Once my kids became old enough to use a stove—in our family that’s around age six, still supervised, of course—they were automatically enrolled in the first three courses of Simeon cooking school. The first is learning to cook eggs (scrambled, then fried), the second is making ramen (the instant kind), and the third (and best lesson) is cooking potstickers, also known as mandoo, or gyoza, or what have you. It’s a straightforward process, but one that requires visual feedback and timing, two crucial skills for pint-size cooks. Also, without a doubt, there has not been a moment in the past decade when my house has not had at least one, often multiple, bulk bags of potstickers in the freezer. Quinn, who’s now fourteen, is the official dumpling deputy of our house, and can always be relied upon to cook a batch when the rest of us need a last-minute meal, which is pretty much weekly it seems like.
Even the greatest frozen potstickers can get a little boring, though, which is where this dish comes in handy. It’s the dumpling equivalent of loaded nachos or potato skins, made in the pan you’re already using to cook the potstickers. The sautéed onion-kimchi is a base layer for the gooey, molten mozzarella, which gets finished with chopped tomatoes, scallions, and spicy mayo.
Tofu haters often cite “blandness” as an excuse to steer clear of the plant-based protein. But its blandness is actually its biggest strength! It so wonderfully absorbs whatever sauce you add to it—like this utterly craveable Korean-inspired gochujang sauce. The sauce does the heavy lifting here; all you do is add some preprepped vegetables and a grain, and you’ll have a home-run dinner in minutes.
There are endless tasty ways to tackle cooking ribs, but as an indoor enthusiast, I appreciate the ease, predictability, and seasonless nature of this trusty low-and-slow oven to broiler method. The entire process is mostly hands-off and delivers flavor-blasted, fall-off-the-bone ribs every time. Please note that this foolproof barbecue sauce is made with mostly pantry staples and begs to be used on everything from these ribs to grilled chicken, meatloaf, and wings. To round out your rib party, I recommend serving them with Cauliflower-Potato Mash (page 220) or Caramelized Onion Potato Salad (page 230) and a big salad during the cooler months, or with Zucchini Cornbread Muffins (page 207) and “Summer Mess” (page 210) or Heirloom Tomato and Watermelon Salad (page 212) when summer strikes.
These beautiful pastries can be found in many Chinese bakeries, particularly throughout Hong Kong. We’ll use the same fluffy dough as that of the sausage-filled Czech klobásník (page 112), but instead of leaving it whole like a pig in a blanket, the hot dog–filled pastry is sliced and twisted to form the shape of a flower before being topped with sesame seeds and scallions. Once baked, the flowers are glazed with sugar syrup to give them a nice sheen.
In LA, you can’t walk far without stumbling upon a taco stand that’s offering some of the best tacos you’ve ever had. I was inspired to start my own food cart, Thum and Thum, in the heart of Koreatown. Instead of tacos, though, I sold the kind of street food you’d find in Laos, like spicy, pungent papaya salad bursting with bold flavors. LA’s rich diversity is an exciting playground for culinary innovation, a place where foods from different cultures evolve naturally, and sometimes intermingle. A few years after I started Thum and Thum, this laab taco was born, a product of my love for both Lao food and LA’s taco culture. The crispy rice paper shells are filled with flavorful pork laab and topped with a cooling avocado crema. Each bite perfectly captures my Lao- Cali experience.
Like with Tadashi’s Perfect Steamed Rice on page 60, here we share, basically, Tadashi’s perfect Japanese-style fried rice. You can’t go wrong with this method. This dish, also known as chahan, uses leftover rice and cooks hot—and fast. Watch a few wok-cooking videos on YouTube to get hyped up! Woks are great, but a cast-iron, carbon steel, or quality nonstick skillet works fine too. (We used Harris’s trusty 11-inch cast-iron Lodge skillet to cook this dish.) Okay, so you might be wondering: What’s the difference between Japanese fried rice and its famous Chinese cousin—the global fried-rice standard? The Japanese variety uses less soy sauce, resulting in a lighter color and milder flavor, and relies on Japanese short-grain rice as well as local ingredients like shiitake and kakuni (lots of other ingredients work too; see the list on page 77). But ultimately, this dish is, in fact, an adaptation of Chinese fried rice, which was introduced to Japan in the 1860s by Chinese immigrants and evolved from there. Some practical considerations: If you don’t happen to own a chuan (a special Chinese wok spatula), use a big ol’ cooking spoon to turn the rice; you’ll be stirring throughout the cooking. Make sure to ventilate, because it could get smoky. And remember, hayai—move quickly
I love crisping rice in a skillet: Simply cook it with butter until it turns deeply golden. It’s an easy technique that creates the most incredible crunchy bits to complement the fluffy softness of steamed rice. I’ve experimented with many different crispy rice bowls, but this version with sautéed mushrooms is hands down my favorite.
The mushrooms have a subtle Asian flavor from the soy sauce and are finished with a splash of vinegar for a bright tang. The real magic happens when you break the runny egg yolk and mix it into the rice, adding a lush richness to every bite. It’s the kind of vegetarian dish that even a meat lover will devour.
This is a perfect brunch party dish when served with shrimp and a poached or fried egg on each plate. Leftover grits can be used to make griddled grit cakes or saved and warmed for later.
When he’s in charge of pizza night, Saba follows a ritual: He starts the day before, making the dough from scratch, using no other flour but Tipo 00 (which is known for creating dough with a light, chewy texture). He budgets at least 12 hours for the dough to rise, and when he (and the dough!) is ready, he rolls and assembles one pizza at a time, pulling from several bowls of neatly prepared toppings, like a real pizzaiolo. Finally, he heats up his Ooni pizza oven to bake the pies. It’s a whole thing, and he is very proud of it. Needless to say, pizza night my husband’s way is not something that happens frequently. And yes, it’s special for that reason alone.
But this recipe is not that! And you might not approve of calling it “pizza,” but let’s just go with it. This is pizza night my way—lazy but delicious. It takes less than 15 minutes to assemble and does not require time for the dough to rise, nor a special oven. Made in a sheet pan, from phyllo dough and without sauce, it’s definitely not traditional. Yet the phyllo makes a light and flaky base for a simple assortment of veggies and cheeses.
Brother Pedro Alvarez, a monk in his mid-twenties from Mexico, introduced his favorite dish to the monks at Saint John’s. Brother Pedro lived in a Russian Orthodox monastery in Mexico City before relocating to central Minnesota. But this isn’t a recipe he learned at the monastery; he learned it from his grandmother.
As is the case with recipes that travel, this tinga reflects not only its Mexican origins but also its current home in Minnesota. Tinga is typically slow-cooked, shredded meat—anything from beef to pork to chicken—layered with the flavors of chiles, onions, garlic, and tomatoes. Brother Pedro replaced the chicken with wild turkey from central Minnesota. None of the monks hunt, but they do welcome the bounty donated to them from hunters in the area. The honey is the monastery’s own and gives the dish a sweetness that provides the perfect counterpoint to the chiles. Tinga is comforting in the winter and fun for a summertime barbecue, too. Brother Pedro’s advice is to “take it slowly, let the house fill with the smoky aroma. It will bring everyone to the table.”