Leafy Greens

For you non–spinach eaters out there (including me): Don’t be turned off by the spinach in this recipe! I always made this with just the cheese filling, but one time, when I had my back turned, my sister added spinach to the filling. She insisted that it would look better and I wouldn’t even taste it. Although I hate to admit it, she was right. Besides that, it’s worth it just for the shock value of when you ask your mom to buy spinach.

When I was little, I hated spinach . . . then I actually tried it. Now I love spinach any way at all, but especially in this salad with the honey-mustard dressing. One tip though, buy the triple-washed baby spinach because it’s much more tender, and you don’t have to hassle with washing it and removing the tough stems.

I love Caesar salad but, of course, my sister has to ruin it by adding chicken to cover up the taste of the lettuce. I mean really, how can you not like lettuce? This dressing is also really good on pasta salad, and at least Jill doesn’t feel the need to add meat to that.

Okay, the truth is, I’m not a big fan of lettuce, but I love steak. So this recipe was my mom’s way of getting me to eat salad. She figured if she put enough stuff on it that I liked, I wouldn’t notice the lettuce. Well, I’m not that stupid—I noticed the lettuce. But, her strategy worked, and I will admit (grudgingly) that this salad is good.

Taco Salad is awesome because it is literally a whole meal in one salad—and a vegetarian meal at that. If you want to add meat to the salad, you can cook and drain 1 pound of ground beef, stir in 1 tablespoon of chile powder, and spoon it onto the salad before you add the cheese. Tortilla shell bowls can be difficult to find, but you can just line a bowl with tortilla chips and get the same effect.

This is the way the rest of my family makes of wonton soup. When I make this for myself, I use vegetable broth and sauté a cup of cabbage to use instead of the pork. I also like to whisk in a beaten egg before the wontons go in for my own version of egg drop–wonton soup.

Thai food is full of bold juxtapositions of flavor and texture. For these crystalline dumplings, the chewy skin is made from tapioca pearls (saku in Thai). The filling of pork, peanuts, shallot, palm sugar, and fish sauce is crumbly, sweet, salty, and savory. To eat, the dumplings are wrapped in lettuce leaves with fresh herbs and hot chiles. Saku sai mu is a popular street food in Thailand; here in the States, I have purchased them at Thai markets and snack shops. Making the dumplings at home ensures freshness and availability, and the ingredients can be found at most supermarkets. Hard-core cooks may handmince pork shoulder or chicken thigh and seek out cilantro root and palm sugar from Southeast Asian markets, but ground meat (avoid superlean pork or chicken), cilantro stems, and brown sugar are terrific stand-ins.

When you buy stuffed buns in Asia, there is usually a vegetarian option that features vegetables and pressed tofu. The fragrant, tasty filling is delightful and satisfying enough to please meat lovers. While you can feature just one vegetable, such as a leafy green, I like to create a varied filling that’s full of surprising textures and flavors. It’s important to cut the vegetables and pressed tofu into small, thin pieces so that the cooked filling is easy to measure and wrap up in the dough.

The Chinese repertoire has many kinds of rolls—savory, sweet, thin, fat, fried, and unfried—and they’re all hard to pass up. The Cantonese fried version is bigger than its Shanghai kin, and it is encased in a large version of a wonton skin. Cantonese spring rolls, also known as egg rolls, have gotten a bad rap in America because they’re often greasy, overly doughy, and bland. However, when made from thin skins and a savory-sweet mixture of fresh vegetables and meat, Cantonese spring rolls reveal their worth as a splendid snack. Resembling gold bars and symbolizing wealth, prosperity, and good fortune, spring rolls are savored during the Lunar New Year, which is called the Spring Festival in Chinese. Cantonese spring rolls often combine pork and shrimp, but I prefer to keep the focus on tasty roast pork, which is best when homemade. Finely chopping and shredding the ingredients is time consuming, but you want the filling to be compact so that it fills out the long shape of the roll. Lighten your workload by making the filling and skins in advance.

Most people think of wontons as being fried and in soup broth, but they may also be served like Italian ravioli in a light coating of splendid sauce. Here, the sauce is nutty, spicy chile oil punctuated with fresh garlic and soy sauce. Feel free to dial the heat up or down by varying the amount of chile oil. The full amount is definitely not for the faint of heart. If you have semi refined, cold-pressed peanut oil on hand (the kind employed for making the chile oil on page 216), use it instead of the canola oil for an extra roasty dimension. These wontons make a terrific snack or an elegant, eye-opening starter. If you can, substitute the greens below with 1/4 cup thawed and well-squeezed shepherd’s purse, a mild vegetable that’s sold frozen at Chinese-American markets.

Tarkari momo are strikingly similar in concept to Italian ravioli with a ricotta-based filling, but the seasonings in these Nepalese dumplings reveal their Asian roots. Cumin, ginger, and Sichuan peppercorn commingle with chenna, or crumbly curds of Indian cheese (a precursor to paneer). Those ingredients combine with fresh chile, vegetables, and butter to make a wonderful vegetarian dumpling. The eye-poppingly spicy tomato sauce is a fabulous pairing with the delicate, rich filling. The cheese is very easy to prepare, but you can substitute 1/3 pound paneer, crumbling or mincing it before using. For a pretty presentation, consider tinting the wrappers orange or gold by using some carrot juice or turmeric (see page 23).

“If I can’t have sushi, I must have gyōza,” says my friend Makiko Tsuzuki, a self-described gyōza otaku (dumpling fanatic). The Japanese love pot stickers, ordering them at ramen noodle shops, patronizing gyōza restaurants, and visiting the Gyōza Stadium food theme park in Tokyo. They consider the dumplings essential to their cuisine, despite the fact that gyōza were popularized only after World War II, when Japanese soldiers returning from China brought back their taste and knack for making Chinese dumplings. Gyōza is the Japanese pronunciation of jiaozi. Like their Chinese parent, gyōza can be boiled, steamed, fried, or served in soup (see Variation). Pan frying is the most popular cooking method, which is why gyōza are commonly known as pot stickers. The filling strays from Chinese tradition by including a kick of garlic, a touch of sugar, a dose of black pepper, and a smidgen of sake. Sesame oil has a lesser role in the filling but a bigger role in pan frying the dumplings. Sesame oil has the same smoking point as butter and thus cooking with it is fine.Gyōza may be dipped in vinegary soy dipping sauce or biting hot mustard.

Whereas boiled dumplings have crinkly skins that are tender from having been immersed in hot water, and panfried dumplings have skins that are a combination of crisp bottom and chewy top, steamed dumplings are texturally in between—the skins are slightly chewy and soft. Gentle steam heat also protects the filling flavor and you taste it more, a bonus for delicate combination such as this one. Unlike many other Chinese dumpling fillings, this vegetarian filling is cooked first to allow the cornstarch to work its cohesive magic, binding the vegetables and pressed tofu together so that they are easier to control when you are assembling the dumplings. I like to use some of the liquid from soaking the mushrooms to season the filling with an earthy savor; if you do too, remember to strain the heady liquid through cheesecloth or paper towel to remove any bits of grit. For details on brown, meatlike pressed tofu, see page 17.

Bursting with flavor, these northern Chinese dumplings are a specialty of Beijing. Dating as far back as the late Han Dynasty (25 to 220 c.e.), plump boiled morsels such as these are members of the jiaozi family of dumplings, which include pan fried guōtiē (page 33) and steamed zhēngjiao (page 35). Jiaozi are not just for a modest snack or meal, they are a must-have for northern Chinese Lunar New Year celebrations. Their shape resembles gold ingots, harbingers of good fortune. Easy to make for a crowd, shuıjiao (which means “water dumpling”) are especially good hot from the pot and tumbled in a soy-vinegar dipping sauce piked with chile oil. Pork and napa cabbage comprise the classic jiaozi filling, but you can use one of the lamb, beef, vegetable, or fish fillings on the following pages. Or substitute chopped shrimp or reconstituted dried shiitake mushrooms for half of the pork.

Here is another simple, delicious bean dish typical of what you might find in any Greek café. Be careful not to overcook the limas (unless you like them mushy), because they easily lose their shape with long cooking. The beauty of limas is that they have a very distinctive flavor and texture, both of which I adore. Serve the beans with a loaf of crusty country bread.

Most split pea soup recipes are ridiculously predictable. Some onion, a bit of carrot, maybe some cut-up spuds. A ham hock. Inevitably, split peas are the main attraction, usually cooked to a mushy consistency. But I was looking for texture and additional flavor, so I added some dried chanterelle mushrooms; half an onion, thinly sliced well browned; some chopped tomatoes; fresh celery leaves; carrots; and spinach. I considered adding liquid smoke because the ham hock was out. But as luck would have it, one of my wooden spoons caught on fire, so I let it burn, then put out the fire and stuck the charred spoon in the soup. If a winemaker can use charred oak to enhance flavors of her wine, then why can’t I use charred wood for that desired essence of smoke in my soup? (P.S. DO NOT try this at home! Using a smoked salt should achieve similar effects without the fire!)

Even my meat-eating friends, quietly polite when invited to a dinner featuring tofu, rave about this one. It is easy and delicious and contains flavors traditionally considered typical of both Japanese- and Korean-style cooking. Serve over brown rice.

My dear friend Martha Deaton was raised in Malaysia, where she and her sisters learned to cook traditional Malaysian dishes from their mother. Martha’s sister, Margaret Hughes, has built a thriving London catering business based on the dishes of her homeland. The following is one of her most popular recipes. Although this dish, like so many Asian dishes, is traditionally prepared on top of the stove, I think it works well in the slow cooker. See what you think. Serve it hot, on a bed of steamed rice.

Practically every country in the world has a recipe for stuffing peppers: Spain, Greece, Italy, Hungary, and Mexico, to name a few. India is no exception. The following recipe offers a variety of colors, textures, and flavors, with the stuffing being relatively mild and the raita-like sauce offering much of the dish’s flavor and texture. For a really stunning presentation, garnish with a sprinkling of fresh pomegranate seeds, Mogul style.

While I was playing around with salad ideas in my head, my good buddy Elliot happened to email me asking if I’d make him a grilled-vegetable salad with a Sriracha vinaigrette. He’d been gallivanting about our local farmers’ market and forwarded to me a list of produce that had looked appealing that day. We gave it a go not long after, and I hope you do, too.