There are many obvious similarities between New Orleans po boys and Vietnamese bánh mì, which are both essential sandwiches in the city. They start with the same style of French bread, are built around meat, and are dressed with cool veggies and creamy and spicy sauces to balance everything out. The natural intersection of these two cuisines speaks very directly to me, so I decided to meld them even further into a single sandwich. It’s a true hybrid, like me, and also extremely đặc biệt!
The bánh mì sandwich is incredibly versatile. I’ve gone with fried shrimp (my favorite po boy) for the filling, coated with a fish- sauce caramel. But you can use any protein from the book—from the Grilled Lemongrass-Marinated Meat to the Curry- Blackened Fish—topped with any combination of pickled carrot, cilantro, and cucumber. Just don’t skip my Vietnamese Aioli. It’s basically an umami bomb that comes together in literally seconds. If you think you hate mayonnaise, try this recipe and it might convert you.
We’ve put this recipe here because, unlike the pot pies in the first chapter, this is a traditional pot pie with a bottom crust and a top crust, making it a double-crusted pie. This pot pie uses the carcass of the holiday bird to make a rich turkey stock. Making stock is a very flexible process, so use common sense rather than precise measurements. Of course it’s fine to use store-bought turkey stock, but homemade is so much better and takes less than 10 minutes of active time. It’s well worth the small effort, since the turkey is abundance itself and shouldn’t be wasted.
Bún cha’ hails from North Vietnam, where the cuisine is much more understated and subtle compared to the boldness and spice of its southern counterpart. I’ve never been up north, but my cousin’s uncle lived there and treated us to bún ch’a when he came to visit. It’s fresh, savory, sweet, and herby all at the same time. Traditional bún ch’a features rice vermicelli noodles served with a vegetal broth, seasoned pork patties, and caramelized pork belly slices. My version presents you with several dining options. You can either dip the noodles in the sauce mixture, pour the sauce all over the noodles, or enjoy it as a lettuce wrap. When you choose the lettuce to use, you can use anything but iceberg—it’s too watery! I recommend seeking out Persian (mini) cucumbers because they’re seedless and add an extra crispy texture to the experience. The pork patties are best when they’re grilled, but if you don’t have easy access to a grill, you can pan-sear them instead.
Detroit’s Breakfast House & Grill (now the Hudson Café) was where I first experienced the textural contrast of pillowy waffle and crunchy fried chicken skin, and the sweet-and-salty harmony of juicy dark meat chicken and a slick of maple syrup. The pairing was so satisfying that I fell into a ritual of having it delivered every Sunday morning after a late night out. It wasn’t until many years later that I thought to try this dish in my own style using Hong Kong egg waffles (aka eggettes) and karaage (small bites of Japanese fried chicken). The combination— enhanced with the use of Szechuan peppercorns in the maple syrup and splashes of chili oil—became so popular that I was constantly encouraged to enter local fried chicken and waffle competitions (I never could bring myself to; I don’t really enjoy competitive cooking). I particularly like tearing up the waffle into little individual pieces, then taking a fork and stabbing into one of those pieces, then stabbing a piece of chicken, then stabbing another piece of waffle. You now have a tiny and perfect fried chicken and waffle sandwich that you can eat plain or dunk into a ramekin of warm Szechuan-spiced maple syrup. The waffles are best made in a Hong Kong–style waffle/eggette maker, which they sell online in varying levels of quality. I understand it’s a very specialized thing and of course you’re free to use whatever waffle maker you already have, but the experience won’t be quite the same without one. I’ve heard you can try to sub vanilla pudding mix for custard powder, but I’ve never tried it myself.
In many cultures, the crispy rice that sticks to the bottom of the pot is considered a delicacy. In this recipe, the rice is shaped into patties and fried until the outside is crispy while the inside is still moist, almost gooey. The pickling liquid for the onion is refreshing and aromatic, with mint, spicy chili paste, and the tang of rice wine vinegar. The flavorings in this salad are Asian-inspired, based on some of my favorite rice bowl toppings: fish sauce and soy for umami, spicy ginger, and crunchy peanuts. You can also top the rice fritters with other fresh herbs, garnishes, or sauces for different flavor profiles. If you don’t have Carolina Gold rice (the heirloom grain, not the parboiled rice brand; see p. 156 for more info), substitute any short- or medium-grain rice—their higher starch content will help bind the patties together. Using chilled rice makes it easier to shape the patties.
Serves 3 or 4
I have often said you can laab anything. And in “anything” I include bits of leftover meats and vegetables. Tart, spicy, and fresh, this treatment is guaranteed to “fix” any dry Thanksgiving turkey, or the ends of roast beef. I’ve even laab-ed roasted squash and cut-up pieces of omelet. Laab is usually served with sticky rice, but you can serve it with jasmine rice, wrap it in lettuce, or serve it with fresh cucumber. Note: I have provided a small base recipe here because it’s meant for using up bits and bobs in the fridge; scale up to whatever quantity of leftovers you have.
Chef Yia Vang of Union Hmong Kitchen in Minneapolis brings us his One, a recipe for a whole fish wrapped in banana leaves. This is a full-hearted family recipe as Yia, who grew up in Northern Wisconsin, spent hours fishing off the dock with his father. The recipe is simple. Based on quality ingredients with a gentle and aromatic method of steaming, you can use with any seafood. There’s nothing more impressive than unveiling this banana leaf-wrapped fish to company and serving it with his flavor-packed sauce, a squeeze of lime, and handfuls of fresh herbs.
Use a regular rack or St. Louis-style rack of ribs for this Vietnamese kho recipe. Ask the butcher to saw the ribs into strips; that is not a job for the home cook. Serve with rice and a boiled vegetable or simple stir-fry. In Vietnamese, this is called sườn kho.
Cơm tấm is one of Việt Nam’s quintessential street foods. On the streets of almost every major city in the country, you can find cơm tấm vendors shrouded in plumes of smoke as they grill marinated chops on charcoal-fed braziers breathing blister-ing-hot fire. They are true masters of the grill, as the chops are so thin that it takes deft hands to control the heat. It also takes the sharpest of cooking instincts to know precisely when to pull the chops off the flame before they dry out. At home, you can ensure juicy chops every time by first brining the meat for a day or two and then giving them a quick sear in butter. If you want to use thick-cut chops instead, sear them on each side, then place them in a 350°F oven for 5 to 10 minutes, until the center reaches 145°F. For plating, we suggest serving the chops with broken rice and a warm slice of chả trứng hấp (steamed pork and wood ear meat loaf).