5 Ingredients or Fewer

I am such a soy sauce fanatic I essentially “invented” this dish before ever having been served it; imagine my surprise to find it is legitimate, basically an egg over easy with an instantly made soy-based sauce. The Chinese name for this popular late-night snack describes the runny center encased by the crisp-fried edges.

Best made with the hearts of fresh artichokes, but that is an expensive, time-consuming, and labor-intensive route. I won’t say frozen artichoke hearts are just as good, but they are worth using, and that’s what most people do—increasingly, even in Italy. The tenderness and subtle flavor of the vegetable still comes through. I like to fry these in olive oil, but it’s not essential.

A classic tapa that’s challenging only to the extent that it’s hard to find good chorizo; it should not be too well dried but rather fresh and soft. Plenty is being made in the States now, especially in Florida, California, and New York—the major centers of Latin cuisine. Since chorizo is so intensely flavored already, it takes few ingredients to make this dish, but it’s still pretty powerful. In northwestern Spain they make this with the local sidra Asturiana, or hard cider; to try it that way, omit the garlic and parsley and substitute hard cider (English, French, or American hard cider is fine) for the red wine.

Gougères are perfect dinner party fare; they’re elegant, delicious, and filling, all of which buys you a few extra minutes when you’re getting the main course ready. Gougères are fried as commonly as they’re baked, but baked gougères hold numerous advantages for the home cook: they’re less messy, they can be baked in advance (even a day ahead: let them cool to room temperature, store in an airtight container overnight, then reheat in a 200°F oven), and they can be served at room temperature. I like them best made with well-aged Gruyère, but any of the cheeses suggested below will work well.

These are very similar to crêpes—the staple of Brittany (page 86)—but thinner and more delicate (and the filling, which follows, is like nothing you’ll find in the French tradition). Though they’re often called “Philippine Egg Rolls,” lumpia—again, like most crêpes—require no cooking once they’re filled.

An all-purpose wrapper, useful for many of the recipes on the following pages: dumplings, pot stickers, wontons, and so on. Of course you can buy these, ready made, at any supermarket, but they are fun and pretty easy to make—a good afternoon project and one kids will like. Note that the wrappers are made in stages, with a resting period in between; this period can be extended up to a day if you wrap the dough ball in plastic and refrigerate—just be sure to let it come to room temperature once again before proceeding.

Pelmeni were traditionally frozen before cooking (they’re from Siberia; one would just make a few hundred, throw them in a bag, and put the bag in a barn or outdoors), and some people insist that they’re best when frozen first, though I cannot imagine why that would be. But all dumplings can be frozen successfully after filling and can even be cooked directly from the freezer. Just make sure they’re floured enough to prevent sticking during freezing, or the dough might tear. You may not use all of this filling, but it’s best not to run short. As with pot stickers (Wor Teep, page 63), be sure not to overfill the dumplings or the seams will burst. Any combination of meats will do well as a filling here. If you grind your own, it will be even better; the meat should be ground quite finely. Though the butter suffices as a sauce, you can serve these with sour cream as well if you like.

These are usually quite sweet but served as a main course nevertheless, because they’re incredibly filling. Most frequently boiled and served with melted butter, like the meat-filled dumplings in the preceding recipe, but I grew up eating them fried in butter, and they are superior that way. (Ideally, they’re served with sour cream as well.) These, served with some of the other vareniki or pierogi on these pages, are just great.

Whether the noodle and wrappers made from its dough moved west from China or east from Italy is anyone’s guess, but it wound up everywhere. There is barely a square mile of turf between Mongolia and Hungary that doesn’t boast some kind of dumpling, and the variety is staggering. (And, if you consider the ravioli and empanada dumplings, they are universal.) But though shape and filling vary wildly, the doughs are pretty much the same throughout the world: they’re made either with egg or without. These are mostly made with, making the dough essentially the same as that used for fresh pasta.

Salt cod is an ancient food, the result of a need to preserve plentiful catch while still at sea. It has been used in many different ways, but one of the greatest is brandade de morue, a Provençal classic that is rich, filling, and truly special. Though salt cod isn’t available everywhere, it can be found in many supermarkets, without much trouble, and making brandade is easier than ever thanks to the food processor (use a mortar and pestle if you insist on tradition). Brandade can be served with crusty bread, spread on Crostini (page 41), or stuffed into roasted tomatoes or peppers, especially piquillo peppers (page 492 or 47).

A classic Niçoise appetizer that is like fondue—a “warm bath”—of anchovies, garlic, and olive oil (you can use butter in place of some of the olive oil if you’re feeling indulgent), served with fresh raw vegetables. It’s an unusual dish by today’s standards but remains a wonderful combination. A fondue pot is the ideal serving vessel, because it’s important to keep the sauce hot at the table; an earthenware dish that retains heat well will work if you preheat it and serve the Bagna Cauda immediately.

Like the nut and bean preparations on pages 27–28, these savory crisp snacks from Southeast Asia (closely related to the similar recipe from Korea that follows) can be eaten out of hand. Also like them, they’re great with beer. Though unfamiliar to some people, they’re instantly liked by most. (You can buy dried baby anchovies—described on page 25—at most Asian, and some Latin, markets.) In Thailand, they’re sometimes tossed with Fried Peanuts (page 27), a lovely little combo.

A street snack of Central America and the Caribbean, empanadas can really be filled with anything you have on hand. This recipe and its variations offer several of the traditional fillings. Masa harina can be found at most supermarkets and Latin grocery stores. It adds a nice crunch to the dough, but regular flour works well, too.

A tapa based on piquillo peppers (see page 47), which are sold in jars and cans at specialty food stores and many supermarkets and are naturals for stuffing.

Peppers and anchovies are a delicious standby appetizer, and when you use piquillos (page 47) and good anchovies (page 25)—packed in olive oil—they become even better. If you think using the garlic this way may be too strong for your tastes, simply cut a clove in half and rub the bread with it, then discard—or omit the garlic altogether.

You can use leftover pork (or any meat, really), for these canapés, because its flavor is not the most important thing here. What is important are the piquillos and the manchego. Without these the dish has no authenticity. That said, this is a great basic recipe combining meat, cheese, and pepper, and you can substitute for any of them—I especially like this with a bit of chorizo and a strong blue cheese. If you start with raw pork tenderloin, cut it into 4 slices and brown it in a little olive oil in a nonstick skillet over medium-high heat for about 3 minutes per side.

The most exciting pissaladière I ever had was served it the open-air market in the heart of old Nice. It was baked in a wood-burning oven a few blocks away, sent to the market by bicycle, and eaten standing up or at picnic tables shaded by huge awnings. The wedges were gently sweet and intensely salty; the crust, just a half inch thick, was perfumed with the local olive oil and was perfectly browned and crisp. It was so simple—mostly just sweet onions on a wonderful crust. You can make a wonderful pissaladière at home: just be sure to cook the onions very, very slowly.

Farinata, which is nearly identical to the socca of Provence, is a cross between firm polenta and a primitive pizza. To me it’s the perfect no-work Mediterranean appetizer, a great thing to have in your repertoire if you want to make sure there’s something warm for guests to eat when they arrive—or if you just want to round out a pasta dinner for the family on a weeknight. Keep the pepper mill nearby when you serve the farinata; it’s best with an almost perverse amount of freshly ground black pepper. You can buy chickpea flour at health food stores, Italian markets, Middle Eastern stores, and specialty food shops.

Crostini is toast—no big deal. Yet it serves as a perfect base for dips and spreads, from Tapenade (page 604) to Fresh Tomato Salad (page 172). Good, too, with ricotta or goat cheese blended with chopped parsley or basil; tomato, country ham (like prosciutto), and olive oil; Brandade de Morue (page 56); or Canapés with Piquillo Peppers and Anchovies (page 48). Parsley or basil is always welcome as a garnish. If you’re making just a few crostini, you can use a toaster oven, but for large quantities a grill or oven works best. The toasted bread itself will keep for an hour or so; don’t top it until you’re ready or nearly ready to eat.

This is a popular item throughout Eastern Europe and is often formed into fanciful shapes (as is its close cousin, chopped chicken liver, at many American bar and bat mitzvahs). It tastes just as good served from a bowl and spread on crackers or toast.