Cabbage

I’ve always loved pot stickers, but I was skeptical when we decided to try a vegetarian version. We got it right on the first try, and that doesn’t happen often. Your meat-eating friends won’t even care that these are vegetarian, because they’re pretty darn good dumplings, if I do say so myself.

This recipe was inspired by an amazing salad I had at an organic restaurant near my house. I love all of the fun stuff in it. The sweetness of the pineapple and the crunch of the chow mein noodles and almonds are a fabulous combination. And the dressing is light, so it doesn’t weigh down the salad. It’s a perfect hot weather dish. You can get dried pineapple in the bulk food section of a supermarket, or you can usually find them by the other dried fruits.

Rice is king in the Vietnamese kitchen, but wheat also plays a role in foods such as these steamed buns. A classic Viet riff on Chinese bao, the buns encase a hearty vegetable-and-meat mixture, with a creamy wedge of hard-boiled egg in the center. Traditional bao are made from a yeast-leavened dough, but many Vietnamese Americans leaven the dough with baking powder. This New World innovation is faster and the dough is easier to manipulate. The buns are also more stable in the steamer than the yeasted version, which can sometimes deflate during cooking. Viet delis sell soft ball-sized bánh bao, but I prefer more manageable baseball-sized ones. I use bleached all-purpose flour, which yields slightly lighter-colored buns than unbleached flour. Like all bao, these buns are great for breakfast, lunch, or a snack. They will keep in the refrigerator (stored in an airtight container) for a few days and are easily reheated, making them a great homemade fast food. For additional flavor, serve them with a simple dipping sauce of soy sauce and freshly cracked black pepper.

One way to imbue canh with flavor is to include lots of vegetables. This recipe, along with Opo Squash Soup (page 60) and Chicken Dumpling and Chrysanthemum Leaf Soup (page 61), amply illustrates this technique. Here, the broth is further enriched with the addition of dried shrimp, which contribute both brininess and color. When I want a more special presentation, I cut the shrimp in half horizontally to yield two symmetrical halves. Once in the hot soup, the halves curl into beautiful spirals. This light soup is a great addition to nearly any Viet meal.

Unlike the other salads in this chapter, this one uses vinegar in the dressing, rather than lime juice, for its tart edge. Raw cabbage and vinegar are great partners here, just as they are in any coleslaw. Using a mortar to make the dressing is important, as it allows the garlic and chile to bloom. First, pound the garlic and chile. When they have broken up, switch to a circular motion, using the pestle to mash the mixture against the curved walls of the mortar, an action Vietnamese cooks refer to as smearing (quet) food. A richly hued orange-red paste emerges that has a perfume and flavor that cannot be achieved with a machine or hand chopping.

Because cool-season crops such as cabbage and cauliflower are difficult to grow in Vietnam, they enjoy a special status. In fact, my dad remembers how his mother carefully tended the cabbage heads in the family garden, covering each one with a cooking pot to encourage the leaves to curl. When we came to the States and found cabbage so readily available, my mother began fixing this easy stir-fry regularly for our weeknight suppers. I have since followed suit, and also sometimes serve it as a simple lunch with rice. The naturally sweet and spicy cabbage ribbons are enriched by a coating of egg, while a final splash of fish sauce adds a nutty, briny flavor.

This is a fantastic fall dish. The great thing about venison is that it has very little fat and is quite good for you. Red cabbage is a classic accompaniment to venison, especially in the Germany-influenced cuisine of France’s Alsace region. Baking the cabbage into a savory bread pudding Americanizes the traditional combination. The purple ribbons look beautiful running through the golden currant-studded, clove- and ginger-scented pudding. Baking the cabbage also mellows its somewhat astringent quality, making it accessible to those who may be less fond of its assertive flavor. Concord grapes are in season for a very short period of time, and their delicious, juicy, sweet-tart flavor is a highlight of the season. This sauce calls for Concord grape juice, which is always available, even when the grapes themselves are not.

The dominant component of any good crab cake should always be crab—not breading. An extra finely milled flour such as Wondra is the perfect binder; it helps hold the cake together without adding its own texture or flavor to the mix—this is all gorgeous crab. The spicy-sweet tang of roasted piquillo peppers gives these crab cakes a kick of rich flavor. This gorgeous purple slaw, with ribbons of bright green basil running throughout, is slightly sweet and totally fresh. More than a garnish, it delivers crunch and taste that complete the dish.

Fish tacos originated in Mexico’s Baja California and spread up the coast to southern California. Versions featuring deep-fried fish are the most common, but I prefer to grill light, flaky red snapper for these tacos. The grill gives the fish a touch of smoky, charred flavor, which balances the fresh garnishes of tart tomatillo-avocado relish and crunchy red cabbage slaw. Cabbage is a traditional garnish for fish tacos and keeps its crunch factor long past the point when lettuce would have wilted. I make my slaw from a mix of delicate, pale green napa and deep purple red cabbages. Sweet basil may seem an unexpected choice, but its flavor complements the citrus juice in the slaw’s vinaigrette and offsets the assertive cilantro in the charred tomato salsa.

A trip to New York City wouldn’t be complete without stopping in a Jewish-style deli, and you can’t go to a New York deli without trying a Reuben sandwich piled sky-high with corned beef brisket, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and Russian or Thousand Island dressing. This is my southern take on that great sandwich. Lean bison is naturally lower in fat than beef, but its flavor is quite similar and you should feel free to use beef brisket if you can’t find or don’t care for bison. I often dress red cabbage as coleslaw for sandwiches, but cooking it first mellows its bitter note. Hundred Island Dressing is revamped from the original with a substitution of pickled okra for pickle relish. Okra reinforces the southern touch that’s also present in the barbecue sauce.

This is an obvious play on the southern pulled pork sandwich, which is typically made with braised pork shoulder. Duck legs are an interesting upgrade. While duck breasts are best cooked quickly and served rare, the legs need to be slow-cooked to make them tender. I believe in employing strong flavors such as fresh ginger, star anise, fennel, and cinnamon to cut through the richness of duck. The pickles and coleslaw are optional, but I can’t imagine having a pulled pork—or, in this case, pulled duck—sandwich without them. That crunchy, vinegary bit of freshness truly rounds out the sandwich.

My spicy, tangy catfish tacos are a great way to feed a hungry beach crowd without the hassle of frying or grilling. Load up a rimmed baking sheet with fish fillets, pour on the marinade, refrigerate overnight, and just before serving, bake for less than 30 minutes. Heat flour or corn tortillas in a tortilla warmer along with the fish, and set it all out on the table with a bowl of chipotle mayo and a platter of thin-sliced cabbage. Now everybody chow down! The fish is just the way I like it—juicy and flavorful thanks to long marination (at least 6 hours) and oven baking. I’ve allowed two tacos per person to ensure you’ll have enough even for man-size, sun-fueled appetites. (What is it about playing on the beach that makes men so hungry?) If you have a smaller crowd or guests with smaller stomachs, halve the recipe.

I’m as intimidated about making fish tacos for California friends as they would be to make chili for me. But I’ve learned the rules: No baking the fish, no guacamole (makes the fish soggy), no flour tortillas (although there’s some dispute on that point)? And you should hear the unprintable things they say about versions that include mayonnaise! It just so happens that I agree on all those points, except for one, which my Cali-friends will discover when they read this: I have actually made pretty darn crisp catfish in the oven. When it’s just you alone in the kitchen, and you don’t feel like frying, I won’t judge.

Like many food-oriented folk, I have a serious kimchi obsession going. But I didn’t want just any old kimchi recipe in this book. And I knew just where to turn in search of a recipe that has a little something extra: my friend Deb Samuels, cooking teacher and coauthor with Taekyung Chung of The Korean Table: From Barbecue to Bibimbap. Deb keeps up on all things Korean, and she told me that not only is it becoming more fashionable to salt kimchi less than traditional recipes call for, but also that the water-soaking process probably can be skipped entirely. She also said one of her favorites is a white kimchi with a main ingredient of Asian pear, which happened to already feature strongly in my Korean Short Rib Tacos (page 92). Why not try a kimchi with cabbage and pear together? Of course, she was right on the money. Look for Korean chili powder, which has a distinctive heat but a mellow, sweet undertone, in Asian supermarkets; for kimchi, there really is no substitute. Once you have your ingredients, this kimchi could hardly be simpler to make, and the slight sweetness and crunch it gets from the pear make it positively haunting. Besides using it on the tacos, use it on Kimchi, Ham, and Fried Egg Pizza (page 107) and Fried Rice with Cauliflower and Kimchi (page 136).

Instructed by my mother to feed the cats, I would push the door open, inch by inch, watching the sliver of light from the kitchen stab into the darkness, waiting for it to widen gradually into a triangle across the floor, bright enough to reassure me that nothing was going to attack my hand as it darted through the gap to flip on the light switch inside the garage. For a month every year, our garage changed from a dark and hazardous clutter of bikes, chainsaws, and gardening equipment to a truly terrifying place. Even in daylight I avoided the place, but when obliged to enter—such as when forced to feed the cats (whom I’d gladly have let starve), or if I really needed a bike or a skateboard—I kept a keen eye on the cinder block and plank shelves at the back, where malevolent orange enamel pots burped with sinister unpredictability. Days went by. Cobwebs formed (the better to ensnare the cats). Whenever I might show the slightest hint of getting on familiar terms with this horror—of letting down my guard—the pots would burp again, the lids would clatter, the cats would scatter, trailing cobwebs into the attic, and I would fly to my mother’s legs and cling to them so tightly that she’d shriek in alarm. My reward for surviving? A measured respect for the mysteries of fermentation and a tangy mound of steaming sauerkraut bedded with boiled Polish and German sausages. It was worth it.

Savannah holds the second largest St. Patrick’s Day celebration in the United States. It is quite a sight to see: Our city turns green and corned beef and cabbage is everyone’s favorite dish for the day.