Simmer

Given all the fuss that has been made about the difficulty of producing the real thing, I wouldn’t blame you if you bought “instant” polenta. But polenta—and its identical Romanian cousin, mamaliga—is basically cornmeal mush, ethereal when made correctly and hardly neurosurgery. First off, forget about stirring clockwise for 40 minutes with a long-handled wooden spoon or any of the other myths you’ve heard about how it has to be made. If you want great creamy polenta, cook the cornmeal very slowly and add as much butter as you can in good conscience. Second, this is a case where Parmigiano-Reggiano, the real Parmesan, will shine. Finally, note that the amount of water you use is variable: use 5 cups if you want to make very firm polenta that you can later grill or sauté; use more water if you want smooth, soft polenta, into which you will stir cheese and serve as a simple side dish or perhaps with a little tomato sauce. The following recipe is based on one food writer Mitchell Davis learned from the chef at Cibreo in Florence, Italy. You could, of course, omit one or all of the herbs if you didn’t have them on hand. With herbs or without, this polenta is great with any Italian roast or braised dish or with simply grilled Italian sausage.

Start with stock, use just about the same seasoning asin regular pho (preceding recipe), and substitute quick-cooking meatballs for chuck. The result is a relatively fast pho with all the flavor of its slow-cooked big brother. See page 500 for information on nam pla, Thai fish sauce.

While pho originated in the north of Vietnam, it has become a national dish. Carts and small shops sell it everywhere, usually for breakfast (since I’m a big fan of savory breakfasts, this was ideal for me). The clear, fragrant beef broth is the flavorful base of this dish, and the sliced sirloin, noodles, and condiments provide the texture. (The sirloin must be sliced as thinly as possible, because it cooks in the serving bowl; freeze it for 30 minutes or so to facilitate thin slicing.) Information on Thai fish sauce—nam pla—is on page 500. Rice vermicelli (mai fun) is available at most supermarkets and all Chinese markets, and is sometimes called “rice stick.”

A somewhat more elaborate procedure than the preceding recipe, to be sure, but super in flavor. See the excellent variation as well. This is practically a main course, good with a vegetable dish and a salad.

Although oxtail is no longer a common meat in American households, it’s still sold in many supermarkets (it’s really “steertail,” of course) and makes a great soup base, contributing wonderful flavor and body. Though you might think otherwise, this is actually a fairly light soup, extremely tasty and, when made traditionally, quite spicy. Traditionally, you use the seasoning mixture as a dipping sauce at the table for the oxtail pieces, eating them with the soup on the side.While that can be fun for a dinner party, the soup is easier to make and just as tasty when all the ingredients are combined at the end. If you can’t find oxtail, use short ribs, shank, or brisket; or try the variation, which is a bit mellower.

This can work as a main course, though it is better, perhaps, as a side dish with poultry or as a filling for Pierogi (page 59). Given real-world options, fresh ricotta might be your best bet for cheese. If all you can find are packaged cheeses, small curd, full-fat cottage cheese is probably the best choice.

Here is kasha, simply prepared with butter. It’s good with olive oil, too, but best with rendered chicken fat.

Korean soups like this one are often served in heavy stone pots that keep the soup sizzling hot at the table—in fact, they’re often still boiling when you (attempt to) start to eat them. (In some restaurants they’re served over flames so they continue to boil as you eat them; this is tricky for Westerners.) The pots may be hard to come by unless you can get to a Koreatown in a city like New York or Los Angeles, but this soup is just as good served in an ordinary soup bowl; just preheat the bowl so you can serve it very hot. You can serve this as an entree. In Korea, it would be teamed with Sticky Rice (page 508); spoon some of it right into the hot soup.

Farro is a wheatlike grain grown in central Italy (known as spelt here). Barley makes a good substitute; cook it the same way. Here it is combined with a simple pesto; it’s a lovely picnic or summer party side dish, with almost anything.

Here’s an unusual dish: a grand cold soup that is essentially a whole meal. (You might, if you have the inclination and want to be wholly authentic, serve with Kong Namul, page 182; Black Beans with Soy, page 432; or other panchan.) Pickle the cucumber and daikon in advance if you can or substitute kimchi. Though this dish contains some chiles, it is not meant to be blazing hot, so use mild long red chiles if you can find them or the more common long green (Italian frying, or Anaheim) peppers.

As noted in the previous recipe, borscht can become quite elaborate. Here it becomes a full meal.

You can also make this pilaf with rice, but bulgur makes it unusual and special. Serve with a salad and you’ve got a meal.

An unusual and unexpected variation on the traditional beef-and-vegetable stew, differing largely in its inclusion of beets, which deliver their distinctive sweetness and color. In fact it’s close to the vegetarian version of borscht (page 116), especially if you add the optional sour cream. If you use chuck or brisket here, the cooking time will be longer but the stew will taste better; if you’re in a hurry, use tenderloin—you’ll save time but lose flavor.

Plain barley, cooked any way you would rice, is fine stuff (make sure you buy pearl barley; the wholegrain variety takes forever to cook). But barley with some butter and dried mushrooms is just a fantastic midwinter side dish. Porcini mushrooms are best bought in large quantities; a pound might cost $40 or $50 but will last for years, whereas 1/2 ounce might cost $4 ($128 per pound) and last you a day.

This classic Russian soup is rich and full of complex flavors. While there are probably as many versions as there are families, the key ingredient is always sauerkraut. (It’s best served with a whole head of soured cabbage, but you’re going to have trouble finding that; just stick with good sauerkraut, sold in bulk or in plastic packages, which contains nothing but cabbage and salt.) This is one of those soups that pretty much requires good stock, and it’s nice to make it especially for this dish, because the beef is a good addition. If you don’t have time (or you’re a vegetarian), use premade stock or make a quick vegetable stock with the bay leaf, parsley, carrots, onions, and celery.

Jota, often referred to as Slovenia’s national dish, is also found throughout Friuli, in extreme northeastern Italy, and especially in the area around Trieste. It’s a good one-dish meal, not unlike a soupy version of cassoulet. The addition of sauerkraut, however, cuts through the rich pork and the beans, and while it might not exactly “lighten” the dish, it makes it somewhat less dense. Buy “pure” sauerkraut—just cabbage and salt—packed in plastic bags or a barrel. Serve with good crusty bread.

Much northern Chinese food is spicy, and this well known soup follows that pattern, deriving its heat from freshly ground pepper (use a lot of it) and its sourness from rice vinegar. Don’t be put off by the long ingredient list: this doesn’t take much time to prepare and is guaranteed to be better than the version served at most Chinese restaurants. Normally, I think thickening with cornstarch is unnecessary, but here it feels appropriate to give the soup its signature thickness; you can eliminate it if you like. Any of the dried ingredients that you can’t get at your supermarket can be found at almost any Chinese market.

From the land of risotto comes yet another rich, full-flavored (but far simpler) rice preparation; butter is nearly essential here. With thanks to the great food writer John Thorne (see his Simple Cooking Web site, www.outlawcook.com), who first made me aware of the existence of this Lombardian dish.

Too few soups are both hearty and quick to make, but West Lake soups—named after their area of origin (West Lake is in the northern Chinese city of Hangzhou)—are stunning exceptions. I’ve eaten West Lake soup only in restaurants and homes in this country, but the preparations have always offered wonderfully clear and intense flavors and a marked richness. This comes not only from dropped egg whites but from loads of meat or fish, cilantro, peas, and, as I found out in the cooking, a bit of cornstarch, which is not altogether necessary but is harmless enough. If you’re interested in West Lake Fish Soup, which uses a slightly different procedure, see page 134. See page 274 for more on Shaoxing wine.

Galicia’s hearty bean and meat stew makes a terrific one-pot meal but is often served in cups as a starter. The rich flavors of the meat and beans are complemented by the sharp turnip and greens. In Galicia, the meat base is made from unto, a cured pork belly that I would tell you how to find if I knew. It’s not unlike pancetta but most like the fatty part of prosciutto, which would make a great substitute; salt pork or bacon is also fine—here I use a combination. There are as many ways to vary Caldo Gallego as there are to vary beef stew. For example, substitute chickpeas for the white beans; add chunks of pork shoulder, ribs, beef brisket, shin, chuck, or oxtail with the beans (increase the cooking time somewhat); replace the chorizo with other sausage; add peeled chunks of winter squash, pumpkin, apple, or pear; or substitute green beans or kale, collards, or chard for the cabbage.