CHAPTER 4

RICE

Rice is one of the most consumed crops on the planet. It truly lives up to the definition of the word “staple,” providing one-fifth of all the calories consumed by human beings.

But I never really thought of rice as a staple for me until I took my first kitchen job, at a sushi restaurant. Every day, I’d walk into the restaurant to start my shift in the dish pit, and the air would be filled with the smell of steamed rice. The rice cooker was always on, keeping perfectly cooked grains fluffy and warm. Every day, before we’d open for service, one of the cooks would prepare a meal for the staff, and it always included rice…rice with Japanese curry and eggs, rice with teriyaki chicken, fried rice with vegetables. I began to look forward to my daily bowl of rice, sometimes with nothing but a splash of soy sauce as seasoning. It was as satisfying and delicious at 8 a.m. as it was at 11 p.m.

I grew to love it more than pasta, more than bread. Just thinking about a bowl of rice topped with rich curry or creamy korma or spicy mapo tofu makes me hungry.

But rice isn’t only a checkmark in your “carb” box. What I’ve learned over the years through eating different styles of food and seeing how my friends cook is that rice is a star player. Even basic steamed rice is incredibly versatile: you can season it with vinegar for sushi, stir-fry it, bake it into a casserole, or add it to a batter for doughnuts. I love the various methods to make rice crispy. I learned from my friends Lawrence and Noi Allen, former owners of Asia Market, about the Thai version of this technique, in which you season cooked rice with curry and sausage, form it into balls, and briefly deep-fry it until crisp on the outside. Persian rice also features this contrast between crispy and soft, but the technique to get there is pretty different. It’s all about slow, steady, patient cooking on top of a stove to create the elusive crispy bottom crust.

The flip side of crispy is “so soft that you need a spoon,” and rice can do this beautifully, too. Just think about rice pudding or risotto, and go beyond the spoon into sipping territory with rice-based drinks like horchata.

And if your head is spinning at all the ways you can cook rice, it’ll really explode when you start to consider all the types of rice and the rice-based products at your disposal. Rice noodles, rice paper, rice flour. Rice can do it all. Like Beyoncé (#houstonpride).

Honestly, it can be overwhelming, and I’m not ashamed to admit that even after all these years, rice can still intimidate me. I’ve been cooking professionally for more than two decades, but I still know that rice is the boss of me and not the other way around. The only way to get more confident in cooking rice? Experiment with cooking it as many ways as possible.

If that sounds like a commitment, let me lay out my pitch. For starters, it’s delicious. Make the Louisiana Seafood Rice Casserole (this page) or Noi’s Thai Fried Rice Balls (this page) and try to tell me otherwise. It will also give you a newfound understanding of certain elements of cooking that will make you an overall better cook (rice or no rice).

But in a loftier, deep-thinky kind of way, the simple act of learning about how to cook rice in its different forms is a pretty delicious and rewarding way to learn about and engage with so many different aspects of humanity—history, agriculture, trade, religion. Rice is used as an offering in religious ceremonies in certain Buddhist and Hindi practices. In some traditions in Thailand and Bali, for example, rice takes the form of a deity—the rice mother or rice goddess, who protects the rice fields and helps with fertility. In the early United States, rice farming and export was so lucrative that it determined wars and relocations—colonists used violence to secure ideal plots of land that were prime for rice cultivation from Native Americans in the Yamassee War. And of course they also relied on enslaved labor to farm their rice plantations…which were seeded by grains brought by the enslaved themselves.

All that is to say, cooking and eating rice is not just a satisfying way to feed people, it is also a link to endless historical narratives.

SHORT, LONG, BROWN, OR STICKY?

Depending on the store you’re shopping at, you might find an entire aisle devoted to rice, making it difficult to know where to start or what to buy. The first consideration is grain length, which affects everything about rice, from cooking time and technique to final texture.

Here’s a little cheat sheet on rice types and how I use them:

Long grain

Long-grain rice produces fluffier rice; while it may have some stickiness, it doesn’t naturally want to fully clump (unless it’s overcooked!). It’s typically used for pilafs, stir-fries, salads, and casseroles. I always keep jasmine and basmati on hand as my long-grain rice options. Jasmine rice is the MVP of Thai, Vietnamese, Cambodian, and Laotian cuisines, while basmati is an Indian cultivar. Both have beautiful but very distinct aromas—jasmine is almost floral in scent (hence the name), while basmati smells a little bit nutty, with a hint of warm spice. Basmati rice grains are among the longest in the rice world and produce one of the least sticky cooked products.

Medium grain

These grains are about twice as long as they are wide. The grains hold more moisture and are slightly stickier than long-grain rice. Commonly used medium-grain rice types include Arborio rice (traditionally used to make risotto) and bomba rice (used to make paella). I have also seen medium-grain rice used frequently in Korean cooking, where it is often the default for rice that’s served as an accompaniment.

Short grain

Short-grain rice creates denser, chewier, stickier rice and is most famously used for sushi. Properly cooked, it’s sticky enough to be picked up in bites with chopsticks, but it’s also great for puddings and porridges.

Brown rice

Brown rice is simply rice that has been milled less than white rice, leaving the bran and germ intact; brown rice can be short, medium, or long grain. It requires a longer cooking time but retains more nutrients and fiber than white rice and has a nuttier flavor and chewier texture. It definitely has its fans, but in general, I prefer the taste of white rice, so all the recipes in this book were created and tested with white rice. You can substitute brown rice, but cooking times will need to be adjusted, and brown rice grains will tend to stay slightly more separate than white.

Glutinous “sticky” rice

This form of long-grain rice is a requisite part of cooking in many parts of Asia, but it has a particular stronghold as a pantry staple in Thailand and Laos. This rice is very high in amylopectin, the molecule that causes rice to be sticky or creamy (like risotto). It’s so high, in fact, that in traditional preparations, it should be sticky and chewy enough for a ball of the grains to hold its shape as you pinch off bites and dip them into dishes.

If you’ve never had glutinous rice before, I highly recommend you try it at a northern Thai or Laotian restaurant; the texture is delicious and eye opening. The only sticky rice recipe in this book is for a Southeast Asia–inspired dessert, and it is cooked in a nontraditional way; if you want to try steaming up some for yourself at home, I highly recommend the directions in Pok Pok: Food and Stories from the Streets, Homes, and Roadside Restaurants of Thailand by Andy Ricker and JJ Goode.

THE RICE PANTRY

My rice pantry doesn’t stop at grains, and yours shouldn’t, either. Remember when I said that rice is a star player? It’s also the ultimate five-tool player, taking many other forms that do incredible things in the kitchen. Here’s a brief overview of what you should have at your disposal:

Rice wine

Most folks are familiar with sake, the Japanese rice wine. I rarely cook with sake (that stuff’s for drinking!), but I do frequently use mirin, which is a seasoned rice wine that is used as a condiment. It’s typically a little sweeter and a little less alcoholic than sake, with a slightly yeasty flavor that can be a great balance to other umami tastes it traditionally finds company with, like soy products. Mixed with soy sauce and rice vinegar, it creates a dynamic, balanced dipping sauce or dressing. Combine it with miso or another soybean paste to create a marinade for fish (like the famous miso-glazed cod from Nobu) or shrimp.

Rice (wine) vinegar

This is the hardest-working vinegar in my kitchen, without question. It has the perfect balance of acidity and subtle sweetness, and it’s fairly mild, which makes it more versatile. Rice wine vinegar and rice vinegar are the same thing, so don’t be confused if you see it labeled one way or the other. I usually use the Marukan brand, which is widely available.

Rice flour

Rice flour or rice powder is a very fine flour made from ground rice. Like rice, it’s gluten-free, so it has become more popular in recent years and is frequently available in mainstream supermarkets (usually the Bob’s Red Mill brand).

Since it’s gluten-free, it’s not ideal to use for leavened breads and cakes, but it is a great binder for thin batters, as for crepes.

Rice flour responds really well to two specific cooking methods: frying and steaming. When you think about it, this makes sense, since rice in general is great fried and steamed. So I am all about rice flour as a dredge for anything that requires frying. It is extra fine, so it adheres nicely and evenly, and compared to wheat flour it’s lower in protein—which creates a lighter structure—and higher in starch—which gets extra crispy.

In the presence of steam, a rice flour batter gets a pretty interesting texture—it’s almost gummy and chewy at the same time, and incredibly soft and easy to bite through. You might be familiar with this texture from your favorite dim sum experience, since rice flour is what gives turnip cakes and rice rolls their distinct textural appeal.

Rice flour typically comes in two forms: regular and glutinous. The rice flour called for in this chapter is regular, so take care when shopping. Glutinous rice flour has a higher starch content and can create an overwhelmingly gummy batter if you attempt to swap it into a recipe that calls for regular rice flour.

Rice noodles

There are as many different types of rice noodles as there are types of rice! We could honestly have a whole separate chapter dedicated to noodles, so bear with me—this is a very abbreviated summary, based on the types I happen to use the most. I encourage you to go to the noodle shelf of the market and go crazy.

Rice noodles, like wheat pasta, come in a variety of shapes and sizes—from string-thin vermicelli to flat wide kee mao noodles. Rice noodles are typically made by soaking rice and then grinding it into a paste. From there, the noodles can either be extruded by machine or rolled out into sheets and cut by hand.

One of the most important considerations when choosing rice noodles is whether to use dry or fresh. Like pasta, there is no blanket rule that says one is better than the other; they’re just different. Dry noodles are much more widely available and have a long shelf life. Especially for recipes that use very thin noodles, dry rice noodles work just fine; when prepared properly, their texture can range from snappy to chewy. For recipes that use fatter, doughier noodles, try to seek out fresh noodles, which have a tacky, chewy texture when cooked, allowing sauces to cling better. Usually you can find them in the refrigerated section of an Asian grocery store.

HOW TO COOK: Rice noodles tend to cook faster than their wheat counterparts. This makes them convenient, definitely, but it also means they’re easy to overcook. Do not walk away from rice noodles that you’ve just dropped into a pot of boiling water—you might return to a gloopy, overcooked mass if you’re not paying attention.

Fresh rice noodles need more of a blanch than an actual boil. Bring a pot of water to a boil, cut the heat, and add the noodles for 30 seconds to a minute (the fresher the noodle, the less time you’ll need), using a chopstick or a fork to move them around and help separate them. If the noodles are super fresh, still flexible and almost tacky, you can skip this blanching step and heat them up directly in your sauce or broth, or pan-fry them.

If you’re using dry rice noodles, follow the same method of adding the noodles to a pot of hot water, off the heat. The cooking time will vary depending on the thickness of the noodle (vermicelli will cook pretty quickly, 1 to 2 minutes)—just keep checking every 30 seconds.

For soup, I suggest cooking the noodles (dry or fresh) directly in the broth. For stir-fries, I pull the noodles from the hot water bath on the earlier side (al dente, if you will) so that they don’t overcook when added to the stir-fry.

Rice noodle glossary

VERMICELLI // These very thin (think: angel hair) noodles are typically used for stir-fries and soups. Interestingly, “vermicelli” seems to have become a generic term that Asian noodle makers have adopted, so you might also see very thick vermicelli or vermicelli made from lots of different ingredients, from mung bean to sweet potato starch. For the purposes of the recipes in this book, do make sure to purchase rice vermicelli…but now that I think about it, go ahead and try out other vermicellis and see if you like them, too!

PHỞ NOODLES // This noodle, popular for its use in the brothy Vietnamese soup of the same name, is slightly thicker than vermicelli, and flat. It’s also great in stir-fries and can be purchased dry or fresh.

PAD THAI NOODLES // These flat wide noodles are about ¼ to ½ inch thick and are commonly used in the iconic Thai dish for which they’re named. They can be purchased dry or fresh.

KEE MAO, HO FUN, OR CHOW FUN NOODLES // These flat noodles are usually ¾ to 1 inch wide and are best in their fresh form. They have a great texture that is somewhere between chewy and pleasantly gummy. Kee mao means “drunkard” in Thai and refers to a dish with ground pork. In a Chinese market, they may be called “ho fun” or “chow fun.”

Rice paper

These delicate, deliciously chewy skins are the perfect wraps for Vietnamese summer rolls—they are thin and neutral in flavor, allowing the fillings you stuff them with to shine through.

Rice paper comes in the form of dehydrated, brittle sheets. In order to use it, you have to rehydrate it by dipping it into warm water. This takes a little bit of finesse—soak a sheet too long and it will become a sticky mess that adheres to itself. Here’s my technique, which was taught to me by my friend Jacklyn of Saigon Pagolac: Prepare a wide bowl of warm (but not hot) water. Take one rice paper sheet and dip it halfway into the warm water (just a dip; don’t leave it in there too long). Turn it like a steering wheel and dip it again so that the entire wrap is rehydrated. It’ll soften in a few seconds after you take it out of the water. You want it just wet enough to be flexible. It will continue to soften after you remove it from the water, so err on the side of less soft rather than too soft.

If it sticks to itself, or tears as you try to fold it (a sign that you got a little overzealous with the dipping), don’t sweat it—that’s why the package comes with so many sheets! I’ve found that continuing to dip my fingers in water as I work with rice paper is helpful.

Before I visited Vietnam, the only use for rice paper that I’d tried (or eaten) was as a wrap. But while traveling through Hanoi, I came across rice paper salad, in which the translucent sheets of rice paper are cut into strips and pan-fried with aromatics, vegetables, and soy and fish sauces.

Rice cakes

The first time I ate rice cakes, they were floating in a rich Korean-style kimchi-studded stew that my friend Liz made for me (see this page). The texture was hard to place. Chewier than a flour-based dumpling but evocative of gnocchi, each little cylindrical pillow was slick with broth and had absorbed some of its flavor. I was eating the dish for the first time, but the effect was immediately familiar to me—the same kind of experience that chicken and dumplings provided when I was a kid.

The next time I tried rice cakes, they were in the form of tteokbokki, a common Korean snack. The cakes were tossed in a spicy sauce of thinned-out gochujang that wasn’t totally unlike Buffalo wing sauce. Like the stew, it was new, yet familiar—and helped escalate my crush on rice cakes into a full-fledged love.

When I’m dreaming up a new dish, I think of rice cakes as a perfect foil to a rich, flavorful stew or meaty sauce. The mild taste of chewy rice cakes, with just a hint of sweetness, is a sponge for all kinds of intense umami bombs.

HOW TO COOK: Dried rice cakes come in 4- to 6-inch-long tubes or in flat, egg-shaped “ovalettes.” You can find them in shelf-stable, vacuum-sealed packages in the refrigerated section at Asian markets. Start by quickly blanching them in boiling water before proceeding with any additional steps in the recipe. If you’re lucky, you might be able to find fresh rice cakes, which don’t require blanching.

I love to pan-fry rice cakes before tossing them in sauce, which gives them a crispy exterior and provides a nice textural contrast.

Methods for Cooking Rice

Want to know my secret for perfect, tender rice that is consistent every single time? Use a rice cooker. Seriously, this appliance takes the nerve-racking guesswork out of stovetop or oven methods. But if you are the type of person who doesn’t believe in single-use appliances (I feel you…well, except for rice cookers), here are a few other methods that work well for cooking rice.

ABSORPTION METHOD

Also (confusingly and incorrectly) called “steamed” rice, this is the most common method for cooking rice: you combine rice and water (and maybe salt and fat) in a saucepan, bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and cover until all the water has been absorbed by the rice. The trick to this method is not lifting the lid before the rice is ready. Some of the best advice I ever heard about cooking rice using the absorption method came from chef Asha Gomez, in Atlanta. Her recipe for rice doesn’t have the same specificity of a recipe tester’s, but it always works for me:

1. Place rinsed rice in a saucepan and cover it with cold water by about 1 inch.

2. Bring it to a boil on high heat, then cover the pan and reduce the heat to the lowest possible setting.

3. Let it cook for 12 minutes, then turn off the heat and let it sit (with the lid on!) for 10 more minutes.

There’s something major about that step of letting the rice continue to “cook” in the residual heat and steam after you’ve removed it from the flame. It is the environment that a rice cooker mimics, and it allows the rice to dry out a bit—which give it its fluffiness—without burning.

The absorption method also works in the oven, which has the added bonus of a stable temperature that surrounds the whole pan (rather than heating the rice from the bottom). Combine the rice and water in an ovenproof saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a boil, cover, and transfer to a 350°F oven for 17 minutes. Remove from the oven and let stand for 10 minutes with the lid on.

For either version, the ratio of water to rice is crucial. Here are the basic ratios that I use for the absorption method:

SHORT-GRAIN RICE: Equal parts water and soaked rice. But first you need to soak the rice. It adds an extra step, but short-grain rice, as for sushi, is ideally rinsed first a few times, drained, and then soaked in water to cover by an inch for a few hours or overnight. This lets the rice gently absorb some water first and keeps it from breaking during cooking. Then you drain it well one last time and cook it in the same volume of water as you had of the presoaked rice—so if you started with 1 cup of dry rice before soaking, use 1 cup of water to cook it in.

MEDIUM- AND LONG-GRAIN RICE: 3:2 water to rice, so 1½ cups water for every 1 cup rice. You should rinse the rice and drain it very well, but soaking is not required.

“PASTA” METHOD

Now, after all that, you might still be nervous about cooking rice—I don’t blame you; I am to this day always a little terrified of opening a pot of rice to find it gluey, hard, or burnt. But relax: You can always skip the ratios and lid anxiety altogether by cooking rice like pasta. Simply bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the rice, reduce to a simmer, and cook until the rice is tender. Then drain well through a fine-mesh sieve and return to the hot pot (not over heat); stir to help evaporate any residual moisture.

I find this technique particularly useful for brown rice, which takes longer to cook than white rice.

UB PRESERV PICKLES

MAKES 1 POUND PICKLES PLUS 2¼ CUPS BRINE

Rice vinegar is the anchor of how I make pickles. At UB Preserv, our restaurant dedicated to telling the story of Houston food, we make a TON of pickles as a way to use the abundance of vegetables we get from our local farmers. So rice vinegar has an important role in the kitchen.

I love that it is a subtle vinegar, with an inherent sweetness, because it doesn’t stand in the way of the main ingredient or compromise its texture or flavor. This brine is pretty mild as far as pickling liquids go. It’s salty, sweet, and a little vinegary but in no way over the top, so it can be used to pickle pretty much anything. I’ve intentionally kept it free of any specific aromatics (like spices or garlic or herbs), but feel free to accessorize as you see fit. It’s your pickle.

Vegetable or fruit of your choice (see following)

3 tablespoons sugar

2 teaspoons to 1 tablespoon kosher salt

¾ cup hot water

1½ cups rice vinegar

1. Pack your produce of choice into a quart-size mason jar or other nonreactive lidded container.

2. In a medium bowl, combine the sugar, salt, hot water, and vinegar and whisk until the sugar dissolves completely. Pour the brine over the produce and let it sit at room temperature for at least 1 hour. Cover and refrigerate until ready to use—the pickles will keep for 2 to 3 weeks. For shelf-stable pickles, follow the processing instructions you find on your mason jar packaging.

3. This brine is as versatile as you’ll let it be. Here are a few of the ways that I use it:

RED ONION: Pour the brine over 2 thinly sliced red onions.

BEAN SPROUTS: Pour the brine over 2 cups bean sprouts.

CARROTS: Pour the brine over 1 pound of carrots, cut into thin matchsticks.

CUCUMBERS: Pour the brine over 1 pound of English cucumbers, thinly sliced.

BEANS: Rinse and drain 1 (15-ounce) can black beans and pour the brine over. (The pickling effect on beans is akin to a light but dynamic seasoning. Try them on Nachhoooooos!!!!!, this page.)

CHEESE: Not really. Just checking to see if you were paying attention.

PINEAPPLE: Pour the brine over 1 pineapple, peeled, cored, and cut into ½-inch-thick wedges.

CRISPY POPCORN SHRIMP

WITH BUTTERED CORN DIPPING SAUCE

SERVES 4

This dish came together out of a confluence of two hyperseasonal offerings that we wanted to find a way to use together: height-of-the-season corn and tiny popcorn shrimp. Yes, they are really a kind of shrimp, not just a name for fried shrimp at chain restaurants! They’re available for only about two weeks each summer, so you can use whatever small shrimp you prefer…personally, I prefer shrimp from the Gulf of Mexico. They’re wild-caught and delicious.

Anyway, we were feeling a little bit tongue in cheek and wanted to play around with flavors of popcorn to accompany the popcorn shrimp, which are made extra-crispy through the use of rice flour (see this page). What better way to achieve that than with Butter Buds, the artificial butter flavoring that gives movie theater popcorn its irresistible edge?

4 ears corn, kernels cut off and cobs reserved

½ medium white onion, quartered

1 garlic clove, smashed

½ cup heavy cream

1 tablespoon cornstarch

¾ cup plus 2 tablespoons Butter Buds (about 2½ ounces)

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 cup rice flour (not “glutinous rice flour”)

1 large egg

½ cup whole milk

1 pound 36/45 shrimp, peeled and deveined

Vegetable oil, for frying

1. In a large saucepan, combine the corn cobs with the onion, garlic, and 6 cups water and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the broth is well flavored and reduced to about 2 cups, about 40 minutes. Strain the broth into a heatproof bowl and discard the solids.

2. Return the broth to the saucepan and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer until reduced to 1 cup, about 10 minutes. Add the corn kernels and heavy cream and bring just to a boil. In a small bowl, whisk the cornstarch into 1 tablespoon water and stir it into the pot; simmer until thickened, about 3 minutes. Transfer the mixture to a blender and puree until smooth (when blending hot liquids, be sure to remove the center cap of the blender lid and cover the hole with a towel to allow steam to escape). Strain the puree through a medium sieve set over a bowl. Stir in the Butter Buds and season with salt and pepper; keep warm.

3. Set a rack over a baking sheet. Put the rice flour in a pie plate. In another pie plate, beat the egg with the milk. Season the shrimp with salt and pepper and dust them in the rice flour, tapping off the excess. Dip the dusted shrimp in the egg, then dredge again in the flour; transfer to the rack.

4. Line another baking sheet with paper towels. In a large saucepan or deep skillet, heat 1½ to 2 inches of vegetable oil over medium-high heat until it reaches 350°F on a deep-fry thermometer. Add half of the shrimp to the oil and fry until golden and crisp, about 2 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the shrimp to the paper towels and season lightly with salt and pepper. Repeat with the remaining shrimp.

5. Serve the shrimp alongside the corn-butter sauce for dipping. Leftover sauce is delicious with lots of things or can even be thinned out with some milk or stock and served as a soup.

NOI’S THAI FRIED RICE BALLS

WITH CUCUMBER SALAD

SERVES 6

These rice balls are inspired by my friends Lawrence and Noi Allen, who used to own Asia Market, one of the only Thai markets in Houston. I started going there to buy green papayas. But I never left with just papayas—each visit would start with me wandering the aisles, checking out all the different ingredients, until Lawrence would come over and strike up a conversation. He probably didn’t realize when he asked me if I needed help that I was going to bombard him with all kinds of questions about ingredients and Thai cooking, but he was always generous with his time and knowledge.

In addition to the store, Lawrence’s wife, Noi (who immigrated to the United States from Bangkok), offered a small menu of Thai dishes, which she’d prepare out of a tiny kitchen in the back. These rice balls were one of my favorite things she made. Studded with meat and aromatics, and deep-fried until crispy on the outside, they reminded me of the deep-fried rice balls that you see in other cultures, like Italian arancini or the boudin balls that are so popular in Cajun cooking. The cucumber salad served alongside them works like a refreshing, mild pickle.

Lawrence insists that the key to the flavor of these balls is sai ua, a tangy Thai fermented sausage that is seasoned with lemongrass. But if you can’t find it, they’re pretty delicious with ground pork, too.

FOR THE RICE BALLS

2 cups short-grain rice, rinsed and soaked (this page)

2 tablespoons vegetable oil, plus more for deep-frying

2 tablespoons minced lemongrass (see Note)

2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger

3 tablespoons thinly sliced garlic (about 9 cloves)

1 teaspoon minced Thai bird chile (about 1 chile)

1 pound ground pork (or sai ua, Thai fermented sausage)

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

¼ cup red curry paste (I like Maesri brand)

1 tablespoon soy sauce

1 teaspoon fresh lime juice

FOR THE CUCUMBER SALAD

2 tablespoons boiling water

1 teaspoon sambal oelek

1 teaspoon fresh lime juice

2 tablespoons fish sauce

1 teaspoon sugar

1 English cucumber, thinly sliced on a mandoline

½ medium red onion, thinly sliced

¼ cup salted dry-roasted peanuts

1. In a rice cooker, combine the rice and 2 cups water and cook according to the machine instructions. (If you don’t have a rice cooker, use your favorite method from this page.)

2. In a medium skillet, heat the oil over medium heat until it shimmers. Add the lemongrass and toast for 30 seconds, until it begins to smell fragrant. Add the ginger and toast for another 30 seconds, until fragrant. Add the garlic and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Stir in the chile.

3. Add the pork and cook, breaking up the meat with the back of the spoon until crumbled and cooked all the way through. Season generously with salt and pepper (if using sai ua, you may not need to add much).

4. Put the cooked rice in a large mixing bowl. Add the curry paste and soy sauce and mix well. Add the pork mixture, lime juice, and 1 tablespoon salt and mix until thoroughly combined. Using your hands, form the rice mixture into 12 balls about the size of golf balls. Place the balls on a large plate, uncovered, and transfer to the refrigerator to chill for at least 1 hour (or up to overnight).

5. Meanwhile, make the cucumber salad: In a medium bowl, whisk together the hot water, sambal, lime juice, fish sauce, and sugar until the sugar is dissolved. Add the cucumber and red onion to the dressing and let sit for at least 10 minutes to let the flavors infuse.

6. Fill a medium Dutch oven or large saucepan with a few inches of oil and heat over medium-high heat until it reaches 350°F on a deep-fry thermometer. Working in batches, add a few rice balls and fry until golden brown and crisp on the outside, about 4 minutes. Transfer to a paper towel–lined plate.

7. To serve, flatten the rice balls slightly (they will break in places) and put two each in six small bowls. Spoon some of the cucumber salad and its dressing over the top, garnish with a sprinkle of peanuts, and serve.

NOTE: Lemongrass comes in stalks that are shaped a bit like scallions. To prepare lemongrass, cut off the root end and remove the first few dry outer layers until you reach the tender center of the stalk. Mince the paler-colored part (usually the bottom 4 inches or so) that is tender and fragrant, stopping when it becomes woody and brittle.

SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW

Given that it seems to last forever, the age of your rice might not be something you think much about. But in some cultures, the relative youth of rice grains is of high importance.

I first heard the term “new crop” rice from my friends Lawrence and Noi Allen, who used to own a small Asian grocery store called Asia Market. They told me that for Houston’s Thai and Vietnamese community, the arrival of the new jasmine rice crop every year was a big deal, something that people looked forward to and planned around. Each November, large bags of these grains would arrive in local markets, and shoppers would rush to get their hands on whatever was left after the preorders had been fulfilled.

What was all the fuss, I asked. They explained the flavor differences, the subtle intensities of aroma. “You can tell just by smelling it,” said Noi. “It smells sweet, almost like a flower.” Lawrence added, “It’s also softer when you cook it.”

Later, I asked my friend Hori, the sushi chef at Kata Robata, what he thought about new crop rice. “Oh, I don’t care for it,” he said. “For sushi, it is very difficult.” It turns out that all the characteristics that Noi and Lawrence love about new crop rice are the same things that make it challenging behind the sushi bar: it cooks inconsistently because the moisture levels are higher, and it has a more intense flavor, which can overwhelm the fish. Hori said he can tell within minutes if rice is young or mature, based on how easy or difficult it is to work with.

Still, if you’re not making sushi, keep your eyes peeled for new crop rice. The bags are usually labeled “new crop” with the year. At least in Houston, they’re gone within a couple of days of arrival, so it helps to ask the store owner starting in early November when the season’s first shipment is expected to come in.

VIETNAMESE FAJITAS

SERVES 4

You can’t go more than a couple of blocks in Houston before you hit a Tex-Mex spot featuring fajitas. The dish has deep roots here; one of our oldest and most popular restaurants, Ninfa’s on Navigation, claims to have invented it, giving our city bragging rights over a dish that has become a fixture of nearly every chain Mexican restaurant in the country.

So it makes sense that other restaurants, struggling to describe unfamiliar dishes to their clientele, started to employ the name “fajitas” as a tidy explanation. For example, “Vietnamese fajitas.” I first saw this dish on the menu at Mai’s, that late-night spot where so many of my introductory experiences to Vietnamese food took place. Even though I didn’t know exactly what the dish was, the sense of the unknown was reduced by that cue: fajitas. Just that one familiar word gave me a context for what I’d be getting, a dish of components that you build into a wrap. I’m sure this savvy name helped a lot of people order it, who maybe would have passed if the dish were called, say, bò nướng vĩ. But I suspect using that term is also a bit of a double-edged sword: it reinforces a watering-down of their own culture and kind of whitewashes their own stories, rituals, people, and places. This kind of catch-22 is something that immigrants face almost daily: How much of their own culture do they have to give up to put other people at ease around it?

Mai’s might have been my introduction to this dish, but it crystallized in my mind at Saigon Pagolac. Order the bò nướng vĩ, and you’ll get a tabletop grill on which to sear your own lemongrass-marinated beef. You’ll also get rice paper, carrots, cucumbers, bean sprouts, and a pile of fresh, fragrant herbs. Jacklyn Pham, the owner, doesn’t use the “fajita” shorthand on her menu, but she is a patient and willing teacher. I’ve watched her teach many tables of guests how to dip their rice paper in warm water just long enough to make it pliable and chewy, and how to assemble the rolls. It usually doesn’t take long for guests to catch on, since the experience of building your own wrap seems to be something that we all can relate to, whether it’s a spring roll, fajita, or even a hot dog.

¼ cup plus 2 tablespoons fish sauce

3 tablespoons sugar

2 tablespoons Sriracha

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

2 tablespoons soy sauce

1 tablespoon rice vinegar

1 tablespoon chopped garlic (about 3 cloves)

1 tablespoon chopped lemongrass (see Note, this page)

1 (2-pound) flat iron steak

1 head green leaf lettuce, separated into leaves

½ English cucumber, peeled and cut into 2-inch matchsticks

2 carrots, cut into 2-inch matchsticks

1 bunch mint

1 bunch cilantro, stems removed

1 bunch Thai basil

2½ cups Nước Chấm (this page), for serving

16 rice paper spring roll wrappers (see this page)

1. In a resealable plastic bag, combine the fish sauce, sugar, Sriracha, oil, soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, and lemongrass. Add the steak, seal the bag, and shake gently to combine. Refrigerate for 2 to 4 hours to marinate.

2. Just before you cook the beef, set up everything else: prepare your vegetables, wash and separate your herbs into leaves and sprigs, set out your nước chấm. I usually put all the vegetables and herbs on a large tray at the center of the table, with the nước chấm in a bowl on the side (and maybe a bottle of Sriracha within close reach).

3. Also set out a shallow bowl with about 1 cup of warm water, which you’ll use to rehydrate the rice paper wrappers.

4. When you’re ready, remove the beef from the marinade and pat dry. Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat until very hot, add the beef, and sear until nicely browned outside and medium-rare inside, about 4 minutes per side. Transfer the beef to a cutting board and let rest for 5 minutes. Slice into thin strips, transfer to a plate, and place on the table with all the other accouterments.

5. To make the rolls, take a rice paper and dip it halfway into the warm water (just a dip; don’t leave it in there too long). Turn it like a steering wheel and dip it again so that the entire wrapper is rehydrated. It’ll soften in a few seconds after you take it out of the water. You want it just wet enough to be flexible; if it’s too wet, it’ll become a sticky mess.

6. Place the wrapper in the center of your plate and pile on some beef, vegetables, and herbs across the equator of the wrapper. Fold in the ends (equator-side), fold the bottom over the filling, then roll it up, pretty much the same way you would roll up a burrito. Dip the roll in nước chấm and enjoy.

SEARED SUSHI RICE

SERVES 4

Some of the most powerful and informative lessons I’ve learned about rice have been at the hands of my friend Manabu Horiuchi, the sushi chef behind the tremendously popular restaurant Kata Robata in Houston. Like most great sushi chefs, Hori obsesses over rice, and spent years training to perfect his method of cooking and seasoning his sushi rice. He’s been unfailingly generous in sharing some of his techniques with me, including his method for seasoning rice with an infusion of salt, sugar, vinegar, and kombu, a dried Japanese seaweed that is full of umami flavor.

One time he asked me to cook with him for an event at his restaurant. I was coming back from a trip out of town, so Hori was doing some of the prep for my dish. About four hours before the event started, I got an anxious call from him, asking about a step in the recipe I’d sent him that called for charring rice patties in a hot pan. “Are you sure you want to burn the rice, Chef?” he asked me. “Yep!” I replied.

Hori, who spends every day making perfectly cooked, gorgeous rice, was probably mortified at my request, but he did it anyway. Well, now it’s a dish on the permanent menu at Kata—charred sushi rice with miso eggplant, and I’m happy to see that the inspiration has gone both ways.

This would be an excellent vessel for anything that can use a crisp-chewy bite of rice, but I especially love it with the Eggplant with Spicy Bean Paste (this page) or leftover pulled meat from the Oxtail Bò Kho (this page). And note: The ideal cooking method for sushi rice includes a long soak of at least an hour, or up to overnight.

2 cups short-grain sushi rice

½ cup rice vinegar

¼ cup sugar

½ to 1 teaspoon kosher salt

1 (2 × 3-inch) piece kombu seaweed

Vegetable oil, as needed

1. Put the rice in a medium bowl and cover it with cold water by about an inch. Strain the rice in a medium sieve or colander, then repeat the process two more times, using fresh water each time. Cover the rice with water one more time and let it soak for an hour or two, or overnight, refrigerated. Drain it very well, then transfer it to a medium saucepan. Add 2 cups fresh water and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat to a very low simmer, cover, and cook for 20 minutes. Alternatively, you can use a rice cooker with the same water-to-rice ratio.

2. Meanwhile, in a small saucepan, combine the rice vinegar, sugar, salt, and kombu. Heat over medium-high heat, whisking until the sugar dissolves. Remove from the heat and let sit for 10 minutes. Remove and discard the kombu.

3. Transfer the cooked rice to a parchment paper–lined rimmed baking sheet and spread it out in an even layer. Let it cool slightly, until it’s still warm but you can handle it comfortably with your hands.

4. Evenly drizzle the seasoned vinegar onto the cooked rice. With wet hands, gently mix the rice to distribute the vinegar. Form the rice into patties 2½ inches wide and ½ inch thick. Set them on another baking sheet and let cool to room temperature.

5. Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat and add enough vegetable oil to just coat the pan. When it’s hot and shimmering, add the rice patties to the pan, about 1 inch from each other, and fry until golden brown, about 5 minutes. Flip and cook until golden brown on the other side, about 5 minutes. If you need to work in batches, do so, adding more oil between each round.

6. Drain the patties on a paper towel–lined tray and serve warm.

Manabu Horiuchi of Kata Robata

LOUISIANA SEAFOOD RICE CASSEROLE

SERVES 12

Ryan Prewitt, the chef of Pêche in New Orleans, is not only a close friend but also a serious inspiration to me. I love pretty much every bite of food that guy makes, and I admire his ability to create subtle balances with every dish. Ryan has come to Houston to cook with us a number of times, and at one event (dedicated to our favorite rosé wines), he made this seafood casserole.

I couldn’t get enough of it. It has a ton of seafood in every bite—crab, shrimp, and bits of white fish—but it’s creamy and rich, everything a casserole should be. To me, this is the perfect meal for a dinner party, because it feels elegant while also being extremely comforting. And while it’s slightly labor intensive, you can do much of it ahead of time.

When I asked Ryan about his inspiration for this dish, he credited Alzina Toups, who runs Alzina’s in Galliano, Louisiana. Alzina is now in her nineties, and her restaurant serves one group a night by reservation only. The menu is whatever she’s in the mood to make, but always focuses on the Cajun food that she grew up eating. Rice and shellfish are two mainstays of Cajun cooking, just as they are in Southeast Asian cooking—perhaps one of the things that resonates with the large and growing population of Vietnamese, Laotian, and Cambodian immigrants who have settled along the Gulf Coast.

FOR THE SAUCE

6 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 pound cremini mushrooms, sliced

1 small yellow onion, diced

2 tablespoons chopped garlic (about 6 cloves)

2 to 3 teaspoons kosher salt

2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme

2 teaspoons dry mustard

1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

¾ teaspoon cayenne

½ cup dry white wine

4 cups chicken stock

¼ cup all-purpose flour

1½ cups heavy cream

2 teaspoons Crystal hot sauce

1 cup coarsely grated fontina cheese

½ cup finely grated Grana Padano or Parmigiano-Reggiano

¾ cup sliced scallions

¾ cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

FOR THE CASSEROLE

4 cups cooked long-grain rice (see this page)

1 pound jumbo lump crab, picked over for shell fragments

1 pound medium (41/50) shrimp, peeled, deveined, and cut into ½-inch pieces

8 ounces fillet of grouper, cobia, snapper, or similar mild white fish, trimmed of sinew and skin, cut into 1-inch chunks

1 cup fresh or frozen English peas

¼ cup breadcrumbs

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted, plus more for greasing the pan

2 tablespoons finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano

1 tablespoon chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Lemon wedges, for serving

1. Make the sauce: In a Dutch oven, melt the butter over medium-high heat, then add the mushrooms. Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook the mushrooms slowly, stirring occasionally, until their water cooks off and they turn a deep golden brown and shrink to about half their original size, about 30 minutes. Stir in the onion and cook until it just starts to take on a hint of color, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic, salt, thyme, mustard, black pepper, and cayenne and raise the heat to medium. Cook, stirring constantly, for about 2 minutes.

2. Add the white wine and reduce until almost dry, about 3 minutes. Add the chicken stock and reduce to 1 cup, 20 to 25 minutes. Sprinkle the flour onto the mixture, then whisk it in to thoroughly combine. Whisk in the cream. When it begins to bubble, whisk in the hot sauce, cheeses, scallions, and parsley and reduce the heat to low. Cook gently until the cheese is fully melted, 3 to 5 minutes. Transfer the sauce to a food processor or blender and blend until smooth (when blending hot liquids, be sure to remove the center cap of the blender lid and cover the hole with a towel to allow steam to escape). (You can make the sauce one day in advance and store it, covered, in the refrigerator, until ready to use. If you do this, reheat the sauce in a medium saucepan over medium heat, stirring constantly, before proceeding with the recipe.)

3. Preheat the oven to 400°F.

4. Make the casserole: In a large bowl, combine the rice, crab, shrimp, fish, and peas. Season with salt to taste, adjusting for the saltiness of the sauce. Add the mushroom sauce and gently stir until well combined. Grease a 13 × 9-inch baking dish with butter, and scoop the rice mixture into the dish, spreading it out evenly.

5. In a small bowl, combine the breadcrumbs, melted butter, Parmigiano, and parsley. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Sprinkle the mixture evenly over the top of the casserole, transfer to the oven, and bake for 30 minutes, or until the breadcrumbs are browned and the casserole is bubbling. Spoon portions into bowls and squeeze a bit of lemon over the top of each before serving.

PAN-FRIED RICE NOODLE PANCAKE

WITH BOK CHOY, SHRIMP, AND MUSHROOMS

SERVES 4

Rice noodles, like rice itself, are more of a category than a single ingredient. If you walk into an Asian grocery store, you’ll likely find enough different shapes and sizes and brands of dried rice noodles to take up an entire aisle. And that’s before you get to the fresh rice noodles that line the shelves in the refrigerated section.

This dish centers on those fresh, wide rice noodles that you usually see in Thai-style stir-fries like pad kee mao. It’s best to make it with fresh noodles, if you can find them. (Otherwise you can use dried flat rice noodles; just rehydrate them before cooking according to the package directions.) The key to using fresh rice noodles is to pull them apart immediately. The longer they sit in a clump, the harder it will be to separate them. Additionally, they’re best kept at room temperature if you’re going to use them on the same day you buy them, because refrigerating them will cause them to harden into one giant clump.

One of the things that I love about rice noodles (and other fresh rice products, like Korean rice cakes) is the spectrum of texture. They can be soft and chewy and gummy (in a good way) but they can also crisp up in a pan. This dish takes that characteristic to the next level; you spread out and pan-fry the noodles until they form a crispy “pancake,” which creates a truly awesome textural experience. My first exposure to this effect came at Hai Cang, a restaurant in Houston that focuses on Chinese seafood dishes. Topped with shrimp and vegetables in a rich gravy-like sauce, the pancake was crunchy on the outside but chewy and soft on the interior, and it softened even more as the sauce soaked into all the crevices.

8 dried shiitake mushrooms

1½ cups hot water

3 tablespoons soy sauce

2 tablespoons rice vinegar

2 tablespoons cornstarch

1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil

5 tablespoons vegetable oil

1 pound refrigerated ¾-inch-wide fresh flat rice noodles, separated (called kee mao, ho fun, or chow fun noodles, or use rehydrated dried noodles; see this page)

1 medium white onion, thinly sliced

4 ounces beech mushrooms or other mild mushrooms, ends trimmed and separated

4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger

Kosher salt

1 to 2 Thai chiles (depending on your heat preference), thinly sliced

12 ounces bok choy (about 3 medium heads), thinly sliced

1 cup broccoli florets

1 medium carrot, thinly sliced on the bias

8 ounces 16/20 shrimp, peeled and deveined

1 tablespoon sambal oelek

2 tablespoons fried shallots (buy these premade in an Asian grocery)

1 tablespoon fried garlic (buy this premade in an Asian grocery)

Fresh cilantro leaves, for garnish

1. Put the dried mushrooms in a medium bowl and cover with the hot water. Let sit for 20 minutes to rehydrate. Drain the mushrooms, reserving the liquid, then slice the mushrooms.

2. In a medium bowl, whisk together the reserved mushroom liquid, soy sauce, rice vinegar, cornstarch, and sesame oil.

3. In a large skillet, heat 3 tablespoons of the vegetable oil over high heat. Add the rice noodles and spread out in an even layer in a tangle (you’re essentially making a pancake out of these noodles, so imagine that you’re making a nest—the noodles should cover the full surface of the bottom of the pan) and cook for 5 to 7 minutes. While the noodle pancake cooks, push the edges in as you would an omelet; occasionally press down on the surface of the pancake to help it crisp up on the bottom and run the spatula along the bottom to keep it from sticking. The noodles will begin to stick together and form a cake. Check the bottom—when it begins to turn light golden, flip the pancake and continue to pan-fry, 4 to 5 minutes more. Transfer to a cutting board. Slice the pancake like a pizza into eight sections and transfer to a platter. (Cutting it before you top it with the vegetables will make it easier to serve.)

4. In a large skillet, heat the remaining 2 tablespoons vegetable oil over high heat until it shimmers. Add the onion and the fresh and rehydrated mushrooms and cook, stirring, for about 3 minutes, until everything begins to wilt just slightly. Add the garlic and ginger, season with salt, and reduce the heat to medium. Cook for 2 minutes—the vegetables should be very fragrant.

5. Add the chiles, bok choy, broccoli, and carrots and cook, stirring, until they soften, about 2 minutes. Add the shrimp and cook, stirring, until they turn pink, about 3 minutes. Stir in the sambal. Give the reserved mushroom liquid slurry one more good stir and add it to the pan. Cook until the sauce thickens slightly, about 1 minute. Spoon the stir-fry over the pancake.

6. Garnish with the fried shallots, fried garlic, and cilantro leaves. Serve immediately.

SOFT-SHELL CRAB

AND SMOKED FISH FRIED RICE

SERVES 4

Fried rice is my go-to dish for a “fridge clean”—it’s a great way to use up odds and ends that you don’t want to waste. That last strip of bacon in the package? Perfect. Leftover rotisserie chicken? Throw it in there. The end of your jar of kimchi, the half carton of mushrooms that you’ll have to throw away tomorrow, the little bit of frozen peas left in the bag in the freezer: all fair game. So, too, is eating this concoction in your quittin’ pants (or no pants, for that matter).

But just because fried rice lends itself to the knobs and bits in your fridge, that does not mean it should only be an afterthought. Enter this recipe, the fancy-pants, make-it-on-a-weekend-and-invite-friends-over fried rice. You’ll have to actually shop for this recipe, but I promise that it’s worth it. Soft-shell crabs, with their crispy, crunchy exterior and their rich, buttery meat, stand out against the smoky, cured flavors of the fish. As in the Louisiana Seafood Rice Casserole (this page), multiple forms of seafood play off each other for an unforgettable meal.

And behind it all: the rice. You want rice that has already been cooked and allowed to cool, so that it can absorb all the flavors in the pan without clumping together. And rice is uniquely suited to allow bites where you get a little bit of everything: all those add-ins are easily and equally dispersed throughout the grains.

One final note: Whenever I’m making fried rice, I make sure that all my ingredients are ready to go (mise en place, in restaurant speak), because it cooks quickly in the pan. Everything should be ready and within easy reach before you turn on the stove.

FOR THE CRABS

1 cup all-purpose flour

2 tablespoons Creole seasoning

2 eggs

2 tablespoons whole milk

4 soft-shell crabs, cleaned

6 tablespoons vegetable oil

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

FOR THE RICE

4 tablespoons vegetable oil

1 large egg, beaten

¼ cup thinly sliced white onion

¼ cup small-diced carrot

2 tablespoons small-diced celery

1 tablespoon minced garlic (about 3 cloves)

2 teaspoons minced fresh ginger

½ cup shredded green cabbage

2 cups cooked rice, completely cooled

1 cup smoked white fish, flaked

2 tablespoons soy sauce

1 tablespoon sambal oelek

1 tablespoon fresh lime juice

1 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons fresh cilantro leaves

2 tablespoons thinly sliced scallion

1. Cook the crabs: Preheat the oven to the lowest setting.

2. In a shallow bowl, combine the flour and Creole seasoning. In a second shallow bowl, beat the eggs and milk together. Dip each crab into the flour, dredging thoroughly, then dip into the egg mixture. Return to the flour mixture and coat a second time.

3. In a large skillet, heat the oil and butter over medium-high heat until the butter has completely melted and the foam has subsided. Gently place the floured crabs in the pan, shell side down, and cook for 3 minutes. Flip over, and continue cooking for another 3 to 4 minutes, until the crabs are crispy and cooked through. Transfer to a paper towel–lined plate to drain, then season with salt and pepper. Set in the oven to keep warm while you prepare the rice.

4. Make the rice: In a large skillet, heat 1 tablespoon of the oil over medium-high heat until shimmering-hot. Add the egg and scramble, cooking until set. Transfer the scrambled egg to a plate and set aside; wipe out the pan if necessary to get out any bits of egg. Return the pan to medium-high heat and add the remaining 3 tablespoons oil. When it shimmers, add the onion, carrot, celery, garlic, and ginger and cook for 2 minutes. Add the cabbage and continue cooking to wilt it, about 2 minutes. Add the rice and smoked fish and cook, stirring continuously to incorporate and warm through, and to prevent sticking. Add the soy sauce, sambal, lime juice, and black pepper and stir to combine. When the sauce has coated everything, return the scrambled egg to the rice mixture and stir to combine.

5. Transfer to a platter and top with the crispy soft-shells. Garnish with cilantro leaves and scallion and serve.

TURNIP CAKE

WITH SHRIMP AND MUSHROOM BROTH

SERVES 4 TO 8

On dim sum menus, rice flour gets to shine. It’s a key ingredient in rice rolls, certain dumplings, and turnip cakes. Turnip cake, which is actually made from daikon radish (very different from white turnips), is one of my favorite dishes ever—I can’t resist ordering it at any dim sum restaurant I go to. I prefer a turnip cake that’s soft and supple on the inside, with chewy, sweet-salty bites of Chinese sausage and a golden, barely crispy exterior that holds everything together. It’s a textural experience, and I find that using a higher ratio of rice flour to daikon is what gets me there (though many prefer the opposite). It’s also a great “barometer” dish—if you’re at a restaurant and the turnip cake is good, then the rest of the menu will likely follow suit.

The shrimp broth in this recipe transforms this into a dish you could serve as a main course to guests. Dried shrimp is a common addition to turnip cakes, and I wanted to play on that combination of flavors with a different application. The broth slowly invades the cake, soaking into it and changing the flavor and texture over time as you eat it.

This dish requires a fairly large steamer setup: I recommend using your largest stockpot, and setting a metal colander upside down inside it to act as a shelf on which to rest the loaf pan. (A colander works well because the perforated surface allows steam to easily circulate through.)

FOR THE CAKE

3 tablespoons vegetable oil

½ cup diced Chinese lap cheong sausage

1 pound daikon radish, shredded on the large holes of a box grater

¼ cup sliced scallions

3 tablespoons soy sauce

1 tablespoon rice vinegar

1 tablespoon mirin

1 cup rice flour

FOR THE BROTH

2 pounds 16/20 count shrimp, peeled and deveined (reserve the shells)

4 ounces dried shiitake mushrooms

6 tablespoons soy sauce

6 tablespoons mirin

¼ cup sambal oelek

¼ cup thinly sliced garlic (about 12 cloves)

2 medium yellow onions, julienned

2 tablespoons cornstarch

Vegetable oil, as needed, for searing

TO SERVE

Fried shallots (available in Asian markets), for garnish

Thinly sliced scallion, for garnish

1. Make the cake: Heat the oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add the Chinese sausage and cook for 4 to 5 minutes, until the fat is rendered and the sausage gets crispy in spots. Add the daikon and scallion and cook, stirring, for 15 minutes, or until the daikon is starting to become slightly translucent. Add ½ cup water, the soy sauce, vinegar, and mirin. Stir in the rice flour and mix thoroughly; it will be tacky and sticky. Spoon the mixture into a 9 × 5-inch loaf pan. Place the pan in a large steamer (see headnote). Cover and steam for 45 minutes, until cooked through. Remove the cake from the steamer and place it in the refrigerator, uncovered, to set up, at least 4 hours or up to overnight. Once chilled, remove the cake from the pan and cut it into ½-inch-thick slices. The cake can be made up to 3 days in advance, wrapped in plastic wrap, and refrigerated.

2. Make the broth: In a medium saucepan, combine 4 cups water, the shrimp shells, dried mushrooms, soy, mirin, and sambal and bring to a boil over medium heat. Reduce to a simmer and let cook for 45 minutes, or until the liquid reduces by half. Strain the broth through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl or pitcher. Reserve the mushrooms and discard the shrimp shells. Thinly slice the mushrooms and return to the saucepan, along with the strained broth, garlic, and onion. Bring to a boil over high heat.

3. In a small bowl, whisk the cornstarch into 2 tablespoons water and add to the broth. Reduce the heat to a simmer and add the shrimp, cooking just until they turn pink and the broth thickens.

4. To assemble, heat 2 tablespoons oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering-hot. Add as many slices of the daikon cake as will fit in an even layer and sear until golden brown, about 4 minutes per side. Repeat with additional oil and the remaining daikon cake slices.

5. Place 2 to 4 slices each in shallow bowls, pour ¼ to ½ cup of the shrimp broth over the cakes, and divide the shrimp between the bowls. Garnish with a sprinkle of crispy shallots and scallions and serve hot.

Heesuck Ko and Chris at Kong Ju Rice Bakery

Kong Ju Rice Bakery

One of the bestselling dishes I’ve ever put on a menu is the Korean Braised Goat and Dumplings (this page)—a dish that we first offered at our restaurant Underbelly and that now has a permanent place at our beer bar, Hay Merchant.

The inspiration for the dish came from one of its main ingredients: Korean rice cakes, the namesake “dumpling” in the recipe. I was inspired to feature them on our menu after getting to know Jina Kim and her husband, Heesuck Ko, the proprietors of Kong Ju Rice Bakery.

One day, years ago, I was shopping at the Super H Mart, a supersized version of the chain Korean grocery store. I was walking through the aisles and came across a display of jarred kimchi, labeled “Kong Ju Kimchi,” with a Houston address that was right across the street. A local Houston kimchi producer? I walked across Blalock Road and there, in a shopping center, in between the Cicis Pizza and Carmen’s Hair Styles, was Kong Ju Rice Bakery.

It turned out, the word “bakery” is used somewhat loosely, since the rice cakes that Jina and Heesuck are known for are steamed, not baked. To make them, they grind white rice into a fine powder, mix it with some bean flour, and steam the dough into thin logs: mild, chewy, and delicious. They learned their craft in Los Angeles, when they emigrated from South Korea and linked up with a master rice cake maker. He taught them, and encouraged them to move to Houston, where the Korean population was growing.

They started Kong Ju in 2004. But just a few years later, the Super H Mart opened across the street. The trope of the big corporation squeezing out the small independent stores played out, and many of the small Asian groceries on that side of Houston ended up closing their doors. But not Kong Ju: adopting an “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” mentality, they began selling their rice cakes to the superstore as wholesalers, and later expanded their offerings to include fresh sesame oil and assorted banchan, the side dishes that accompany a traditional Korean meal.

The “H Mart effect” is also what got Kong Ju into the kimchi business. Enter the “kimchi mama.” Yeon Ok Lee is in her seventies, and has lived in Houston for nearly three decades. She and her husband owned a small Asian grocery store in the area called Dong Yang, where Lee made and sold her kimchi for years. When H Mart’s arrival forced the place to shutter, Lee went to look for a new home for her kimchi production and found it at Kong Ju. She partnered with Jina and Heesuck to expand her kimchi business, and now Kong Ju Kimchi, made by Lee, is sold not only at the H Marts in Houston but also the Austin location, as well as a few other stores. She goes through about a thousand pounds of cabbage every day.

On that first visit to Kong Ju, I spotted Lee in the back almost immediately, in the process of making kimchi and instructing the mostly Latino prep cooks in a mix of Spanish and Korean. We struck up a conversation, and I was instantly taken by this woman’s warmth and energy.

We began to buy all our kimchi and rice cakes from Kong Ju, and I’d always look forward to my weekly visit to pick up our order, to chat with Jina and Heesuck and get a hug from Lee, who had garnered the nickname “kimchi mama” with our staff at the restaurants. I once asked Lee when she plans to retire, and she told me “when they tell me the kimchi isn’t good anymore.” She also promised me that she’d teach me her recipe someday, but I’ve been reluctant to bring it up; I’d much rather keep going back to Kong Ju for my rice cake and kimchi fix.

KOREAN BRAISED GOAT AND DUMPLINGS

SERVES 6

As a chef, if you’re lucky, a dish that you create becomes a “signature” dish—that one item on the menu that is the most popular with guests and the most talked-about with media (and the most Instagrammed). You don’t always have control over which dish captures this social energy. It may not even be your personal favorite, but suddenly it becomes a part of your identity.

Well, this is my signature dish, and I still love it, even after serving thousands of bowls a month and cooking hundreds of pounds of rice cakes. Its most obvious point of inspiration is tteokbokki, the Korean street snack of chewy rice cakes and spicy gochujang sauce. But our version has absorbed some of the other cultural influences around us. Though it strays from the Korean recipes that I’ve seen, it’s authentic to my experience of Houston—where tender braised goat meat is a fixture of our taquerias, some of which are located right across the street from Kong Ju Rice Bakery, where I pick up fresh rice cakes (along with kimchi and freshly pressed sesame oil). These foods exist together in our city, on that block, so it made sense to me to make them exist together on a plate.

FOR THE GOAT

3-pound piece of bone-in goat leg

2 medium onions, roughly chopped

3 medium carrots, roughly chopped

6 celery stalks, roughly chopped

6 garlic cloves

FOR THE STEW

¼ cup vegetable oil

8 ounces cylindrical Korean rice cakes, cut into 1-inch pieces

½ medium white onion, thinly sliced

½ cup gochujang

¼ cup lager beer

4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter, chilled

¼ cup sliced scallion

1. Braise the goat: Put the goat leg in a large stockpot and add the onions, carrots, celery, and garlic. Fill the pot with water so that the ingredients are completely submerged. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce to a gentle simmer over very low heat. Cover tightly and let simmer for at least 7 hours, until very tender, checking occasionally to see if you need to add more water to keep the goat submerged.

2. Drain, discarding the liquid and aromatics. When the goat is cool enough to handle, pull off all the meat, discarding any bones or tough cartilage. Set aside. (The pulled meat will keep in a covered container in the refrigerator for up to 4 days.)

3. Prepare the stew: In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium-high heat until shimmering-hot. Add the rice cakes, spreading them out in a single layer. Cook, stirring occasionally, for about 6 minutes—let the dumplings get a little bit of golden-brown color in spots, and they might puff slightly. (Some recipes call for boiling rice cakes, but I much prefer the texture they get when pan-fried—they’ll be crispy on the outside and soft and chewy on the inside.)

4. Add the sliced onion and the pulled goat meat and cook, stirring, until the mixture is well combined and warm throughout, and the onion has softened, about 8 minutes. Add the gochujang and beer and cook, stirring to combine, for 2 to 3 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat, add the butter, and gently stir it in to enrich the sauce. Divide the stew among bowls and garnish with the scallion. Serve immediately.

NOTE: I wish that everyone had a Kong Ju Rice Bakery in their town, so that they could experience the textural awesomeness of fresh rice cakes. These cakes are made by pounding glutinous rice and water into a sticky dough, then shaping it and steaming it into cakes. The fresher the cakes, the more supple the texture. But since there’s only one Kong Ju, you’ll likely be buying packaged rice cakes for this recipe—which will still be delicious. I prefer the shelf-stable vacuum-sealed ones that you can easily find at H Mart or online. Leftover cakes keep well in a sealed plastic bag in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks. If you’re looking for additional ways to use them, let me point you in the direction of another “signature” recipe for another chef, David Chang. His Spicy Pork Sausage with Rice Cakes is a classic at his restaurant, Momofuku Ssäm Bar, and easy to make at home (the recipe is all over the internet and in his Momofuku cookbook).

CRISPY PERSIAN RICE

WITH CHERRY-POMEGRANATE BRAISED LAMB

SERVES 4

Here’s a confession: I still get rice anxiety. It’s a little bit embarrassing to admit that one of the world’s most-consumed ingredients is my personal culinary bogeyman, but here we are (two-thirds of the way through the Rice chapter in my cookbook, no less).

What gives me anxiety? Well, rice can be temperamental. Sure, lots of people make perfect rice every day at home, but that’s exactly it: They make it every day, they have the muscle memory and can intuit all the factors—the type of rice, how fresh it is, the humidity that day, and who knows what else. But for me, I admit, rice can sometimes feel like a fragile house of cards, and I’m the guy that’s gonna accidentally knock it down. Over the years, as I’ve learned new techniques from mentors and friends (and invested in several rice cookers), the anxiety has definitely lessened. But it still crops up occasionally, and I want you to know that you’re not alone if rice makes you nervous, too.

I may have conquered my demons when it comes to cooking standard rice, but I’m a nervous wreck when the goal is to “burn” it in the pot. Searing already-cooked rice, okay, I got it (see this page), but I’m talking about cooking rice in liquid and then intentionally overcooking the bottom layer of a pot of rice to get a crust. This technique is something that you see in multiple cuisines, from Spanish soccarat, to Korean nurungji, to the star of this recipe, Persian tahdig. To get over my fear of the technique, I turned to Michael Solomonov, who runs several outstanding restaurants in Philadelphia, and whose book Zahav lays out in plain English the way to nail Persian rice.

I tried his recipe and got great results on my very first attempt, better even than I often find in restaurants. So, with his permission, I’m sharing his rice technique here, which will give even the most rice-phobic person out there a solid shot at success. Give it a try: You’ll feel like a wizard when you lift up the pot to reveal a gorgeous golden layer of crispy rice.

Plus, it’s absolutely delicious alongside this shredded braised lamb, which picks up tartness and depth from dried cherries and pomegranate juice.

Thanks, Mike. And here’s to #alwayslearning.

FOR THE LAMB

1 (4-pound) boneless lamb leg

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons olive oil, or as needed

2 large carrots, roughly chopped

2 celery stalks, roughly chopped

1 medium onion, roughly chopped

½ cup garlic cloves (16 to 18 cloves)

½ cup dried cherries

2 teaspoons crushed Aleppo pepper (see Note)

1 teaspoon ground sumac (see Note)

1 (750 ml) bottle full-bodied red wine

2 cups pomegranate juice

FOR THE RICE

2 cups jasmine rice, soaked in water to cover overnight

Kosher salt

Vegetable oil

Pinch of ground turmeric

TO SERVE

½ cup Greek-style yogurt

½ cup pomegranate seeds

1. Preheat the oven to 300°F.

2. Place the lamb on a cutting board and generously season it all over with salt and pepper (to the point that it almost has a very thin crust). In a 6- to 8-quart Dutch oven with a lid, heat the olive oil over high heat. When the oil starts to smoke, add the lamb leg and let it cook, undisturbed, for about 3 minutes, or until a nice golden-brown crust forms on the bottom. Turn the lamb over and continue to cook, undisturbed, until well browned on the other side, another 3 minutes. Continue turning and cooking until the lamb is browned all over, about 12 minutes total. Transfer the lamb to a plate and set aside, leaving the drippings in the pan. (If your lamb is in small pieces and you need to sear it in batches, splash a little water into the pan and scrape up the browned bits in between batches. Reserve this liquid and start with a clean pan for each batch, adding a little oil to film the pan.)

3. Reduce the heat to medium and add the carrots, celery, onion, and garlic cloves. Cook, stirring frequently, until the vegetables soften, 5 to 7 minutes. Stir in the dried cherries, 1 teaspoon of the Aleppo pepper, and the sumac and cook for 1 minute more. Add the wine, pomegranate juice, and 3 cups water and scrape up any browned bits stuck to the bottom of the pan. Return the lamb to the pot, increase the heat to high, and bring the liquid to a boil. Cover and transfer to the oven.

4. Let the lamb cook for 3½ to 4 hours, until it is extremely tender and easy to pull apart with a fork. Remove it from the braising liquid, reserving both, and let cool.

5. Return the pot with the braising liquid to the stove over medium-high heat and reduce it down to about one-quarter of its volume. Strain the liquid, discarding the solids (you should have 2 to 2½ cups liquid). Pour the liquid into a high-sided skillet.

6. Shred the braised lamb by pulling it apart with your hands or two forks. Add it to the skillet with the reduced sauce. Add the remaining 1 teaspoon Aleppo pepper, taste, and season as desired with additional salt and black pepper; stir together.

7. Place the skillet over medium heat and cook, stirring, until the sauce reduces even further, clinging to the meat like a glaze (it should almost be sticky), 8 to 10 minutes. Keep warm.

8. Make the rice: Drain the soaked rice. Fill a large Dutch oven with water and season with salt as if you’re cooking pasta. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, add the rice, and cook until it’s almost but not quite done—it should still have a little bit of bite to it, about 8 minutes. Drain the rice in a colander and transfer it to a rimmed baking sheet in a single layer to cool.

9. Wipe out the pot with a paper towel and return it to the stove over medium-high heat. Coat the interior with oil. When the oil just begins to smoke, remove the pot from the heat and use a paper towel to wipe out the oil. (You’re basically preseasoning your pot, much the way you would a cast-iron pan, to prevent the rice from sticking later on.) Coat the pot with a fresh layer of oil and sprinkle the bottom of the pot with the turmeric.

10. Gently spoon the rice into the pot and lightly press it into an even layer with the back of a spoon. In a small bowl, combine ¼ cup water, 1 tablespoon oil, and ½ teaspoon salt. Drizzle the mixture over the rice.

11. Wrap the lid of the pot in a kitchen towel, gathering it around the handle and securing it with a rubber band. Place the towel-wrapped lid on the pot and set the pot over low heat (as low as your setting will allow). Let cook, undisturbed, for 30 minutes. Open the pot and check to see if a crust is forming by inserting a butter knife to the bottom of the pan. If a crust hasn’t formed, continue cooking, checking every 10 minutes.

12. Once the crust has formed, remove the pot from the heat and let rest, still covered, for 30 minutes. Unmold the rice by placing a large platter over the pot and carefully flipping the whole thing over to invert the rice.

13. To serve, spoon the braised lamb over the rice. Top with a dollop of yogurt and some pomegranate seeds and serve.

NOTE: This recipe calls for Aleppo pepper and sumac, two seasonings that are common in Middle Eastern cooking. You can purchase them online or in most specialty markets, and both are worthwhile additions to your pantry.

ALEPPO PEPPER

The maroon Aleppo pepper, when crushed, finds an excellent balance between heat and earthy flavor. It’s not particularly hot, but it has enough heat for you to notice it without overwhelming the dusty, dark-fruit and cumin notes. At one time Aleppo pepper was a significant export of Syria (thus named for one of its major cities), but most of the cultivation has moved to Turkey, especially during Syria’s ongoing civil war.

SUMAC

What strikes me about sumac is its acidity. I think of it almost like the dry version of a drizzle of vinegar or a squeeze of lemon: tang, in dry spice form.

STEAK BIBIMBAP

SERVES 4

Grain bowls have come into the mainstream in recent years, but the Koreans have had the lock on this concept for far longer than Instagram’s been around. The idea behind bibimbap is simple: Rice acts as a canvas upon which you can build an array of vegetables and meat, each seasoned differently and thoughtfully. Topped with a rich, flavorful sauce and a fried egg, it’s a hearty, self-contained meal with a range of textures, and the mild aroma of hot rice anchors all these flavors.

But while the idea is simple, don’t be fooled: the preparation is a bit intensive. The key to successful bibimbap is in the details of the different elements. You are aiming for as many variations in texture and flavor as possible: crunchy, runny, tender, sour, sweet, spicy, acidic. When we have this on the menu, the cooks sort of hate it, because in the restaurant, I insist we top the rice with no fewer than seven ingredients, each prepared individually. It takes a lot of effort to set up the station for the night. At home, you can ease the time commitment by omitting some items or prepping some of them in advance. Once everything’s ready to go, it comes together very quickly.

Most important: When it comes time to eat, make sure to mix everything together so that all those flavors get to stand out against one another.

FOR THE STEAK

1 (1-pound) flat iron or skirt steak, trimmed of any sinew or silverskin

3 tablespoons soy sauce

1 tablespoon honey

1 tablespoon gochujang

1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil

1 tablespoon minced garlic (about 3 cloves)

1 tablespoon minced fresh ginger

1 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

FOR THE SAUCE

¼ cup gochujang

2 tablespoons rice vinegar

2 teaspoons toasted sesame oil

2 tablespoons honey

1 tablespoon soy sauce

FOR THE BOWLS

1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil

2 cups lightly packed fresh spinach leaves

2 tablespoons rice vinegar

1 tablespoon soy sauce

3 teaspoons sesame seeds

1 medium cucumber, thinly sliced

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

4 large eggs

2 to 4 cups cooked rice, hot

1 cup shredded carrots

½ cup bean sprouts

1 scallion, thinly sliced

1. For the steak: Cut the steak into 4 equal pieces. In a resealable plastic bag, combine the soy sauce, honey, gochujang, sesame oil, garlic, ginger, and black pepper. Seal and shake the bag to mix, then open the bag and add the steak. Seal and refrigerate for at least 6 hours or overnight.

2. Prepare the sauce: In a medium bowl, whisk together the gochujang, vinegar, sesame oil, honey, and soy sauce. Set aside.

3. To prepare the bowls, start with the spinach. In a medium sauté pan heat the sesame oil over medium heat. When it shimmers, add the spinach and cook, stirring, until it’s wilted and bright green. Add 1 tablespoon vinegar, the soy sauce, and the sesame seeds and stir to combine. Set aside.

4. Next, in a medium bowl, toss the cucumber with the remaining 1 tablespoon vinegar and ½ teaspoon black pepper. Set aside.

5. Remove the steak from the marinade and pat dry. In a large skillet, heat the vegetable oil over medium-high heat until shimmering-hot. Sear the steak for about 2 minutes on each side for medium-rare (or until cooked to your desired temperature). Remove the meat from the pan and let it rest on a cutting board for 5 minutes.

6. While the meat rests, fry the eggs: In a small nonstick skillet, melt 1 tablespoon of the butter over medium heat. Break 2 eggs into the pan and season with salt and pepper. Reduce the heat to low and cook the eggs until the whites are set but the yolks are still runny. Transfer the eggs to a plate and repeat with the remaining 1 tablespoon butter and 2 eggs.

7. To assemble: Divide the rice between 4 bowls. Slice each steak into thin strips and set over the rice. Around the edges of the bowl, layer the marinated spinach, cucumbers, carrots, and bean sprouts. Plop 2 tablespoons of the reserved sauce into each bowl, sprinkle with the remaining 2 teaspoons sesame seeds and the scallion, and top each bowl with a fried egg.

8. Let each guest mix the contents of their bowl so that they’re fully combined.

CALAS WITH COCONUT CREAM

MAKES 12 TO 15 FRITTERS

If rice had a passport, it’d be covered in stamps, traveling all over the world with the people who ate and grew it. But not all migrations are happy ones. The story of how rice arrived to the Americas is tied up in a horrific migration—the forced kind. Most academic histories trace the earliest production of rice in the United States to South Carolina, where it was cultivated by the enslaved people who brought it with them from West Africa.

Calas, a sweet fritter that’s a tradition in New Orleans, is an important vestige of rice’s violent history here. It’s similar in flavor and technique to the much more popular beignet, but the addition of cooked rice to the batter yields a doughnut that has a spongy, almost custardy quality on the inside. Like the rice that defines it, calas was likely a West African import. Enslaved women would sell them on the streets on Sundays, their one day off, and keep a portion of the funds—income they could put toward buying back their own freedom.

Today, these fritters are mostly known for their incredible texture and flavor—I first tried them when working at Brennan’s, where I simply knew them as a delicious way to use up leftover rice. But, like so many things, the more you learn about calas, the more they take on a new dimension. Food never exists in a vacuum, and the most compelling part of cooking and eating is the stories.

FOR THE BATTER

¼ cup whole milk, warmed to 100°F

8 tablespoons sugar

1¼ teaspoons active dry yeast

1 cup all-purpose flour

½ teaspoon ground allspice

¼ teaspoon grated nutmeg

⅛ teaspoon kosher salt

1 large egg, beaten

1½ cups cooked short-grain rice, cooled

Vegetable oil, for deep-frying

FOR THE COCONUT CREAM

1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk

1 cup canned coconut cream

½ to ¾ teaspoon kosher salt

1. Make the batter: In a small bowl, combine the warm milk, 2 tablespoons of the sugar, and the yeast. Set aside for 5 minutes to allow the yeast to wake up. In a medium bowl, mix the flour, allspice, nutmeg, salt, and remaining 6 tablespoons sugar. Add the yeast mixture to the dry ingredients and stir together with a spatula. In a separate bowl, mix the egg and rice to combine. Gently fold the egg-rice mixture into the flour mixture until it just barely comes together. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let sit in a warm area for 1 hour.

2. Make the coconut cream: In a medium saucepan, combine the condensed milk, coconut cream, and salt over medium heat. Cook, stirring, until the mixture is completely smooth and warm throughout. Keep warm.

3. Fill a Dutch oven halfway with oil and heat over medium-high heat until it reaches 350°F on a deep-fry thermometer. Working in batches, use a small ice cream scoop or tablespoon to scoop mounds of the batter about the size of a golf ball and lower them into the oil to fry. Cook on one side for 2 minutes, then use a spoon to turn them over and cook until golden brown all over, 2 minutes longer. Use a slotted spoon or spider to transfer the calas to a paper towel–lined plate to drain.

4. When all the calas are done, spoon some of the warm coconut cream onto each plate and place a few calas on top. Serve hot.

STICKY RICE HAND PIES

MAKES 10 PIES

Our pastry director, Victoria Dearmond, is an ace with fried pies. During our six years at Underbelly, the menu almost always had a fried pie on it, with creative fillings that flirted with the seasons, our surroundings, or simply just our food obsessions (carrot cake fried pie, anyone?).

This version, which uses sweet sticky rice and tropical fruit as the filling, was always among my favorites. The sticky rice takes on a custard-like texture and flavor, which marries perfectly with the flaky crust. It has all the cues of both Southern coconut cream pie and Thai sticky rice with mango. This effect is what I’m always going for—finding ways that express our connections through food.

FOR THE FILLING

2 cups sweet sticky rice (sometimes called glutinous rice), rinsed and drained

½ to ¾ teaspoon kosher salt

1 (15.5-ounce) can coconut milk

¾ cup sugar

2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

¼ cup tropical fruit marmalade (such as pineapple, mango, or papaya)

FOR THE DOUGH

2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting

1 teaspoon baking powder

⅛ to ¼ teaspoon kosher salt

4 ounces cold lard, cut into small chunks

½ cup cold water

⅛ teaspoon distilled white vinegar

1 large egg, beaten (plus 1 more, if baking the pies)

Vegetable oil, for frying (optional)

Sweetened condensed milk, for serving

1. Make the filling: Put the rice in a bowl and cover with 4 cups water. Let soak for at least 4 hours or overnight. Drain the rice well, then put it in a medium pot and set it over medium heat. Let the rice dry out, stirring, for 2 minutes, then add 1 cup water and the salt and stir to combine. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to medium-low and add the coconut milk, sugar, and another ½ cup water. Let it come to a boil again over medium heat and cook, stirring constantly, until the liquid reduces down to the level of the rice, about 15 minutes. Add another ¼ cup water and continue to cook, stirring, until the grains are fully cooked and chewy but with no hard center, another 10 minutes. Stir in the vanilla and increase the heat to high for 1 to 2 minutes more; the mixture should be thickened slightly—not quite to the extent of porridge but heading in that direction. Pour the rice onto a foil-lined rimmed baking sheet and spread out to cool to room temperature, then transfer it to the refrigerator to chill completely.

2. Make the dough: In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a hook attachment, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt and mix on low just to combine. Add the lard and mix on low until only dime-size fat chunks remain. With the mixer running, slowly pour in the cold water and vinegar. Increase the speed to medium and mix until the dough has formed and has a slight tackiness to it. Wrap the dough in plastic and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or overnight.

3. Separate the dough into 10 equal balls. On a flour-dusted surface, roll out each dough ball into a circle about ¼ inch thick.

4. Fill the pies: Place a heaping tablespoon of the rice on the top half of each dough circle, leaving a ½-inch margin from the border—the rice will be firm but malleable, almost like a dough. Spoon 2 teaspoons marmalade on top of the rice. Brush the edges of the dough with the beaten egg and fold the dough over the filling to form a half-moon shape. Press the edges together and, using the tines of a fork, seal along the border by pressing down. Refrigerate the pies for at least 30 minutes.

5. Cook the pies: You can either bake or fry them. To bake, preheat the oven to 350°F and place the pies on a parchment-lined rimmed baking sheet. Brush the exterior of the pies with the beaten egg. Bake for 15 to 17 minutes, until golden brown. To fry, pour at least 4 inches of vegetable oil into a Dutch oven, making sure to leave a few inches of clearance from the top. Heat the oil over medium-high heat until it reaches 350°F on a deep-fry thermometer. Working in batches, add the pies and fry until golden brown, 5 to 7 minutes.

6. While the pies are still hot, drizzle them lightly with sweetened condensed milk and serve.