Maybe it has to do with eating quantities of rice and noodles every day, maybe it’s just regional genius: Whatever the explanation, the dipping sauces, chile pastes, and cooked salsas that bring intense flavor and life to every meal are at the heart of the regional cuisines
The simple Thai-Lao bird chile and fish sauce combo, Thai Fish Sauce with Hot Chiles (page 33), is a table staple, there to be drizzled on bite by bite. It’s chile-hot, pungent and salty, and oh so good.
In southern Vietnam, everyone sitting down to a meal, whether it’s a simple bowl of noodles or a multidish feast, takes pleasure in adding extra flavor and customizing each mouthful with tart-salt-sweet sauces like Vietnamese Must-Have Dipping Sauce (nuoc cham, page 28) and Vietnamese Peanut Sauce (nuoc leo, page 28). They can be spooned over a dish of rice or noodles or used as a dipping sauce for spring rolls or grilled meats. In Thailand, another succulent sauce, Tamarind Sauce with Coconut Milk (page 26), makes a wonderful topping for noodles.
In the Index, you’ll find other dipping sauces; recipes for them appear as part of the recipe for the specific dish each traditionally accompanies.
On most tables in southern Yunnan, there is a small bowl or jar of Yunnanese Chile Pepper Paste (page 27), available to add chile heat to a bowl of noodles or whatever else you’re eating. It’s made from dried red chiles and is a wonderful kitchen staple.
At least one of a class of dishes we call “Mekong salsas” appears at most rice meals throughout the Tai part of Southeast Asia, from southern Yunnan all the way to southern Laos. In Lao they’re known as jaew, in northern Thai as nam prik, and in the Dai area of southern Yunnan as nam mi.
Mekong salsas make great appetizers or between-meal snacks as well as being good side dishes at any meal, complements to foods of all kinds. They’re thick sauces made of cooked and pureed ingredients. Some are mild-tasting, others have more chile heat. Rich Lao Salsa (page 39) or Issaan Salsa with Anchovies (page 38) can make a wonderful addition to a multidish rice-based meal, its thick chile heat a good foil for a rich pumpkin soup or a mild, slightly sweet coconut milk curry.
Grilled Tomato Salsa (page 44) can be drizzled over aromatic jasmine rice or scooped up with Thai-Lao Crispy Rice Crackers (page 106). It is one of several salsas from the northern part of the Mekong region that are seasoned with salt, not with fish sauce, making them a great option for vegetarians wanting to embark on exploring traditional foods from the region.
In Yunnan, homemade or market-bought chile pastes and pickles are popular condiments (see YUNNANESE CHILE PEPPER PASTE, see page 27)
There’s nothing like fresh hot chiles, combined with garlic and lime juice, to bring out the taste of grilled or roasted meat or to hot up a bowl of noodle soup. If you have fresh chiles on hand, try this quick condiment paste. The commercial alternative, called Sriracha sauce, is bright orange and hot-tasting; it’s made in Thailand and is widely available in East Asian groceries.
Serve in a small condiment dish, to accompany Vietnamese beef balls (see Vietnamese Beef Ball Soup, page 62) or other grilled, boiled, or roasted meats (see Index), or as a topping for noodle soups.
4 bird or serrano chiles, minced
2 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
⅛ teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
Pound the chiles, garlic, and salt together in a mortar to make a paste. Stir in the lime juice.
MAKES about 3 tablespoons paste
Dai women in southern Yunnan wear sarongs and fitted cotton blouses, the traditional clothing of Lao and Thai women.
Bicycles as beasts of burden.
“This is a simple dish that you should know how to make,” Oie (an old friend from northern Thailand) told me as she took me into her Bangkok kitchen. And sure enough, as Oie cooked and I took notes, it did seem pretty simple. Cook the coconut milk, add the dao jiao (fermented soybean paste), add the tamarind, and it’s done: a coconut-milk curry with half the fuss. And it was delicious.
But then, of course, months later, I’m home, in the kitchen, reading through my notes and working on the recipe, and somehow it’s not nearly as simple as Oie made it look. My timing is off, I’m straining tamarind when I should already be putting it in, and so on and so forth. And all the while I’m remembering how easy Oie made it look. “A simple dish … ,” she’d said.
Well, now we’ve made lon a lot, and it is simple, as simple as Oie said. But it’s a recipe that always reminds us of how even simple dishes can seem difficult the first time through, or the second time through. It reminds us of how important practice and familiarity are in cooking.
Serve this with a platter of fresh vegetables, as well as with rice if you wish. Use the vegetables to scoop up the sauce.
1½ cups canned or fresh coconut milk (see page 315)
3 medium shallots, 2 minced and 1 thinly sliced
⅓ cup fermented soybean paste (dao jiao)
1 heaping tablespoon tamarind pulp, dissolved in ¼ cup warm water
2 Thai dried red chiles
¼ to ⅓ cup ground pork
2 to 3 tablespoons sugar
Salt (optional)
OPTIONAL ACCOMPANIMENTS
½ small Savoy cabbage, cut into wedges
1 small European cucumber, sliced
1 to 2 green mangoes, peeled and sliced
Heat the coconut milk to a boil in a small pot, then simmer until the oil separates, about 5 minutes.
Meanwhile, place the minced shallots in a mortar and pound to a paste. Add the soybean paste and pound until smooth. Pass the tamarind through a strainer to produce smooth tamarind liquid; discard the solids and set the liquid aside.
Add the shallot paste to the coconut milk, together with the chiles and pork. Cook until the pork has completely changed color, stirring to break up any lumps. Add the sliced shallot, then stir in the tamarind water and 2 tablespoons of the sugar. Taste and add salt or more sugar if you wish. The flavors should be strong and punchy. Bring to a boil briefly, then stir and transfer to a bowl. Serve with a serving spoon; the sauce will be quite liquid.
MAKES about 2 cups sauce
NOTE: We also love lon poured over thin rice vermicelli. Prepare the noodles by soaking, then briefly boiling them. Place a coil of noodles in each bowl and spoon the sauce over generously. Accompany with cucumber slices.
Chile paste is such a great pantry staple. There are many kinds sold bottled in Chinese grocery stores. Some are really pretty good. But dried red chiles are so easily available and chile paste so easy to make that we usually manage to keep a batch of homemade paste handy, stored in a glass jar in the refrigerator. This recipe has a distinctive Yunnanese taste from the cumin seeds and the dark vinegar.
1 cup Thai dried red chiles
1 cup boiling water
1½ teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon sugar
1½ tablespoons peanut oil
½ teaspoons cumin seeds, roughly crushed in a mortar
⅓ cup minced shallots
1½ teaspoons black rice vinegar, or substitute cider vinegar
Rinse the chiles and place them in a medium bowl. Pour the boiling water over and stir to wet all the chiles. Place a lid or small plate just slightly smaller than the diameter of the bowl on the chiles to keep them immersed. Let soak for at least 20 minutes or as long as 2 hours.
Transfer the chiles and soaking water to a food processor or blender and puree. Add the salt and sugar and process briefly to blend. Transfer back to the bowl and set aside.
Place a wok or heavy skillet over medium-high heat. When it is hot, add the oil and swirl it around, then add the crushed cumin seeds and cook about 30 seconds, stirring to prevent scorching. Toss in the shallots and cook over medium heat, stirring frequently, until softened and translucent, about 4 minutes. Add the pureed chile mixture (be careful of spattering as it hits the hot pan) and bring to a boil, then cook, stirring frequently, for about 5 minutes, until the sauce thickens slightly. Remove from the heat and stir in the vinegar.
Transfer to a clean bowl to cool, then store in a sterile, well-sealed glass container in the refrigerator.
MAKES about 1 cup sauce
Nuoc cham is the basic Vietnamese sauce that goes on the table at almost every meal. It brings out the flavors of the food and sparks the appetite. Everyone has a favorite version: This one includes a little vinegar, which gives it a fresh sharp edge. Even if the amount of sugar seems high to you when you make it for the first time, try it this way at least once before you start making adjustments.
¼ cup fresh lime juice
¼ cup Vietnamese or Thai fish sauce
¼ cup water
2 teaspoons rice or cider vinegar
1 tablespoon sugar
1 small clove garlic, minced
1 bird chile, minced
Several shreds of carrot (optional)
Combine all the ingredients in a bowl and stir to dissolve the sugar completely. Serve in one or more small condiment bowls. Store in a tightly sealed glass container in the refrigerator for up to 3 days (after that, the garlic starts to taste tired).
MAKES just over ¾ cup sauce
Nuoc leo may read like a close cousin of satay sauce, but it’s very distinctively Vietnamese. It’s a little chunky and salty, and reddish brown in color. Rich with peanuts and ground pork, sour with tomato, and salty with fermented soybean sauce, it makes a great dip for cucumber slices and other raw vegetables, for Rice Paper Rollups with Shrimp and Herbs (page 177), Grilled Lemongrass Beef (page 225), or Vietnamese Grilled Pork Balls (nem nuong, page 252).
¼ cup Dry-Roasted Peanuts (page 308)
Scant 2 tablespoons tamarind pulp, dissolved in 2 tablespoons warm water, or substitute scant 2 tablespoons tomato paste
2 teaspoons peanut oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
3 tablespoons ground pork
3 tablespoons fermented soybean paste (tuong in Vietnamese; dao jiao in Thai)
About 1 cup water
1½ teaspoons sugar
1 to 2 bird chiles, minced
Generous squeeze of fresh lime juice (optional)
Place the peanuts in a food processor or large mortar and process or pound to a coarse powder; set aside. If using tamarind, press it through a sieve; reserve the liquid and discard the solids.
Heat the oil in a wok or skillet over high heat. Add the garlic and stir-fry until it is starting to change color, about 15 seconds. Toss in the pork and use your spatula to break it up into small pieces. Once it all has changed color, add the soybean paste and the tamarind or tomato paste and stir to blend. Stir in ½ cup of the water, then stir in most of the ground peanuts, reserving about 1 tablespoon for garnish. Stir in the sugar and chiles. Add up to ½ cup more water, until you have the desired texture: a thick liquid, pourable but not watery.
Serve in small individual condiment bowls or in one medium bowl with a spoon so guests can drizzle sauce onto their food or onto their plates. Serve warm or at room temperature, squeezing on the optional lime juice and sprinkling on the reserved ground peanuts just before serving.
The sauce will keep well-sealed in the refrigerator for 3 days or in the freezer for 1 month. Reheat it in a small pan and simmer briefly before placing in a serving bowl.
MAKES about 2 cups sauce
One of the hardest things to work around when cooking vegetarian food in Vietnam is the loss of fish sauce for flavoring and for sauces. I learned this rich-tasting sauce, a vegetarian substitute for nuoc cham, from Vui, a boatwoman in Cantho. She and her friend Hanh invited me to dinner several times. Since Vui was fasting (eating no meat or fish) that month, much of what they made was from the extensive Vietnamese vegetarian repertoire.
This sauce in no way tries to replicate nuoc cham (page 28). Instead, it’s a distinctive and delicious dipping sauce in its own right, with no hint of deprivation. It’s particularly good drizzled over stir-fried or parboiled green vegetables, used as a flavoring for jasmine rice or for rice noodles.
3 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon rice wine or cooking sherry
1 teaspoon finely chopped garlic
1 teaspoon finely chopped lemongrass
⅛ teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 bird chile, minced
1 teaspoon peanut oil
1 teaspoon sugar
½ teaspoon salt
In a small bowl, combine the soy sauce and wine or sherry. Place the garlic and lemongrass in a mortar and pound to reduce to a paste, then add to the sauce. Stir in the cinnamon and bird chile, then add the oil, sugar, and salt. Stir well and taste. Store for up to 3 days in a well-sealed container in the refrigerator.
MAKES about ⅓ cup sauce
NOTE: If you wish to make a larger recipe, enough for 6 to 8 people with some left over, multiply the first 5 ingredients by 4; the chile, cinnamon, sugar, and salt should be increased less than proportionately. Start by doubling them, then, once you’ve blended all the ingredients, adjust the balance of flavors as you please.
Yunnan is big. Roughly the size of California and with a population of thirty-five million people, it is China’s sixth largest province.
In the west, there are snow-capped Himalayan peaks, and in the south there are tropical forests and lush vegetation. Over half of all the plant species found in China are found in Yunnan. One third of the population is not Chinese. There are the Zhuang, Achang, Mien, Hmong, Hani, Jingpo, Wa, Minchia, Dai, Benglong, Bulang, Yi, Tibetan, Lisu, Nu, Dulong, Naxi, Pumi, Lahu, Jinuo, Menggu—altogether, forty to fifty different non-Han populations live in the province.
With its high mountains, huge valleys, and raging rivers, Yunnan feels as if the great Himalaya here decided to stretch its long limbs, to get comfortable, to move sideways instead of always thrusting upward. Seldom is the elevation less than a mile, yet always, in every direction, there is a view of higher mountains. Like Mexico, Yunnan straddles the Tropic of Cancer; in December you can still be happily in short sleeves.
Traveling in Yunnan is different from traveling in the rest of Southeast Asia. Not only are distances long and the terrain rugged, it’s China, and China has its own way of doing things. We’d been to Yunnan many times, but on a recent visit we wanted to spend as much time along the Mekong (which in China is called the Lancang) as we could. We first headed to Dali, an ancient but thriving town that was once the center of Nan Chao Kingdom. Dali has long been popular among travelers to China. We figured we’d have a chance of finagling affordable transport along the Mekong, along a route of our own design. And we were right, more or less.
A local taxi driver agreed to make the trip along our route in a total of three days (we had wanted five). He demanded twice as much money as we were prepared to spend, and he got it, being the only one in town willing to make the trip. And, being Chinese, he insisted on staying at night in Chinese towns, a point he also succeeded in winning.
But our drive through mountainous Yunnan was worth every yuan and every compromise. Over and over again, we would slowly traverse our way up a valley wall, back and forth from hairpin turn to hairpin turn (Chinese road builders are masters of building roads on steep inclines). When we would get to the top, we’d look back into the giant valley we were leaving, and then ahead to that we were heading into. Beautiful terraced hillsides were planted in rice, in tea, in rapeseed. The rice and rape grew at lower levels, near the valley floor, the tea higher up the mountainsides. At dawn on our third day, we drove through a region where all the rape was in flower; in every direction were beautiful yellow fields, a brilliant blue sky, and walls and houses of rich red earth and stone.
Driving through Yunnan was a revelation, like discovering the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle we’d sworn we’d never find. In three days we traversed the Autonomous Regions of the Lahu, Lisu, and Bai peoples. Over the past hundred years, many of these tribal peoples have migrated in small numbers into remote corners of the mountains of northern Thailand, Laos, and Vietnam. Here in Yunnan, we met them for the first time living as a dominant culture.
And each night our driver would somehow find the one and only Chinese town. Oh well.
On the third day of our trip south through Yunnan, we traveled through terraced landscapes brilliant with the yellow of rapeseed oil plants in bloom.
THAI FISH SAUCE WITH HOT CHILES
This common Thai chile sauce is our everyday condiment, almost as important in our house as salt. It keeps forever and brings to the table a reliable hit of salt and chile heat. It’s not mild and subtle, like the Vietnamese nuoc cham (page 28), but brassy and forward and altogether unapologetic. Drizzle a little on fried rice or plain rice, or Thai or Lao food, or whatever you please, mouthful by mouthful.
We keep our prik nam pla in a plastic container in the refrigerator, topping it up with extra fish sauce as it runs low. Eventually the chiles too run low, and also lose their punch. Then it’s time to top up the chiles (and then the sauce is very hot).
When handling bird chiles, you may want to wear rubber gloves to protect your skin. When you chop them, by hand or in the processor, you may find yourself coughing and sneezing as the capsaicin from the cut chiles hits the air. Don’t worry, it passes soon. And this simple sauce is worth the effort.
½ cup bird chiles, stems removed
1 cup Thai fish sauce
Place the chiles in a food processor and pulse to finely chop (stop before they are a mush). Or, wearing rubber gloves to protect your hands, use a cleaver or sharp knife to mince the chiles on a cutting board.
Transfer the minced chiles (with their seeds) to a glass or plastic container and add the fish sauce. Cover and store in the refrigerator. The sauce will keep indefinitely, losing chile heat over time; top it up with extra chiles or fish sauce when it runs low. Serve in small individual condiment bowls.
MAKES just over 1 cup sauce
Kunming, the capital city of Yunn, is changing fast. Traffic jams now mean cars, not bicycles. The main streets are lined with multistory concrete buildings. Women wear short skirts and high heels, and taxi drivers have attitude. Department stores, which a decade ago were cold cavernous dimly lit Soviet-style halls selling an indescribably bleak assortment of Chinese Spam, local cigarettes, and white sorghum whiskeys, are now almost cheerful places to shop.
Present-day Kunming reminds us of Taipei, Taiwan, twenty years ago. There is a facade of modernity, there is even modern life, but just behind it, behind the tall concrete buildings, there is still the old China. We stay in the Camellia Hotel, just down (and down-market) from the Kunming Hotel, and every morning we get up, cross the street, and walk into the dazzling local produce market, which winds around in a wonderful complex tangle. There is so much good food: Muslim food, Minchia food, Dai food, hot pickles, and steaming jiao-zi.
For lunch, we dine at the nearby cooking school, not because the food is particularly good, but because we can watch the cooking teachers and their students, the confident and the less than confident, cooking their way furiously through order after order.
For dinner, it’s as easy as breakfast and lunch. We just disappear behind the concrete buildings.…
Women making jiao-zi (dumplings) on a small street in Kunming chat with passersby.
On market day in Dali, the main street—from one city gate to the other—is filled with stalls and shoppers, and the action spills down side streets and out beyond the city walls.
Nam prik pao is commonly available in Southeast Asian groceries, but as with many condiments and flavor pastes, the homemade has a more immediate and fresher flavor. Nam prik pao (pao means roasted) is used to add a roasted depth of flavor, as well as chile heat, to fried rice or soups. You can also serve it as a table sauce or salsa (see Note).
¾ cup Thai dried red chiles
Generous ½ cup shallots, unpeeled
Scant ½ a cup garlic cloves, unpeeled
¼ cup peanut or vegetable oil
1 teaspoon Thai fish sauce, or substitute scant ½ teaspoon salt for a vegetarian version
Place a large heavy skillet over medium-low heat, add the chiles, and dry-roast them, moving them around with a spatula as necessary to prevent burning, for 4 to 5 minutes; they’ll darken and become brittle. Remove from the heat and set aside to cool.
Meantime, slice the unpeeled shallots lengthwise in half, or quarters if they’re very large. Place a second heavy skillet over medium heat, add the shallots and garlic cloves, and dry-roast until well browned on one side; then turn them over and dry-roast on the other side. When they’re well softened and roasted, 5 to 8 minutes, remove from the heat and set aside. Alternatively, you can also use a charcoal or gas grill to roast the chiles, shallots, and garlic; in village Thailand, grilling is usually done over a small wood fire.
Break off the chile stems and discard them, then break up the chiles (they’ll break easily) and place in a food processor or large mortar. Some recipes call for discarding the chile seeds, but it seems a pity to waste their heat and flavor, so we suggest you keep them. Peel the shallots and garlic, coarsely chop, and toss into the processor or mortar. Process or pound to a smooth paste (the chile seeds will still be whole). You may have to scrape down the sides of the bowl or mortar several times as you work. Processing is very quick; using a mortar is more traditional and will take about 10 minutes or more, depending on the type of mortar and your energy.
Place a heavy skillet over medium heat. Add the oil, and when it is hot, add the paste. Stir gently with a wooden spatula as the paste heats in the oil and absorbs it. After 4 to 5 minutes, it will have darkened slightly and will give off a wonderful slightly sweet roasted chile aroma. Remove from the heat, stir in the fish sauce, and let cool to room temperature.
Transfer to a glass jar and store, well sealed, in the refrigerator.
MAKES just over ½cup paste
NOTE: To serve the paste as a table sauce, you may wish to add more fish sauce or salt and a generous squeeze of fresh lime juice and a little sugar.
The Shan and the Tai Koen use something called tua nao, flat sun-dried disks made from fermented soybeans, as a basic flavor base. The disks are crumbled and fried or added as a flavoring to dishes, rather as fish sauce is in other parts of the region. The disks are also the principal ingredient in a spicy flavor powder that is used as a condiment and seasoning by the Shan and Tai Koen.
Because tua nao are unavailable here, we substitute fermented soybean paste (Thai, dao jiao; Vietnamese, tuong), a simple bottled combination of stewed fermented soybeans, salt, and flour sold at Chinese and Southeast Asian stores. (see Glossary for more information.) It’s wet, not dry like tua nao, so consequently this is a flavor paste rather than a dry powder.
Use this paste as a condiment, salty and chile-hot for rice or noodle dishes or grilled meat, or as a flavoring ingredient in cooked dishes. It can also be used in place of fish sauce–based chile pastes, especially when you are converting a traditional Southeast Asian dish into a purely vegetarian dish.
3 tablespoons fermented soybean paste (see Headnote)
5 Thai dried red chiles
1 tablespoon minced ginger
Pinch of salt
2 tablespoons Dry-Roasted Peanuts (page 308)
1 tablespoon Dry-Roasted Sesame Seeds (page 308)
Place the soybean paste in a small heavy nonreactive skillet and heat, stirring occasionally, over medium heat for 5 minutes to concentrate the paste. Set aside.
In a small heavy skillet, dry-roast the chiles until softened and puffed, about 1 minute. Stem and finely chop and place in a mortar. Add the ginger and pound the two to a paste with the pinch of salt. Add the peanuts and sesame seeds and pound to create a rough paste. Add the soybean paste and pound and stir to blend. Transfer to a nonreactive container and store in the refrigerator.
MAKES a scant ½ cup paste
NOTE: Shan flavor paste makes a good topping for leftover sticky rice. We were told in Mae Sai (see page 92) to shape leftover sticky rice into a flat cake 2 to 3 inches across, spread on some Shan Chile Paste, and then fry in hot oil for breakfast.
This classic Lao sauce is sometimes called jaew pa (pa is fish, and it’s traditionally made with salted river fish, for which we substitute anchovies) and sometimes jaew issaan because Thais know it as a dish from northeast Thailand (Issaan). It’s simple and very good, a great introduction to the regional salsa tradition. It makes a tasty condiment for grills and for sticky rice; the lemony flavor of galangal is addictive. The sauce is hot but not burningly so. The tomatoes can be omitted; we prefer to include them if we have some on hand.
4 medium to large cloves garlic, unpeeled
1 tablespoon chopped galangal
2 tablespoons sliced shallots (2 medium)
Pinch of salt
½ stalk lemongrass, trimmed and minced
1 Thai dried red chile
2 tablespoons finely chopped anchovy fillets (approximately 8)
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1 fresh or frozen wild lime leaf, torn into small pieces
2 to 3 cherry tomatoes (optional)
Place the garlic in a small heavy skillet over medium-high heat and cook, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon, until the skins are well browned in several places, about 8 minutes. Transfer the garlic to a cutting board and add the galangal and shallots to the skillet. Cook for 3 to 5 minutes, until the shallots start to turn golden and the galangal begins to scorch. Coarsely chop the shallots and transfer with the galangal to a mortar or food processor. Peel the garlic, coarsely chop, and add to the mortar or processor.
Pound or process the garlic, galangal, and shallots to a paste with the pinch of salt. Add the lemongrass and reduce to a coarse paste. Set aside.
Heat a small heavy skillet over medium-high heat, add the dried chile, and dry-roast for about 45 seconds, just until starting to puff; do not let it scorch. Remove and finely chop, discarding any tough stem but retaining the seeds. Transfer to the mortar or processor and pound or process with the other ingredients. Add the chopped anchovies and pound or blend into the paste. Transfer the paste to a bowl and stir in the lime juice and lime leaf.
Heat a small skillet over medium-high heat, add the tomatoes, and cook until slightly scorched in several places, about 2 minutes. Coarsely chop into about 6 pieces each, then stir into the paste and serve. Leftover paste can be stored in a jar in the refrigerator for 3 to 4 days.
MAKES about ⅔ cup sauce
This is an adaptation of a classic salsa from Luang Prabang, the old royal capital of Laos. It is a beautiful, dark red-brown color with a smooth paste texture. It is eaten with sticky rice or as a side with cooked vegetables (such as Steamed Vegetable Plate, page 69; just scoop them through it), or served with mild dishes like Silky Coconut-Pumpkin Soup (page 51). Traditional versions include small chewy bits of dried water buffalo skin and are hotter than this version. Flavors are rich from the grilled shallots and garlic, spiked with citrusy, gingery galangal. The sauce is hot but not fiery; for the traditional amount of heat, increase the number of chiles to 10.
6 medium or 9 small shallots, unpeeled
1½ cups garlic cloves (from 3 to 4 heads), unpeeled
6 (or up to 10) Thai dried red chiles
1½ tablespoons chopped galangal
Several pinches of salt
2 teaspoons Thai fish sauce, or more to taste
2 to 3 tablespoons warm water
½ cup coarsely chopped fresh coriander
Heat a cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Place the shallots and garlic in the skillet and dry-roast until browned and blackened on all sides, about 5 minutes. Remove from the skillet and set aside to cool slightly.
Meanwhile, place the skillet over medium heat, add the dried chiles, and dry-roast, turning and moving them frequently, until they start to give off an aroma; they should not blacken or burn—just heat gently until they are dried out and brittle. Alternatively, you can roast the shallots, garlic, and chiles over a charcoal or gas grill.
Transfer the chiles to a mortar and pound them to a powder (discard any tough stems). Add the galangal and a pinch of salt and pound to a paste. Transfer the mixture to a small bowl and set aside. Alternatively, place the chiles and galangal in a blender or food processor and chop them as fine as possible.
Slide the peels off the shallots and garlic and discard. Coarsely chop the shallots, place them in the mortar with a pinch of salt, and pound to a smooth paste. Add the paste to the mixture in the small bowl, then place the garlic cloves and a pinch of salt in the mortar and pound to a smooth paste. Add all the pounded ingredients to the mortar and pound together. Alternatively, add the shallots and garlic to the food processor with a pinch of salt and process. Add the fish sauce and 2 tablespoons of the warm water and pound or stir to blend well. The paste should be very moist and smooth; add a little more warm water if you wish. Taste for salt and add a little more salt or fish sauce if you wish. Stir in half the coriander.
Transfer the sauce to a small bowl. Sprinkle the remaining coriander over the top. Serve at room temperature. Store leftovers in a sealed contained in the refrigerator for several weeks.
MAKES just over 1 cup thick sauce
It wasn’t one of my all-time favorite meals, but it was certainly one of the most memorable. I was in Dali, in central Yunnan, in April 1984. Dali, the center of the old Nanchao Kingdom, is home to the Minchia people, also called Bai. Bai women traditionally wear a distinctive tunic made from a heavy navy-blue-and-white cotton cloth, but at that time, like other “minority peoples” in China, they were dressed in the same drab proletarian green and blue Mao jackets and pants seen all across the country. Minority dress was forbidden, as was minority religious expression (though this was very soon to begin to change).
One day I noticed a group of elderly women dressed in the traditional Bai clothing walking through town. A few minutes later, I noticed another group, and then another, and another. So I got up and followed them all the way out of town.
About a mile outside Dali, everyone came together in a large dry riverbed, several hundred women altogether. As the small groups arrived they would find an unspoken-for spot in the riverbed and settle in, putting down picnic baskets and taking out the contents; each woman had several long strands of glass beads, as well as little wooden mallets and metal jingles. Then each group stood up in a semicircle and started to keep a rhythm with their mallets and jingles, and the women began to chant. I became part of the group that I’d walked out with, and even though I was the only man among several hundred women at the riverbed, they made it clear that I was a welcome participant. (All around the river, though, there were Chinese soldiers and police from the Public Security Bureau, looking on and looking none too happy.) The women told me to sit down, and so I did.
Round about noon, my group took a break from chanting and we had lunch. On my plate, I was given a large fish head and a three-inch-square chunk of fat, same as everyone else. And we had tea.
Soon they began chanting again, all afternoon long and into the evening. And then it was over, and everyone walked back home.
Bai women in the Dali area come to market to buy and sell not only vegetables and eggs and livestock, but also jewelry, old and new.
Chinese brushwork and calligraphy is an art, often demonstrated on the street on market day.
Potatoes simply fried with chiles and other flavorings make a warming winter dish (see QUICK AND TASTY YUNNANESE POTATOES, page 162).
GRILLED TOMATO SALSA, along with THAI-LAO CRISPY RICE CRACKERS (page 106).
This close cousin of the grilled tomato salsas of northern Thailand was one of our favorite dishes at the Dai guest house in Menghan (see page 60). Just before each meal, Mae or her mother would light a small fire and then grill garlic and tomatoes over it until they were blackened, softened, and warm inside. Then she’d mash the juicy tomatoes and the garlic in the mortar with simple flavorings, transfer the salsa to a small bowl, and bring it to the table, a little runny, still a little warm from the fire, and alive with fresh flavor.
Serve this as a salsa for dipping sticky rice or chips or pork cracklings, or to accompany a jasmine rice meal.
4 cloves garlic, unpeeled
3 medium juicy tomatoes
1 to 2 serrano or bird chiles, minced (optional)
½ teaspoon salt, or to taste
½ cup chopped coriander
Heat a charcoal or gas grill. Place the garlic and tomatoes on a fine-mesh rack on the grill and grill until well blackened in spots on one side, then use tongs to turn them. Continue to cook, turning the tomatoes as necessary to expose all sides to the heat, until the garlic and tomatoes are well scorched and softened, 8 to 10 minutes. Alternatively, heat a heavy skillet over high heat. Place the garlic and tomatoes in the skillet and lower the heat to medium-high. As soon as the garlic and tomatoes blacken on one side, use tongs to turn them and cook, until well scorched and softened, 8 to 10 minutes.
Peel the garlic, chop or mash, and place in a food processor. Coarsely chop the tomatoes, saving the juice, and add the tomatoes and juice to the processor. Add the chiles, if using, and pulse several times to blend; do not process to a puree. Transfer to a bowl and stir in the salt. Store refrigerated no more than 2 days.
Stir in the coriander just before serving.
MAKES 1½ cups salsa
Buy a large package of poppy seeds, as you will find this easy salsa-paste a pleasure to have on the table, either as a condiment for rice and simple rice meals or to accompany grilled meats. It is a little salty, and, depending on the heat of the chiles you use, slightly chile-hot.
6 to 8 medium to large cloves garlic, unpeeled
3 medium to mild long green chiles (such as Cubanelles, Hungarian wax, or Anaheim)
2 tablespoons poppy seeds
¼ teaspoon salt, or to taste
1 cup packed coriander leaves and stems
Heat a heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Place the garlic cloves and the chiles in it and dry-roast, turning to expose all sides to the heat and pressing down on the chiles against the hot surface, until the garlic has softened and browned well and the chiles have softened and blistered, about 5 minutes. Remove from the heat. When they are cool enough to handle, peel the garlic cloves, coarsely chop, and set aside. Cut off and discard the chile stems, slice the chiles open lengthwise, and pull out and discard the membranes and, if you wish, the seeds. Coarsely chop and set aside.
If using a large mortar, place the poppy seeds in it and pound until pulverized. Add the garlic and pound to a paste, then add the chiles and salt and pound to a coarse paste. Add the coriander and pound until well incorporated into the paste.
If using a spice grinder (or coffee grinder) and food processor, place the poppy seeds in the grinder and reduce to a powder. Transfer to the processor, add the remaining ingredients, and process to a paste; you may have to stop the machine several times to push the ingredients down the sides of the processor bowl.
Turn out into a small bowl and serve.
MAKES ½ cup dense sauce
The Tai people use grilling as a flavoring technique, perhaps nowhere more brilliantly than in their salsas. The Lao season their salsas with fish sauce or fish paste, while the Shan and the Dai use salt, as we do in this Shan version of the north Thai classic, nam prik num.
Prik num are long pale green chiles, usually mild to medium-hot, that resemble the banana chiles we can buy in North America. In this sauce, fresh chiles, shallots, tomatoes, and garlic are thoroughly softened and blackened on a grill or in a hot dry skillet, then chopped and seasoned. The salsa has a wonderful taste of the grill and is medium-hot. If you want a milder taste, substitute Hungarian wax chiles or Cubanelles for some or all of the banana chiles.
Serve the salsa in a bowl from which guests can help themselves, as a dip for sticky rice, or raw vegetables, or crackers or pork cracklings. Place a plate of sliced cucumbers, lettuce leaves, and other greens on the table so guests can use them to scoop up the sauce. The salsa also makes a good sauce for jasmine rice or noodles.
4 to 5 banana chiles (about ¼ pound)
¼ pound shallots, cut in half, quartered if very large
6 to 8 cloves garlic, halved if large
½ pound cherry tomatoes
2 to 3 tablespoons coriander leaves, coarsely torn
2 teaspoons salt, or to taste
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
Heat a charcoal or gas grill. Place the chiles, shallots, garlic, and tomatoes on a fine-mesh rack on the grill and grill until well blackened in spots on one side, then turn with tongs and repeat on the other side, turning the tomatoes as necessary to expose all sides to the heat.
Alternatively, heat two heavy skillets over high heat (if you have only one skillet, the vegetables will have to be cooked in sequence; with two, you can get everything cooked at the same time). Place the chiles, shallots, and garlic cloves in one skillet and place the tomatoes in the other. Lower the heat to medium-high under both skillets. Press down gently on the chiles to expose them to the heat; then, as one side blackens, use tongs or a wooden spatula to turn them. Similarly, turn the shallots and garlic as they blacken on one side to cook the other side. Use tongs to turn the tomatoes, exposing all sides to the heat.
Remove the vegetables from the grill or skillets when they seem well scorched and softened, about 8 to 10 minutes. Place on a cutting board to cool slightly. Slice off and discard the stem end of the chiles, slice the chiles lengthwise in half, and discard the seeds (unless you want a very hot salsa). Chop well, then transfer to a medium bowl. Finely chop the remaining vegetables and transfer, together with the juices from the tomatoes, to the bowl. Add the coriander, salt, and lime juice and stir to blend. The sauce will be chunky and a little bit soupy in texture. (The ingredients can be chopped together in a food processor, but the sauce is more traditional and more interesting with a hand-chopped texture.)
If you have time, let the sauce stand for 30 minutes before serving to allow the flavors to blend and mellow. Store in a covered nonreactive container in the refrigerator. The salsa will keep for 4 to 5 days. Bring back to room temperature before serving.
MAKES about 1½ cups sauce
NOTE: The Shan have a whole repertoire of grilled chile salsas, building on the ingredients in this one. For example, you could grill mushrooms or eggplant, then chop and add to this, adjusting the seasonings as necessary.
