Weeknight Meals

Long before I knew about Chinese American egg foo yong, I was dipping these tasty pancakes in fish sauce and soy sauce and enjoying them with hot rice. When my mother was short of time, she would prepare a couple of plates full of these yellow, pink, and green pancakes for dinner. They are incredibly easy to whip up and yet taste fancy. The edges get fluffy and crispy from frying in a liberal amount of oil, and each rich bite contains a bit of tasty shrimp. I don’t devein the shrimp for these pancakes because I have found that it leaves unattractive lumps. But if you prefer to devein them, do so.

Although they are nothing more than egg and the classic Vietnamese combination of pork, onion, and mushrooms, these omelets are rich, savory, chewy, and a bit crispy at the edge, and they taste remarkably good. Enjoy them hot from the pan, at room temperature, or even cold. The wedges are usually served with rice, though I have also stuffed them into baguette sandwiches (page 34).

This is my riff on the classic Vietnamese pairing of chicken and fresh straw mushrooms. Because only canned straw mushrooms are available here, I have used fresh oyster mushrooms, a good stand-in with a subtlety that complements the snow peas. If oyster mushrooms aren’t available, use fresh shiitakes, removing their stems and slicing the caps into 1/4-inch-thick pieces. For a light meal, serve this quick stir-fry with Napa Cabbage and Shrimp Soup (page 58), a simple stir-fried vegetable like thinly sliced summer squash, and, of course, rice.

The ingredients of this intensely flavored chicken dish resemble those of a curry, but here they are stir-fried, rather than simmered together in a sauce, to retain their individuality. You’ll taste the sweetness of coconut milk and shallots, the heat of chiles (fresh and dried in the curry powder), and the citrus of lemongrass, plus the bell pepper adds color and softness. My mom makes a similar dish using whole skinless drumsticks. She cooks them first on the stove top with very little water so the meat absorbs all the flavors. Then she finishes the drumsticks in the oven, so the outside is dry while the inside stays moist. Her dish, which she regularly prepared for our family when I was growing up, inspired this quicker approach.

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.

Anyone who has tried to cook Chinese fried rice knows how challenging it can be to do it well. While the Vietnamese repertoire has a number of fried rice dishes, it also includes an easier alternative called com tron, freshly cooked rice tossed with a handful of ingredients. In this recipe, you can use whatever meats or seafood you have on hand, such as Char Siu Pork (page 142), any Vietnamese sausage (see chapter 6), roast chicken, grilled pork, or shrimp, along with bell pepper, egg strips, and scallion to create a beautiful mixture of colors, shapes, and textures.

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.

When it is dungeness crab season (November through May on the West Coast), one of my favorite ways to capture the essence of Cancer magister is to make these golden noodles. Cellophane noodles absorb whatever flavors they are combined with, in this case the sweet brininess of crabmeat and tomalley. This dish is best when it is made with a live crab that you cook yourself. If you are too squeamish to cook crab at home, buy a precooked crab the day it is cooked. But don’t have the crab cracked, as you want all the delicious juices to stay inside. See page 322 for directions on cooking and cleaning the crab and picking the crabmeat.

One summer when I was child, a family friend regularly gave us grocery bags full of Chinese chives (he) from her garden. The grassy foot-long chives are easy to grow from seed, and this woman must have had a bumper crop that year. We put the bounty to good use in this delicious noodle dish. No matter how many times it appeared on the dinner table, I never tired of the soft chives, hints of garlic, bits of shrimp and pork, and tart lime finish. Chinese chives are significantly larger than Western chives, and their flat leaves have a delicate garlic, rather than onion, flavor. In Chinese and Southeast Asian markets, they are typically sold in one-pound bundles. Vietnamese cooks treat them like a green vegetable, often cooking them with noodles. Here, their flat shape mixes perfectly with bánh pho. For a light meal, serve the noodles as the main course, pairing it with one of the special-event salads in chapter 1.

When my family lived in Vietnam, these noodles were considered special because Western noodles (called nui, the Viet phonetic equivalent of the French nouilles) and butter were expensive imports. Once we arrived in the United States, we indulged in them to the point that they were no longer dear. In fact, I forgot about them for years, only to rediscover their garlicky, buttery, nutty goodness at a Vietnamese French restaurant in Westminster, California. Nowadays, I prepare these noodles not just because they are a comfort food from my youth, but also because they are good. The unusually savory quality of the dish is due to Maggi Seasoning, a soy sauce–like condiment and Vietnamese staple that was most likely introduced to Vietnam by the French. It is fine to use dried pasta for this recipe, though fresh fettuccine or even flat Chinese egg noodles yield a superior dish.

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.

Here is a soup that my father taught me. In a ceviche-like approach, raw fish is marinated with onion, ginger, and cilantro. The semicooked mixture is then placed in the bottom of soup bowls, and the final cooking is done by the hot rice soup. When brought to the table, the seemingly plain white soup conceals a pleasant surprise of fish. Pair it with one of the salads in Chapter 1 for a Vietnamese soup-and-salad meal.

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.

This rice soup is the closing dish for the popular Vietnamese seven-course beef feast, where its primary role is to settle the stomach after six indulgent courses. At that point, I find it hard to enjoy the soup because I’m usually stuffed. But I regularly make this soup for lunch. It is a good way to get sustenance without feeling weighed down.

Rich with contrasts, this soup is easy to like. The tamarind and pineapple provide a sweet-and-sour edge, while the okra, tomato, and bean sprouts offer spongy, soft, and crunchy textures. The catfish and cumin ground the dish with their pungent, earthy qualities. If rice paddy herb (rau om) is available, use it for a citrusy accent. Sour fish soups are eaten throughout Southeast Asia. The Viet version often includes sliced taro stems (bac ha), a flavorless ingredient known for its ability to absorb other flavors. I generally omit the stems because they don’t contribute much to the soup, and instead increase the amount of okra, which is added at the end. If you can’t find fresh okra, use frozen whole okra, thawing it and slicing it before you add it to the pan. When fresh or frozen pineapple isn’t around, don’t resort to canned. It is not the same. The soup will be a bit tangier but equally sensational without the pineapple.

The ingredients for this recipe resemble those for rice noodle bowl with beef (page 224). But instead of having big assembled bowls, diners compose their own small bowls, soaking the tender, sweet, salty pork in sauce, tearing up lettuce and herbs, adding some noodles, and then nibbling on their creations. Traditionally, a meal of bún cha is unhurried and encourages long conversation. A famous Hanoi rendition of this northern Viet specialty combines sliced pork belly and pork patties made from chopped shoulder, but I prefer a less complicated and healthier version that uses marinated pork slices. A grill best mimics the traditional brazier used in Vietnam, but the pork slices can also be roasted in the top third of a 475°F oven until nicely browned (about 9 minutes on each side).

When riêu is brought to the table, expect a full-bodied soup laced with rich-tasting seafood and tangy tomato. Viet cooks prepare a fish riêu like this one as an everyday canh, or the more extravagant crab and shrimp riêu noodle soup (page 215) for a special occasion. Carp is the fish typically used in this soup, but since it is not commonly available at regular markets, my family switched to salmon, which has the fattiness to pair perfectly with the tomato, dill, and garlic of a classic riêu. We used salmon steaks for years because the bones and skin enriched the broth. But steaks can be difficult to handle during cooking and later on in the bowl, so I now use salmon fillet. In the classic northern Vietnamese tradition, the fish is seared first to firm its flesh. The searing not only helps the fish hold its shape, but also provides a nice textural contrast in the finished soup.

This simple soup embodies the Vietnamese canh tradition. The peppery qualities of Vietnamese coriander (rau ram), one of the cuisine’s most popular herbs, are fully displayed, with its headiness standing up well to the beef. Traditionally, hand-minced beef was used, but ground beef is both convenient and fully acceptable. For the best beef flavor, use the tastiest ground beef available, such as what you would select for a good hamburger. Natural, organic, or grass-fed beef is great. Also, remember that ground beef with a little fat, typically chuck, will add richness to the broth.