Char siu, the strips of barbecued roast pork with their signature crimson exterior, is a treasured Cantonese meat, and the most popular siu mei dish. Siu mei is a term that refers to the roasted meats popular in Hong Kong, but also commonly found in Chinatown windows around the world. Most city-dwelling Cantonese kids grew up eating siu mei—during my carnivorous youth, as my mother arrived home from the store, I would sidle up with my best good-daughter-face and charm a few slices of warm, juicy char siu and crispy pork crackling before dinnertime. In this recipe, eggplant is marinated, char siu style, in a fragrant, fruity barbecue sauce. Eggplant, a renowned carrier of flavor, greedily absorbs the sauce before it is roasted at high heat, emerging sweet and silky, imbued with lots of dark, caramelized notes. A note for gluten intolerant cooks: make sure your hoisin sauce is gluten-free or use the homemade version on page 151. This marinade is incredibly versatile and can be used to marinate and roast firm tofu and other vegetables in the exact same way. This is best eaten with rice, of course, but it’s also good stuffed into a crusty roll with cilantro, mint and salad greens, or used to make eggplant char siu bao (there’s a bao recipe in To Asia, With Love).
Of all the various vinaigrettes and dressings in this book, this is probably the one my husband, Joe, and I make the most. It’s Caesar-ish, thanks to garlic and anchovy, while lots of lemon juice makes it bright and bracing. Dijon gives it a bit of creaminess without actual cream or cheese, and it comes together in a mortar and pestle, which gives it a rustic, extra-homemade quality. We’re anchovy enthusiasts, and if I had a soapbox to stand on to profess my zeal for the tiny fish, I would. I know they’re not for everyone, but if you like the savory bite of Caesar dressing, you’ll absolutely love this.
Pizza rolls are a very popular street food and this tear-and-share traybake makes a great and always welcome addition to an informal dinner buffet, a picnic or a kids’ birthday party.
Common fillings include the usual tomato sauce, mozzarella and often ham; however, this recipe uses one of my favourite combinations based on ripe red sweet peppers and onions. The vegetables are simmered before being blended to a cream: the cooking brings out their sweetness and makes them easier to digest. The creamed filling also makes a delicious dipping sauce, so don’t throw away any leftovers!
Born to make wise use of leftover pasta, frittata di spaghetti is an underrated, versatile, and fun recipe to add to your repertoire. You can serve it as part of a buffet; cut into generous slices, or cube it for an unusual starter. It makes a great packed lunch for day trips, picnics, and beach outings too.
The frittata is usually made with spaghetti, vermicelli, or bucatini, but short pasta such as penne or rigatoni will also work. Eggs are the ingredient that binds everything together: as a general rule, allow one egg per person, and maybe one more for the pan. As the recipe was created to use leftovers, consider it a blank canvas and use it to upcycle any leftover cheese that has been sitting at the back of your fridge for too long: grated Parmigiano-Reggiano or pecorino or cubed or sliced mozzarella, scamorza, or provola. You can also add salami, pancetta, or mortadella; see the Note.
The Sanskrit kanji refers to the thick, starchy water that’s left behind when rice is cooked for a while; it is also the origin for congee, which is also eaten in other parts of Asia where rice is a staple. While this is the dish my mother always served me when I was unwell (she cooked it with bits of chicken), I’ve given it a bit of a makeover and brought in a few spices.
Friday night is pasta with vongole since forever, and we have come up with lots of variations as the years have gone by. This combination, with chewy pieces of pancetta and some greens, might be the family favorite, but by no means is this canon. Throw some cherry tomatoes in with the garlic and omit the greens, or use both. Leave out the pork product if you want. You can double or triple the recipe as long as you divide the pasta between two big pots. The only real rule is to make sure the table is set and everyone is within earshot when the clams start to open; hot pasta waits for no one.
Serves 8–10
I wouldn’t like to say how often this is my supper and, indeed, lunch the next day when I eat it cold with a sprinkling of capers. For, although it does indeed serve two, I love it too much to keep it for company. It is, frankly, absurd how quick and easy it is to make. And yet it has such depth and complexity of flavor: the squid brings with it the briny kiss of the sea; the smokiness of the paprika, the heat of the chile and the hit of the garlic give it a gutsiness that marries so well with the smooth, creamy beans. I adore the Spanish judión beans, which are soft, thin-skinned, extra-large butter beans, though you can, of course, use regular canned butter beans, or soak and cook dried butter beans yourself.
In this vegetarian riff on the classic brick chicken, mushrooms are simply cooked with a little olive oil, salt, and pepper, with capers added for zing. I have used oyster, maitake, and lion’s mane—all are delicious. Each variety has a different moisture content and will release varying amounts of moisture as the mushrooms cook. I don’t keep bricks in my kitchen, but a second cast-iron skillet or Dutch oven gets the job done. The weight of the second pan compresses the mushrooms and allows a nice crunchy crust to form while keeping them juicy and tender on the inside. Once you do this a couple of times, you might start keeping bricks in your kitchen!
This recipe is specific in calling for a certain variety of olive, shallots instead of onion, and a particular hue of vinegar. But know that it is LGD's equation that makes it heroic, not its details. To make your own variant of LGD, you need fresh, fragrant herbs; something onion-esque; the combined brine power of olives, capers, and anchovy; the juxtaposed acid of both vinegar and citrus; and the fruity fat of a good-quality olive oil. Don't get hung up on the variety of vinegar you don't have or the fact that you’ve got onion and no shallot. Just follow the equation and taste what happens.