential foods of the Philippines. In fact, I’ve seldom been to a Filipino celebration where there isn’t a platter of crisp lumpia, whether it be large ones like these or the diminutive finger-size lumpia Shanghai, which is obviously named after its Chinese parent. Banana-filled lumpia is a deliciously popular sweet snack called turon (page 194). Unfried lumpia sariwa are made by rolling up a lettuce leaf and filling of vegetables and meat in a spring roll skin. Fillings for fried lumpia vary from cook to cook, but they often have trademark Filipino touches, such as lots of fried garlic and onion. Simply seasoned, the meat (pork, chicken, or beef), shrimp, and vegetable mixture is precooked but not bound by cornstarch. Thinly sliced green beans are particularly pretty in the rolls and a touch of patis (fish sauce) adds another Filipino note. Vinegar is a favorite seasoning in the Philippines, so it’s apropos to dip the finished rolls in a tangy soy and garlic sauce. But if you’d like extra tropical flair, dunk the rolls in the Sweet and Sour Sauce on page 217 made with pineapple juice, ginger, and chile.

The Chinese repertoire has many kinds of rolls—savory, sweet, thin, fat, fried, and unfried—and they’re all hard to pass up. The Cantonese fried version is bigger than its Shanghai kin, and it is encased in a large version of a wonton skin. Cantonese spring rolls, also known as egg rolls, have gotten a bad rap in America because they’re often greasy, overly doughy, and bland. However, when made from thin skins and a savory-sweet mixture of fresh vegetables and meat, Cantonese spring rolls reveal their worth as a splendid snack. Resembling gold bars and symbolizing wealth, prosperity, and good fortune, spring rolls are savored during the Lunar New Year, which is called the Spring Festival in Chinese. Cantonese spring rolls often combine pork and shrimp, but I prefer to keep the focus on tasty roast pork, which is best when homemade. Finely chopping and shredding the ingredients is time consuming, but you want the filling to be compact so that it fills out the long shape of the roll. Lighten your workload by making the filling and skins in advance.

Channeling my inner George Washington, I cannot tell a lie: These peppers are hot. even the cheese and oil from deep-frying can’t help you here. Every bite is delicious, and somehow enjoyably torturous. These may actually be some sort of entryway into masochism. If you want even more heat, use pepper Jack cheese in place of the Monterey Jack.

Once you’ve made these for friends or family, plan on making them regularly. Even without a football game on TV, somebody will always have a craving for these and won’t let up until you make them again. Serve alongside celery and carrot sticks with blue cheese or ranch dressing for dipping. If you need even more heat, serve with a side of SriRANCHa dressing (page 20).

Despite the Burmese name, crab rangoons were more likely a clever invention of the Bay Area tiki palace Trader Vic’s rather than some exotic tropical import. Premade wonton wrappers, which can be found in the frozen or refrigerated section of Asian markets and some supermarkets, make these an easy fix no matter where you—or the rangoons—call home.

Fried chicken is a Southern staple, and to be a good Southern cook you better know how to make it. I do. I like to use small fresh chickens for frying because the flavor of the meat is better. And speaking of flavor, I like to fry my chicken in pure pork lard, which gives it a richness and down-home essence that vegetable oil just can’t replicate. You can buy good high-quality lard—and I’m not talking about the soapy-looking white blocks sold in some supermarkets—from any reputable butcher. What makes my fried chicken special is the mixture of spices I use—note that both chili powder and sugar are involved—and the tangy richness that buttermilk lends.

To me, chicken wings are a delicacy. That’s not because they’re rare—believe me when I tell you that I eat them often—but because they’re probably my favorite part of the yard bird. Wings are unique because you get two experiences in one: a drumette and what I call the “flat.” That’s two handles on one piece of meat for you to hold on to and enjoy. Wings also take very little time to prepare and cook. All you have to know is that before you cook them you have to cut off the tip, which is attached to the outer flat part of the joint. Using kitchen shears is an easy way to just lop it off—or use a sharp knife—and if you don’t feel like throwing them away, put the tips in your freezer for the next time someone’s making stock or soup.