Poultry

Here is a curry with big flavors, thanks to lots of lemongrass, curry powder, ginger, and chile flakes. The coconut milk unifies all the elements and enriches the dish. For the best Viet flavor, buy Vietnamese-style curry powder (page 327) at an Asian market. Serve the curry in a shallow bowl with a baguette for dipping or spoon it over rice or noodles.

This is a classic northern interpretation of kho, homey simmered dishes that are part of everyday Viet meals. It reflects the simple art of Vietnamese cooking, requiring just a few ingredients yet yielding a savory result. The chicken releases its juices during cooking, which add to the overall flavor of the bittersweet caramel sauce, a Vietnamese staple. The ginger softens, mellows, and blends with the other ingredients as it cooks, but it still delivers a mild sharpness to the finished dish. Traditionally, this kho calls for cutting bone-in, skin-on chicken into chunks. However, for the sake of ease and health, I, like many other Vietnamese Americans, now use boneless, skinless chicken thighs. Serve with lots of rice to sop up the sauce.

My parents had told me so many times about how good chicken was in Vietnam that I couldn’t wait to taste it for myself when I returned with my husband in January 2003. Our first day was in Hanoi, and after checking into the hotel, we set out into the streets looking for lunch. At a small, arty café, we ordered ga nuong, expecting something akin to ga ro-ti (opposite). Instead, the hipster waitress returned with plates of sliced grilled chicken thigh, rice, and the ingredients—salt, white pepper, lime, chile—for mixing up a dipping sauce. We took a few bites and then practically inhaled the rest, not because we were famished but because the dish was so unbelievably good. The toothsome meat and crispy skin were wonderful dipped in the tart-and-hot sauce. Nowadays, whenever I make this dish for an easy dinner, I am reminded of that memorable lunch.

Whenever we have left over garlicky roast chicken, my family prepares this simple sticky rice dish, which we typically eat for breakfast, though it would be fine for lunch, too. If you don’t have time to roast your own chicken, you can use store-bought rotisserie chicken. Try to shred the chicken into bite-sized pieces as thick as a chopstick.

Deeply seasoned and studded with chicken and colorful vegetables, this special-occasion rice is traditionally cooked in a clay pot and presented at the table in the cooking vessel. Many Vietnamese American cooks, my mother included, switched to preparing this dish in large, heavy Western pots, such as Dutch ovens, which conduct heat well and don’t break like clay pots sometimes do. Their easier and more convenient approach doesn’t compromise flavor, and sometimes a wonderful golden crust forms at the bottom. However, if you would like to cook the rice in a clay pot, see the Note following the method. For this recipe, you want to use long-grain rice that will cook up to a chewy firmness. If you happen to have new-crop rice, which tends to cook up more sticky than firm, reduce the quantity of stock slightly, or purchase regular long-grain rice.

Vietnamese cooks roast chickens in three ways: on the stove top in a pan with a little liquid for succulence, over charcoal for charred smokiness, or in the oven for crispy skin. The method mostly depends on the kind of heat source available. For example, ovens were traditionally luxurious home appliances in Vietnam. In 1966, my mom’s oven was a metal box indirectly heated by hot charcoal set underneath and/or on top. When the Americans came, she was able to salvage a modern oven for her Saigon home kitchen. After we arrived in America, Mom delighted in roasting this easy garlicky chicken for our family. With a reliable oven and affordable chicken, we ate ga ro-ti regularly with rice for dinner, sliced up and stuffed into a baguette sandwich (page 34) for lunch or a snack, and arranged atop sticky rice (page 246) for breakfast or lunch. When preparing ga ro-ti (which takes its name from the French term for roasting), use the more succulent parts—drumsticks, thighs, wings—for the best flavor.

An elegant preparation of northern Vietnam, this soup is special-occasion fare. Rather than simmering the rice until it disintegrates into a silky creaminess, the grains are cooked until their ends “bloom” into flowerlike petals, an effect achieved by parboiling the rice and then simmering it for a shorter time than for standard cháo. Tapioca pearls thicken the soup and lend an interesting shimmer, and the halved shrimp turn into pink corkscrews as they cook, adding a final flourish to the presentation.

The Vietnamese repertoire also includes panfried Chinese egg noodles, which are cooked just like rice noodles and crowned with a delicious stir-fry. Full of varied flavors, textures, and color, this stir-fry pairs exceptionally well with the egg noodles. I use fresh noodles about 1/8 inch thick. Their texture is superior to dried noodles, and they offer more body than thin ones.

Viet cooks prepare this chao in several ways, and I prefer the easy northern approach of sauteing seasoned chicken and adding it to the hot soup. Traditionally, a chicken would be boned, its carcass cooked with the rice to make the soup, and the boneless meat sauteed and added later on. This old-fashioned approach saves fuel costs and time, but the residue from the bones ends up suspended in the soup. I prefer to use stock, either homemade or a blend of purchased broth and water. The final sprinkle of chopped Vietnamese coriander (rau ram) and sliced scallion adds contrasting color and flavor.

Opo squash, a popular light green–skinned Asian gourd, shows off its delicate sweetness in this quick soup, which blends the opo with chicken or pork to yield a rich flavor that tastes like the broth simmered for hours. Look for opo squash at Asian or farmers’ markets, selecting specimens that are blemish free and feel heavy for their size. When you gently squeeze the squash, it shouldn’t yield to its spongy core, a sign of overmaturity. If an opo squash is unavailable, zucchini may be substituted. The flavor will be milder but still tasty.

This soup borrows heavily from Vietnam’s northern neighbor. Mì vit tiem is one of my mom’s favorites, and she is partial to a version made by her friend Mrs. Tan, who, along with her husband, once owned a Chinese barbecue restaurant in San Diego. Unlike pho, which most Viet home cooks know how to make, mì vit tiem is usually left to the pros. The trick is cooking the duck legs until tender (but not mushy), mahogany brown, and deeply seasoned. The traditional approach is to marinate them, flash fry them for color, and then simmer them in the broth. Some cooks even refry the legs right before serving. When my mom finally asked Mrs. Tan for her secret, she divulged that she roasted and then steamed the duck legs, instead of frying and simmering them. Her method evenly colors the duck, seals in the seasonings, preserves the integrity of the meat, and easily removes much of the fat. I developed this recipe using Mrs. Tan’s method. Traditionally, the duck leg is served whole on the side for diners to attack with chopsticks and spoons. Since that is hard to do, even for a native chopstick user like me, I slice the meat and serve it in the bowl.

Bún thang is one of the most complex expressions of Vietnamese culinary prowess. Requiring many ingredients and much time, this popular Hanoi soup is traditionally reserved for special events and holidays such as Tet. The golden broth contains chicken, pork, and dried squid or shrimp. The toppings may include those items, too, in addition to egg shreds, gio lua (sausage), and salted duck egg yolk. At the table, shrimp sauce gives the broth extra depth, and if it is affordable, male belostomatid beetle extract (ca cuong) is added from the tip of a toothpick, imparting a mesmerizing fragrance. Aficionados of the soup can be particular. In a 1996 essay, food writer Bang Son asserts that its refinement is not for merely appeasing hunger, insisting that it be served in fine china on a joyous occasion to cherished loved ones. While my mom isn’t that fanatical, she is a stickler for certain traditional notions, such as serving bún thang piping hot. In my kitchen, I omit the beetle juice because the chemical version sold in the United States overwhelms the delicate flavors of the soup. Also, though bún thang is often savored in smallish bowls as part of a multicourse meal, I prefer to serve it in big ones.

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.

While beef pho may be the version that most people know and like, chicken pho is also excellent. In recent years, there has been a renewed interest in pho gà within the Vietnamese American community, and a handful of restaurants are specializing in the delicate noodle soup. Some of them use free-range gà chay or gà đi bo (literally “jogging chicken” or “walking chicken”), yielding bowls full of meat that has a flavor and texture reminiscent of traditionally raised chickens in Vietnam. If you want to create great chicken pho yourself, take a cue from the pros and start with quality birds. If you have never made pho, this recipe is ideal for learning the basics. It calls for fewer ingredients than other pho recipes, so you can focus on charring the onion and ginger to accentuate their sweetness, making a clear broth, and assembling steamy hot, delicious bowls. While some cooks flavor chicken pho broth with the same spices they use for beef pho, my family prefers using coriander seeds and cilantro to distinguish the two.

For Vietnamese living abroad, a trip to Saigon would be incomplete without a visit to Ben Thanh Market, a huge maze of fresh food and sundries. Near the center is a food court where vendors hawk popular Viet treats. As you sample their wares, you are apt to strike up conversations with other gluttonous Viet kieu (Vietnamese expats). On one occasion, a man from Texas visiting his family for Tet told me part of his daily routine while in Vietnam included eating mien gà, which was so deliciously light that it allowed him to order more dishes from other vendors. This noodle soup is easy to prepare. Most versions contain shallot, garlic, and chicken giblets, but our family enjoys a simpler preparation that focuses on just a few ingredients, most of which go into the hot stock moments before serving and are then ladled directly into the waiting bowls, with no fancy assembly required. For a nice lunch, present large servings of this soup with a special-event salad (pages 46 to 55). Or, offer it in smaller portions for an elegant beginning to a celebratory meal. This recipe is easily halved.

This is probably the most commonly served salad in the Vietnamese repertoire. Festive looking and tasty, goi dua chuot often makes an appearance at our family celebrations. In fact, my mother made it for the one hundred guests at my wedding reception. Vietnamese delis pack this popular salad for their customers with the dressing on the side. But those versions are often prepared with cucumbers that have thick, waxed skins. I recommend pickling or English cucumbers, as their skins are thin and not waxed and their flavors are superior. Small, briny bay shrimp are easily distributed throughout the salad, to accent every bite, while the chicken and pork lend richness. For an extra note of authenticity, serve the salad with Fried Shrimp Chips (page 37) or Toasted Sesame Rice Crackers (page 320) for scooping up bitefuls.

This full-flavored stock is the base of many of our soups and sauces at Bar Americain. Make a double batch and freeze it in 1-quart containers so you always have some on hand. In a pinch, low-sodium canned chicken broth will work in soup recipes. However, because chicken broth is not made with chicken bones and therefore doesn’t contain any gelatin, canned broth is not recommended for any of the chicken stock–based sauces in this book.

Native Americans showed the Pilgrims how to cook with maize (corn) and probably taught them to make johnny cake, a dense cornmeal bread whose thick batter is shaped into a flat cake and baked or fried on a griddle. These cakes (basically just fried corn bread) are the perfect vehicle for many toppings. One of my favorites is barbecued duck and cranberry butter. Feel free to make your own cranberry relish, use what’s left over from your holiday meal, or purchase a good-quality prepared one.

Dirty rice is a traditional Cajun dish of white rice cooked with chopped chicken livers. The liver darkens, or “dirties,” the rice and infuses it with its mild yet distinctive taste. My version is classically flavored but prepared in a not-so-traditional manner: I use Arborio rice, cook it as I would a risotto, and fold in cooked wild rice as one of the last steps so that its nutty flavor and chewy crunch run throughout the dish. I think of this as a Louisiana-style dish, and the southern flavors of deep bourbon and sweet, crunchy pecans are fitting accomplices to the rich duck and aromatic rice.

This dish is brought to you straight from Harlem. Fried chicken and waffles was invented by the singers and musicians who performed in Harlem’s storied jazz age. Those gigs would last until the early hours of the morning, when the musicians spilled out into the neighborhood’s restaurants. Hungry after a long night and still in their evening clothes and mind-sets, they found fried chicken fit the bill. At the same time, the sun would be rising, and a breakfast of waffles sounded pretty good, too. And so waffles became a bed for fried chicken, and a soul-food classic was born. I put my own riff on the dish by adding nutty wild rice to the waffles and serving the whole thing up with a sauce of honey and sweet, mildly peppery pink peppercorns.