This is the fan-favorite soup at Dad’s. Sweet, savory, a little salty, a little sour, with a host of beautiful aromatics, it has a lot going on. But it’s one of those recipes where I don’t do everything from scratch. I make my own coconut milk for desserts, but not for soups, where it gets loose and watery. Canned coconut milk typically has guar gum in it, which holds it together when hot. As for the Madras curry powder, my favorite is from Sun Brand. Established in 1876, they’ve had time to dial in their spice blend. I could be brash and say I’ll make curry powder myself, but I’m certainly not going to do it as well. Some things you leave to other professionals.
Rice is the headlining ingredient in this herb-forward “salad,” but it wouldn’t be khaao yam without the inclusion of earthy toasted coconut. The dish is a beloved breakfast on Ko Yao Noi and beyond, sold from vast bowls at Muslim-run tea shops.
This version, taught to me by Bussaba Butdee, who runs a homestay on Ko Yao Noi, includes the rather decadent addition of grilled shrimp, which she happened to have on hand. These are not standard and can be omitted. Less optional for southern Thais is the herb called bai phaa hom. Known colloquially as—no, I’m not making this up—“dog and pig fart herb,” the leaf provides the dish with a unique, but not as unpleasant as the name might suggest, aroma. It’s unlikely you’ll be able to find bai phaa hom outside southern Thailand, and khaao yam made without it will still be tasty, but it, admittedly, won’t have the same unique fragrance.
Serve this as a southern Thai–style breakfast or as lunch.
Throughout the Caribbean and American South, African slaves transformed the tails of oxen or other cattle, the discards of wealthy plantation owners, into a delicacy by slow-braising them in rich, fragrant stews. In Haiti, oxtail is served with pikliz, an intense peppery and sour slaw tart enough to make your jaws clench, similar in taste and texture to the Southern condiment chow chow. Pikliz is most often made with green cabbage, but I use red cabbage, which is prettier and slightly sweeter, and brussels sprouts, which have a hint of nuttiness. Serve with your favorite white rice.
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.
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).
The flavors of this ceviche were incredible, but what was most surprising was the burnt habanero chile oil drizzled on top. Its heat and bitterness cut through the bright and sweet flavors—it was at once sweet, spicy, and refreshing—in essence, everything I wanted at that moment.
When my husband saw this on the counter, he mistook it for caramelized porky crumbles. Yes, they look alike, but these crumbles are vegan, with a citrusy and spicy edge. Tempeh isn’t a Viet ingredient, but I’ve used it in banh mi, pho, and here to mimic meat. When crumbled into small pieces in this recipe, tempeh absorbs the seasonings well and fries up nicely. Whether made from meat or tempeh, these sorts of crumbles are used the same way—to mix into and season rice, kind of like a condiment. Add a side of radish and carrot pickle for refreshing crunch and tang. The crumbles will keep, covered, in the refrigerator, for up to 3 days (though they never last long in my house) and are good scooped up with tortilla chips.
These rice balls are inspired by my friends Lawrence and Noi Allen, who used to own one of the only Thai markets in Houston, Asia Market. I started going there to buy green papayas. But I never left with just papayas—each visit would start with me wandering the aisles, checking out all the different ingredients, until Lawrence would come over and strike up a conversation. He probably didn’t realize when he asked me if I needed help that I was going to bombard him with all kinds of questions about ingredients and Thai cooking, but he was always generous with his time and knowledge.
When I think of Vietnamese food, it’s fresh herbs that spring to mind. The coriander (cilantro) in this dish is essential, but ideally you should get all three herbs – they’re well worth it. Life is full of choices, and so is this recipe. For instance, you can add steamed broccoli or pak choi (bok choi), or have it with noodles instead of rice.
Besides being gorgeous, this dish is incredibly complex. The pomegranate, yogurt, and herbs play up each other’s hidden floral notes, while the lactones in the chicken blend seamlessly with fruity lactones and esters in the pomegranate. If you’re feeling bold, try substituting duck breast or boneless quail for the chicken in this recipe.