Soup is an essential part of most meals in Southeast Asian cuisines, often served as a contrast to strong-tasting dishes. The soups in this chapter do not include noodle or rice soups, which tend to be meal-in-one dishes and appear in the Noodles and Rice chapters respectively (see Index). Instead, here is a sampling of the soups that can be served as part of a family meal. Some are mild, others, especially the sour soups for which the region is famous, are more assertive tasting. All mean comfort food to the people for whom they are daily fare.
Soup as a flavorful liquid to accompany a meal begins with a light broth, chicken- or pork- or vegetable-based. The goal here is not intensity of flavor but rather a pleasingly mild-tasting liquid. Chicken Soup with Greens (page 56) and Plain of Jars Vegetable Soup (page 53) are both in this category, ideal companions for rice and spicy dishes.
Clear soups with stronger flavorings are also part of the regional repertoire. We have included both a Thai and a Lao tom yum here, delicious hot-and-sour clear broths (see Shrimp in Hot Lime Leaf Broth, page 53, and Lao Hot and Sour Soup with Fish, page 57). Tom yum is never drunk in vast quantity but instead is eaten like a hot Thai curry, sipped in small spoonfuls throughout the meal.
Thicker, more robust soups, such as slow-simmered Hearty Chicken Soup with Onions and Garlic (page 59), Silky Coconut-Pumpkin Soup (page 51), and Home-Style Pork Soup with Vegetables (page 51), are closer to the European idea of soup as a full-flavored dish or course on its own. These are rich in substance and flavor and can be served as part of a Southeast Asian or a Western meal, or as the soup half of a meal of bread and soup.
Soups and curries, hot and ready to carry home from a prepared food market in Vientiane.
Sometimes a hunter, like this young Akha man near the Lao-Yunnan border, will bring his weapon with him to the market.
Ask a home cook in Southeast Asia how she makes broth, and she’s apt to give an easy wave of the hand: “Some meat and bones [or chicken or oxtail],” she’ll begin, and then she’ll list aromatics. The details may vary: slices of ginger, or maybe not; cloves of garlic; perhaps, if she’s Lao, whole coriander plants, including the root; probably some peppercorns (or, in Yunnan, Sichuan peppercorns); perhaps, if she’s Khmer, a stalk or two of smashed lemongrass; and in Vietnam, with beef, she’ll add a stick of cinnamon and some star anise.
Broths are a way of making good use of meat, bones, and scraps, extracting all their flavor. Generally, the more meat used, the more flavor. When making pork or beef broth, especially if using bones, you will have to skim off foam as it rises to the surface in the first 10 to 15 minutes of cooking. The broth should be gently simmered once it has come to the boil, because continuous vigorous boiling would make it cloudy. Broths and stocks made from bones generally need a long period (2 hours or more) of simmering, while those made from pieces of meat usually will be flavorful enough in less than an hour. Except for the richly flavored beef soups of Vietnam, soup broth in Southeast Asia is usually light-tasting, used for clear soups or added to a stew or stir-fry during cooking.
Having a supply of clear soup broth in your freezer and rice and noodles in your pantry is a guarantee that you’ll always have food to put on the table: Heat the broth to a boil, season it, toss in some chopped vegetables or sliced meat if you wish, and pour it over rice or noodles for a hearty meal-in-one.
We usually improvise our broths, depending on what we have on hand, but here is a general recipe to give some guidance.
1 whole chicken or 3 to 4 pounds chicken necks and wings (or 1 chicken carcass)
Water to cover
4 cloves garlic, peeled
2 to 3 shallots, halved, or 2 scallions trimmed and cut into 2-inch lengths (optional)
About 10 black peppercorns or Sichuan peppercorns (optional)
3 thick slices ginger (optional)
2 whole coriander plants, including roots, well washed (optional)
Salt and/or Thai or Vietnamese fish sauce to taste
Rinse the chicken well. Place in a large heavy pot and add cold water to cover. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer, skimming off and discarding any foam that comes to the surface. Add all the remaining ingredients except the salt and/or fish sauce, stir well to wet them, and simmer, half-covered, for about 40 minutes. (If you are using a chicken carcass, simmer the broth for about 2 hours.)
Place a sieve over a large bowl, pour the broth through it, and set aside meat for another purpose; discard the remaining solids. Let the broth cool completely, then pour it into one or more containers. Cover and refrigerate. After several hours, a layer of fat will have solidified on the surface; skim it off and set aside for another purpose if desired. You can use the broth immediately, or refrigerate it for up to 3 days, or freeze for up to 3 months. You can season it after skimming off the fat or instead wait, as we do, and season it with salt and/or fish sauce just before you use it.
If using the stock to make a clear broth, warm it slightly, then strain through a colander lined with a double layer of cheesecloth before proceeding with the recipe.
MAKES 6 to 9 cups broth
The Bai people, who live in and around Dali in the Erhai Lake region of Yunnan, raise pigs and chickens and grow rice, soybeans, and vegetables on the sloping shores of the lake. This warming soup is almost a stew, loaded with greens and a little tomato, as well as chunks of meat. Serve it with rice or with bread as a hearty peasant soup, or as part of a rice meal, with grilled fish and a spicy salsa.
2 to 3 tablespoons minced pork fat or vegetable oil
2 tablespoons minced garlic
1-inch piece ginger, peeled and sliced
1 pound boneless pork (shoulder, butt, or loin), trimmed of most fat and cut into 1-inch chunks
6 cups water
2 Thai dried red chiles
1 teaspoon salt, or to taste
7 to 10 scallions, trimmed and cut into 1-inch lengths (2 cups)
1 medium tomato, coarsely chopped
1 cup packed coriander leaves, coarsely chopped
If using pork fat, place a large heavy pot over medium-high heat and toss in the fat; when it melts, raise the heat to high. If using oil, place the pot over high heat and add the oil. Toss in the minced garlic and cook briefly until starting to brown, then add the ginger slices and meat and cook, turning the pork frequently, until all surfaces of the meat have changed color, about 5 minutes. Add the water and dried chiles and bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer, half-covered, for 30 minutes.
Add the salt, scallions, tomato, and half the coriander leaves and simmer for another 10 minutes. (The soup can be prepared to this point and set aside for up to 2 hours, then reheated just before serving. Add a little water if you wish the soup to be more liquid.) Taste and adjust the seasonings if necessary.
To serve, bring the soup almost to a boil and toss in the remaining coriander leaves. Stir briefly, then serve.
SERVES 4 as a main dish with rice or 6 as part of a rice meal
Serve this lush, smooth soup as part of an Asian or Western meal.
Large wedges of pumpkin with a pale gray-green skin are sold in Southeast Asian groceries and in Caribbean produce markets. Pick out the pumpkin with the reddest flesh. You can also use an orange “pie pumpkin.”
3 to 4 shallots, unpeeled
1½ pounds pumpkin (untrimmed), or butternut squash or 1¼ pounds peeled pumpkin
2 cups canned or fresh coconut milk (see page 315)
2 cups mild pork or chicken broth
1 cup loosely packed coriander leaves
½ teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons Thai fish sauce, or to taste
Generous grindings of black pepper
1¼ cup minced scallion greens (optional)
In a heavy skillet, or on a charcoal or gas grill, dry-roast or grill the shallots, turning occasionally until softened and blackened. Peel, cut the shallots lengthwise in half, and set aside.
Peel the pumpkin and clean off any seeds. Cut into small ½-inch cubes. You should have 4½ to 5 cups cubed pumpkin.
Place the coconut milk, broth, pumpkin cubes, shallots, and coriander leaves in a large pot and bring to a boil. Add the salt and simmer over medium heat until the pumpkin is tender, about 10 minutes. Stir in the fish sauce and cook for another 2 to 3 minutes. Taste for salt and add a little more fish sauce if you wish. (The soup can be served immediately, but has even more flavor if left to stand for up to an hour. Reheat just before serving.)
Serve from a large soup bowl or in individual bowls. Grind black pepper over generously, and, if you wish, garnish with a sprinkling of minced scallion greens. Leftovers freeze very well.
SERVES 4 to 6 as part of a rice meal
At the market in Dali, as at most markets outside the big cities, the vegetables and greens are locally grown and change with the season.
SHRIMP IN HOT LIME LEAF BROTH
Like the other sour soups in the region, tom yum gung sparks the appetite. Serve it with a mild or slightly sweet dish such as Chicken and Potato Curry (page 203) or Stir-fried Yunnan Ham (page 239) and a simple cooked vegetable such as Classic Mixed Vegetable Stir-fry (page 151) or Yunnan Greens (page 151).
3 cups mild chicken broth
2 stalks lemongrass, trimmed, smashed flat with the side of a cleaver, and cut into l½-inch lengths
3 fresh or frozen wild lime leaves
3 bird chiles, stemmed and cut lengthwise in half
¼ pound oyster mushrooms, cleaned and coarsely chopped
½ pound medium or small shrimp, peeled and deveined
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons Thai fish sauce, or more to taste
Salt, if needed
Place the broth in a medium pot with the lemongrass and bring to a boil. Add the lime leaves and chiles, bring the broth back to a boil, and let cook for 5 minutes. Add the mushrooms, return to a vigorous boil, and add the shrimp. Cook for 1 minute, or until the shrimp have turned pink.
Remove from the heat and stir in the lime juice and fish sauce. Taste and adjust the seasonings with fish sauce or salt if you wish. Serve in small individual bowls to accompany jasmine rice, distributing the shrimp and mushroom pieces evenly among the bowls.
SERVES 4 with rice and one or more other dishes
We had this quick vegetable soup every time we ate at the local restaurant down the dirt road from our guest house in Phonsavan, near the Plain of Jars in Laos. It was a truck-stop sort of place, not loaded with charm or frills, but the food was fresh and delicious and the owners good-natured. The soup came in a hot pot (see Note), like a Chinese soup. The coals burning below the central chimney pleased our children and kept the soup at a very gentle simmer.
6 cups mild chicken or vegetable broth
1 tablespoon Thai fish sauce (optional)
2 slices ginger (unless your broth is flavored with ginger)
1 small onion, coarsely chopped
2 cups coarsely chopped Savoy cabbage (about 6 ounces)
2 cups cauliflower florets (about 6 ounces)
1 small to medium tomato, cut into 4 to 6 wedges
Salt to taste
Freshly ground white pepper (optional)
Place the broth and fish sauce, if using, in a medium pot and bring to a boil. Add the ginger slices and onion and boil, half-covered, for 5 minutes. Add the cabbage, cauliflower, and tomato, reduce the heat, and simmer until the cabbage and cauliflower are very soft, 10 to 15 minutes. Taste and add salt and white pepper if you wish.
Serve hot, in a hot pot or a heavy bowl with a lid, to accompany a rice meal; provide each guest with a small bowl for the soup. Or, serve as the soup course in a non-Asian meal.
SERVES 4 as a soup course, 6 as part of a rice meal
NOTE: Lightweight aluminum hot pots are available from Chinese groceries and cookware stores. They are shaped like a doughnut suspended on a hollow cylinder or chimney. The chimney is placed over a small Sterno or charcoal burner. The soup goes in the “doughnut” and is heated as the heat rises up the chimney.
The Akha are a people known in Laos as Kha and in China as Hani. Their original homeland is in Yunnan, where they still live in large numbers.
Over the last hundred and fifty years, however, many have moved to settle on the ridges and hilltops of parts of the Shan State, northern Laos, and northern Thailand. They live at elevations of over a thousand feet and are traditionally hunters as well as simple agriculturalists. Their houses are built on stilts, and their handwoven cotton fabric and the garments they make of it are works of art. In many villages, they still grow their own cotton and hemp, spin it, dye it (black or indigo blue), and weave it into beautiful fabrics for clothing (see The Fabric of It All, page 160). Akha women wear elaborate headdresses, striped cotton leggings, short flared skirts, and beautiful embroidered homespun jackets. They carry themselves confidently and often have a direct, earthy sense of humor.
The Akha have traditionally traded jungle products with lowland traders for salt and other necessities. In their cooking, they use salt rather than fish sauce, and they eat plain rather than sticky rice, except at festive or ceremonial occasions.
An important source of income in many Akha villages is the cultivation of opium poppies. Crude opium is gathered from the pods and sold to traders who come through the villages in January after the harvest. The opium is also used medicinally in the villages, and smoked by some Akha. After the poppy flowers have bloomed, they yield another more nourishing product that is not a narcotic: poppy seeds. These are eaten as a snack and used as an ingredient (see Salsa with Poppy Seeds, page 44).
Akha women wear their extraordinary headdresses and jewelry every day—to work in the fields or go to market.
Cellophane noodles and shredded chicken give this light-tasting chicken soup a little body and texture. Also called glass noodles or bean threads, cellophane noodles are beautiful once cooked, but they begin as dried-out strands that keep forever in your cupboard. They are made from mung beans, though it’s hard to tell what they are the first time you see them. Sold in small cellophane packages in Chinese and Southeast Asian groceries, they are a nutritious household staple and need only a short soaking in warm water to soften.
2 chicken legs or 1 chicken breast (approximately 1 pound)
6 cups chicken broth
2 cups water
2 ounces cellophane noodles, soaked in warm water for 20 minutes and drained
5 to 6 stalks bok choi or Swiss chard, thoroughly washed
3 tablespoons Vietnamese or Thai fish sauce
Salt to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
Rinse the chicken, remove and discard the skin and fat, and place in a large pot. Add the broth and water and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer, half-covered, skimming off any foam that rises to the surface, for 30 minutes, or until the chicken is cooked through.
Remove the chicken from the broth and let sit for a moment, until cool enough to handle. Discard the bones, shred the meat, and set aside. If you have time, chill the broth and then skim off the fat; if not, strain the broth into a saucepan through a colander lined with two layers of cheesecloth. (The soup can be prepared ahead to this point and the chicken and broth stored separately, once cooled, in well-sealed containers in the refrigerator for up to 2 days.)
Meanwhile, using scissors, cut the soaked noodles into 3- to 4-inch lengths; set aside. Cut off the bok choi or chard stems and set aside for another purpose. Slice the leaves lengthwise in half and cut crosswise into 1-inch slices.
When ready to serve, heat the broth to a simmer. Add the fish sauce, taste for seasonings, and add salt if you wish. Divide the shredded chicken among six soup bowls. Add the cellophane noodles and greens to the simmering broth and bring to a vigorous boil. Give the soup a good stir, then ladle the hot soup over the chicken, distributing the noodles and greens among the bowls. Grind black pepper generously over each bowl and serve at once.
SERVES 6
NOTE: This soup can be served Vietnamese style over cooked rice: Allow at least ½ cup cooked rice per person. Place the rice in large soup bowls, add the shredded chicken, and ladle the soup over.
Tom yum looks like a soup—a clear broth with a few flavorings in it— but it comes to the table as a dish to eat with rice, along with other dishes. Leaning toward sour and always made chile-hot, tom yum has an agreeable refreshing taste on the tongue. You can make it even if you don’t have lime leaves, but they do add a wonderful aroma and flavor, as well as looking beautiful on the surface of the soup.
About 4 cups mild chicken or fish broth
1 teaspoon Thai Roasted Chile Paste (page 36) (optional)
3 stalks lemongrass
3 slices ginger
1 small onion, coarsely chopped
¼ to ⅓ pound small fish steaks (striped bass or other freshwater fish)
½ cup thickly sliced oyster or button mushrooms, or more to taste
1 medium tomato, cut into large chunks
3 fresh or frozen wild lime leaves
3 to 5 bird chiles
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
½ to 1 tablespoon Thai fish sauce
¼ to ½ cup coriander leaves (optional)
Begin heating the broth in a medium pot; stir in the chile paste, if using, until dissolved. Trim the root and tough outer layers from the lemongrass, then smash flat with the side of a cleaver or knife. Cut into approximately l½-inch lengths and add to broth. Smash the ginger slices with the flat side of the cleaver or knife and add to the broth together with the onion.
When the broth comes to a boil, lower the heat slightly and simmer for a few minutes. Cut the fish steaks in half if you wish, to make more pieces. Add the fish, mushrooms, and tomato to the broth and boil gently for 2 to 3 minutes. Add the lime leaves. When the fish has turned opaque, about 5 minutes in all, remove from the heat. Add the remaining ingredients except the coriander leaves and stir to mix. Taste and adjust the seasonings. If you wish more chile heat (a possibility if you omitted the chile paste), break one or two of the chiles into pieces and return to the soup. Let stand for several minutes, then add the coriander leaves if you wish and serve.
SERVES 4 as part of a rice meal
NOTE: Remind your guests that the lemongrass, ginger, and lime leaves are not for eating.
This is a vegetarian version of a Mekong Delta classic called canh chua (literally, “sour soup”). Many people in Vietnam fast (eat no meat or fish) on the first and fifteenth days of each lunar month (at the new moon and full moon), while others choose a month-long period in which to fast. Therefore, even in this cuisine, which normally relies on the wonderful smoky saltiness of fish sauce, there’s a strong and well-developed vegetarian tradition. Tofu and other soy products are available in even the smallest village market.
Canh is a category of Vietnamese soup that is meant to be eaten with rice. The soup comes to the table in a large bowl, as the main dish or one of several dishes in a meal, then is ladled out into individual bowls. The rice is served in a pot, then often spooned straight into the individual bowls of soup.
This soup is tart with tamarind and sweet with a little sugar. The two balance each other so that neither predominates and the soup slides easily on the tongue.
SOUP
3 blocks tofu (about 1 pound)
¼ cup tamarind pulp, dissolved in 1 cup hot water
Scant ½ pound okra (approximately 2 cups)
5 cups water
¾ cup fresh pineapple cut into 1¼-inch chunks
1 stalk bac ha (giant taro), cut into l½-inch lengths (optional)
3 tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons salt
2 medium tomatoes, cut into wedges
1 teaspoon soy sauce
GARNISH AND FLAVORINGS
¼ cup peanut or vegetable oil
½ cup chopped shallots
2 to 3 cups bean sprouts, rinsed and drained
12 leaves Asian basil, coarsely torn
6 sprigs rice paddy herb (ngo om, optional)
2 to 4 bird or serrano chiles, minced
For the soup, place the tofu blocks on a plate, place another plate on top, and weight with a jar or 14- to 28-ounce can. Let stand for 30 minutes. Water will be pressed out of the tofu as it stands; drain it off every 15 minutes or so. Cut the tofu into ½-inch cubes and set aside.
Use your fingers to squeeze and press the tamarind to dissolve it completely and to squeeze the last of the pulp off any seeds and pith. Place a sieve over a small bowl and pour the tamarind water through. Discard any solids and set the liquid aside.
If the okra is large, cut crosswise in half and cut off any tough tips, leaving the stems on.
For the garnish, heat the oil in a small heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Add the shallots and cook until well browned, then remove from the heat and set aside.
To make the soup, place the tamarind liquid and the 5 cups water in a large nonreactive pot. Bring to a vigorous boil, then add the okra (if your okra is very fresh and tender, add it later, with the tomato wedges) and pineapple. Boil vigorously for 3 minutes, then add the bac ha, if using, the sugar, salt, and tomato wedges. Bring back to a boil, then add the tofu cubes and soy sauce and cook for 2 minutes. Taste and adjust the balance of seasonings if you wish.
To serve, divide the bean sprouts, torn basil leaves, and ngo om sprigs, if using, among large soup bowls. Ladle the soup, including the vegetables and tofu, into the bowls. Top each with a tablespoon of the reserved oil and shallots and a pinch of minced chiles. Serve immediately, with plenty of rice. Guests can place rice in their bowls of soup or onto separate plates or bowls as they wish. Place the remaining minced chiles in a small bowl on the table so guests can add extra as they choose.
SERVES 4 to 6 with rice
This satisfying chicken soup from Luang Prabang in Laos has great depth of flavor and has become a favorite in our house. Begin with a good organic chicken if you can. The whole coriander plants give a wonderful taste, and their slight bitterness is balanced by a sweetness from the boiled shallots, onion, and garlic. The recipe makes a large amount, but leftovers freeze well.
One 3-pound chicken, preferably organic, rinsed
3 to 4 scallions, trimmed
5 whole coriander plants, including roots, well washed, plus ½ cup packed chopped coriander leaves
8 black peppercorns
3 quarts water
3 tablespoons Thai fish sauce
1 teaspoon salt
1 large onion, finely chopped
8 small shallots, peeled, or 4 to 5 large shallots, peeled and cut lengthwise in half
1 head garlic, cloves separated, peeled, and cut lengthwise in half if large
Freshly ground black pepper
To prepare the broth, place the chicken, scallions, coriander plants, and peppercorns in a large pot with the water and bring to a vigorous boil. Lower the heat and cook at a gentle boil until the chicken is very tender, about 1½ the hours. If the water does not completely cover the chicken, turn the chicken several times during cooking.
Remove the chicken and place one a platter. Strain the broth, discarding the solids. If you have time, place the broth in a wide bowl to cool to room temperature, then refrigerate; once the fat has congealed, skim it off.
When the chicken is cool enough to handle, remove the meat from the bones and pull apart into large shreds, discarding the skin, bones, and any sinew or fat. Set the meat aside. (The recipe can be made 24 hours ahead to this point. Store the broth and meat separately in well-sealed containers in the refrigerator.)
About 20 minutes before you wish to serve the soup, place the broth in a large pot, add the fish sauce and salt, and bring to a boil. Add the onion, shallots, and garlic and cook at a gentle boil until the shallots are tender, about 15 minutes. Add about 1½ cups of the reserved chicken to the soup; serve the rest on a small platter so guests can help themselves.
Serve in large bowls, garnished with black pepper and the chopped coriander leaves.
SERVES 6 generously
We didn’t have a single good night’s sleep in Menghan (a small village on the Mekong at the southern tip of Yunnan; see map, page 6). Sleeping on the wooden floor of the old thatched house built high up on stilts, like every Dai house in Menghan, we heard chickens and other creatures nibbling and poking around right under our heads all night long. And then there was the distillery, also beneath our room, and the smell of the fermented rice in all those old wooden barrels. The idea that it could all explode crossed our minds, which didn’t help make getting to sleep any easier.
Days were great, though. Better than great. We were, we think, only the second lodgers ever to set foot in the Dai guest house. It was the first lodger, an Englishman, who’d told us how to find it. The family that ran the guest house had decided to rent out two spare little rooms, and they’d pulled him in off the street. Five days later, he’d reluctantly left town; hospitality at the Dai guest house was something pretty special.
When we first arrived, we’d barely had time to put our bags down before Dom and Tashi had disappeared with the family’s two teenage girls and a couple of their friends. They went for ice cream, then for a motorbike ride (four people per motorbike), then to a temple festival, where they had grilled tofu with chile sauce, then back for another ice cream. Meanwhile, we had lunch.
We had a bowl of rice, an egg and tomato stir-fry, a grilled river fish wrapped around a ton of fresh coriander, a tempura made with an unknown-to-us tree leaf from the garden (served with its own chile sauce), and a fresh Dai salsa, spicy as could be. It was so good that by the time we were finished, we were already trying to imagine dinner.
So, like the Englishman, we moved in. They adopted us, and we adopted them. Every day the girls went to school in the morning and again in the early evening, and while they were at school, Dom and Tashi were sad and slow. But then around seven-thirty at night, long after dark, we’d hear laughs and giggles coming through the night, and then suddenly we’d see their faces, and the faces of their friends, and then off they’d all go together again into the dark night, Dom and Tashi in tow, in heaven.
“Do people in Thailand look like me?” the mother, Mae, asked us.
“Well, yes, sort of,” we answered. It seemed strange, she being Dai, speaking Thai, and never having been to Thailand, which is not so far away. And how could we explain that to us she looked more Thai than people sometimes look in Thailand, and that Menghan looked more Thai than most Thai towns today. All the while we were there, we had the feeling we were seeing the Thailand of several generations past: the old wooden houses built high up on stilts, the modest but beautiful temples, the graceful walk of people who have spent little time with cars.
Perhaps, we thought, as national borders in the region continue to open, once again the Dai will come to know their cousins, the Thai, from the country to the south.
During and after the Cultural Revolution, places of worship throughout China were closed and fell into disrepair. Since the 1980s, religious expression has become freer, and this Buddhist temple in Menghan is now open once more.
VIETNAMESE BEEF BALL SOUP
We first ate beef ball soup from a street vendor in Saigon long ago on our first trip to Vietnam. The street vendor was young and cheerful, despite all her hard work. She carried her whole operation on a long carrying pole on her shoulder. On one end of the pole was a huge vat of broth on a charcoal heater; on the other, a basket containing bowls, spoons, and chopsticks and a stack of small stools for patrons, as well as a tray of condiments. When she saw we were looking hungry, she set it all down, put out some stools, and gestured for us to sit. We paid for our soup, as is usual, only when we handed back our empty bowls.
Since that street encounter, each time we eat beef ball soup, we savor the aromatic broth, the firm bite of the beef balls, and the memory of that bowl of soup in Saigon.
Beef balls are surprisingly quick to make; you can prepare them ahead and freeze them for later use.
1 pound boneless beef round, trimmed of all fat
1½ teaspoons tapioca or potato starch
½ teaspoon sugar
½ teaspoon baking powder
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
¼ cup Vietnamese or Thai fish sauce
2 tablespoons plus 6 cups water
½ bird or serrano chile, seeded and minced
1½ teaspoons black peppercorns
1 stalk lemongrass, trimmed and smashed flat with the side of a cleaver
1 medium onion, quartered
1 to 2 tablespoons roasted sesame oil
3 tablespoons chopped scallion greens
3 tablespoons coriander leaves
Freshly ground black pepper
Fresh Chile-Garlic Paste (page 26 or store-bought) (optional)
Slice the beef across the grain into ¼-inch-thick slices. Place the tapioca or potato starch, sugar, and baking powder in a medium bowl and stir in the lime juice, a scant 2 tablespoons of the fish sauce, and the 2 tablespoons water. Pound the chile in a mortar with ¼ teaspoon of the peppercorns and add to the flavorings. Add the beef slices and stir and turn to coat them. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 6 to 24 hours.
Bring the 6 cups of water to a boil in a large saucepan. Add the remaining 1¼ teaspoons peppercorns, the lemongrass, and onion to the boiling water, reduce the heat, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes; set aside.
Meanwhile, place about half the marinated meat in a food processor and process to a smooth paste, about 1 minute. Transfer to a bowl and repeat with the remaining meat.
Put a large plate and a small dish of the roasted sesame oil beside your work space. Roll about 1 heaping tablespoon of the meat paste between your palms into a walnut-sized ball. Dab a little sesame oil on one palm, roll the ball on your palm, and place it on the plate. Repeat until you have about 40 beef balls.
Bring the broth back to a boil, then lower the heat to medium. Add half the beef balls; they will sink, then rise to the surface. Let them cook for 3 minutes after they rise. With a slotted spoon, transfer to a large plate and repeat with the remaining balls.
Add the remaining generous 2 tablespoons fish sauce to the broth, then strain the broth and discard the solids. Serve the beef balls in small bowls topped by the broth and garnished with the scallion greens, coriander, and freshly ground pepper. If you wish, serve the chile-garlic paste in a condiment dish on the side.
SERVES 6 to 8
NOTE: You can also cook and serve the beef balls in a beef broth, either store-bought or left over from a batch of Hearty Vietnamese Beef Noodle Soup (page 128). Or, serve the beef balls separately from the broth, as a snack, a filling for sandwiches, or a topping for noodles. Set out a little Fresh Chile-Garlic Paste to dab on them.
