There is a large and varied repertoire of fish dishes in Southeast Asia, and no wonder, for historically, fish and seafood from the rivers and lakes and from the ocean have been an easily available source of food. Village people, especially the Tai Lu in northern Laos and in Yunnan, often have fish ponds outside their homes. In the late afternoon, men and children wade into the ponds to catch fish for supper, sometimes with a net, but often using only their hands and quick reflexes. The fish are fairly small, like lake perch. The ponds are a good source of snails too, and a place for ducks to feed on pond weed.
Fresh fish and seafood are sold in morning and evening markets throughout Southeast Asia. Shrimp and squid are easy to find here, but much of the fish eaten in the region is freshwater. Far from Southeast Asian rivers and lakes, we suggest substitutions, using fish available here in North America. Dishes include salads, as well as grilled, stewed, simmered, and stir-fried fish, cooked alone or combined with vegetables.
Shrimp and smoked fish, with their distinctive tastes, are often combined very simply with fresh ingredients (see for example, Smoked Fish and Green Mango, page 174, and Rice Paper Roll-ups with Shrimp and Herbs, page 177).
In markets in the region, you can buy salt-grilled fish to take home and serve with rice and other dishes. The technique is easy for the home cook, using a grill or a broiler (see Salt-Grilled Catfish, page 190). Another simple technique uses whole fresh fish that are rubbed or stuffed with a flavor paste, then wrapped and grilled or baked (see Baked Bass with Spicy Rub, page 184, and Dai Grilled Stuffed Fish, page 189). Fish steaks or fillets may be grilled or stir-fried or simmered with flavorings (see, for example, Khmer Fish Stew with Lemongrass, page 181, and Slow-Cooked Sweet and Spicy Fish, page 191).
We had visited several small villages on the Thai side and then, on our way back downriver to Chiang Khong, we stopped in at a sandbar. It was technically Lao territory, at the time off-limits to foreigners without a visa, but these fishermen didn’t seem at all troubled by our being there.
In Vientiane, you can buy delicious salt-grilled fish at the market and take it home to serve with rice and vegetables and soup for lunch or dinner. It’s also easy to make at home.
Around the Tonle Sap, Cambodia’s great inland lake, Khmer and Vietnamese fishermen live in “floating villages.” During rainy season, the lake rises as the Mekong’s waters flow up to the lake, flooding the rice fields and making the land fertile. As the level of the Mekong falls in October/November at the start of the dry season, water flows back down toward the Mekong. This is the good fishing season. Though some of the catch is eaten fresh, most of it must be preserved. Some is salted and sun-dried, some is smoked, and some is made into prahok and tuk traey, fermented fish paste and fish sauce.
We love this dish, with its unique combination of smoky fish and tart green mango. Serve it as an appetizer or as a salad.
2 green mangoes
1 small smoked trout
½ cup packed chopped coriander leaves, or substitute chopped celery leaves or finely chopped mint
DRESSING
2 tablespoons rice, brown rice, or coconut vinegar
1 tablespoon Thai or Cambodian fish sauce
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1 tablespoon minced shallots
1 tablespoon minced galangal, or substitute 1 teaspoon minced ginger plus a pinch of grated lemon zest
Peel the mangoes, then coarsely grate, discarding the pits. Or cut the peeled mangoes into fine julienne. Place in a medium bowl.
Remove and discard all the skin and bones from the fish. Chop into small pieces (you should have about 1 cup) and add to mangoes. Stir in the coriander, then set aside.
In a bowl or cup, combine all the dressing ingredients. Just before you wish to serve, spoon 5 tablespoons of the dressing onto the salad, then toss gently to blend well. Taste and add a little more dressing if you wish.
Serve mounded on a serving plate or on individual plates.
SERVES 3 to 4 as part of a rice meal or 6 as an appetizer
NOTE: For a different (nontraditional) crisp texture, try quickly frying the fish in a little oil, in a hot wok or skillet, then chop and proceed with the recipe.
There’s always a crowd at the morning market, wherever you are in the Mekong region. But at floating markets, such as this near Cantho in the Mekong Delta, people arrive in boats of all sizes and “morning rush hour” takes on a whole different look.
All along the coast of southern Vietnam, squid boats, small round coracles, sit out on the beach in the sun. Come evening, they’re loaded into larger boats and carried offshore. There they’re put into the water, each one manned by a fisherman with a bright light. The squid swim up, attracted by the light, and the fishermen use a net to haul them in.
These days cleaned flash-frozen squid is widely available; there’s no more cleaning and peeling to be done (though instructions for cleaning squid are given below, just in case). We like this simple dish. It takes us back to a beach outside Da Nang, where we sat one afternoon long ago, on our first trip to Vietnam, eating freshly caught, freshly cooked squid at a small beachside stand. We dipped it, mouthful by mouthful, into a garlicky ginger sauce and washed it down with local beer.
SQUID
2 pounds cleaned squid or 3 pounds small or medium whole squid
2 to 3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
½ cup coriander leaves (optional)
GARNISH AND ACCOMPANIMENTS
Leaf lettuce or Vietnamese Herb and Salad Plate (page 68)
Ginger-Garlic Sauce (recipe follows)
1 lime, cut into wedges
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Wash the squid thoroughly. If using whole squid: To clean, hold the body of the squid in one hand and gently pull the head and tentacles off (taking care not to break the ink sac). The intestines will automatically come away with the head. Separate the tentacles from the rest, wash thoroughly, and set aside. Peel off the outer red-brown skin from the body. Turn the squid body inside out; remove the cartilage and wash again thoroughly until no longer gritty. Turn right side out.
Slice the squid bodies into ¼-inch-wide rings or into 1½- to 2-inch slices. Leave the tentacles whole or cut in half, as you like.
Fill a large pot with water and bring to a boil. Toss in the squid and cook until tender, 4 to 6 minutes. Drain well, place in a bowl, and pour over the lime juice. Toss to coat. Add the coriander leaves if you wish, and toss.
Transfer the squid to a shallow serving bowl or place on a bed of lettuce on a small platter. Serve with the salad and herb plate if you wish, and with condiment dishes of the ginger-garlic sauce, wedges of lime, and salt and pepper. Use the lettuce or salad greens and herbs to pick up the squid, then drizzle on a little sauce or squeeze on lime juice and season to taste, mouthful by mouthful.
SERVES 4 to 6 as an appetizer or as part of a rice meal
2 tablespoons minced ginger
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 bird or serrano chile, finely chopped
1 teaspoon sugar
3 tablespoons Vietnamese or Thai fish sauce
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1 to 2 tablespoons water
If you have a mortar and pestle, crush and blend together the ginger, garlic, chile, and sugar. If you don’t, simply combine the ingredients in a small bowl. Add the fish sauce, lime juice, and water to taste and blend well.
Leftovers will keep in a well-sealed glass container in the refrigerator for 3 days.
MAKES about ⅓ cup sauce
RICE PAPER ROLL-UPS WITH SHRIMP AND HERBS
Long ago in Paris, I learned to make these roll-ups from Salme, the aunt of a friend. Salme had fled Estonia during the Second World War and taken refuge in France. When I met her, she had been married to a Vietnamese doctor for almost thirty years. They’d spent several years in Vietnam in the late forties, then had returned to France.
Salme made wonderful Vietnamese food. She was quick in all her movements and alert, the last person you’d expect to have the patience to hand-roll rice paper roll-ups. In fact, she’d figured out, like many gifted cooks before her, that the work goes quickly if you have many hands doing it, someone to talk with as you work, and an efficient system for getting the work done. So the basic recipe for rice paper roll-ups should begin: “Gather one or two friends round your work area to help.” The work goes quickly, and it is fun when done in good company. You can make these up to two hours ahead, then cover them with a damp towel until ready to serve.
Serve whole or cut in half, as appetizers or as part of a meal.
12 medium shrimp, fresh or frozen
3 to 4 ounces dried rice vermicelli, soaked in warm water for 20 minutes and drained
15 rice papers (about 8 inches in diameter)
1½ cups bean sprouts, blanched in boiling water for 30 seconds and drained
¾ cup Carrot and Daikon Pickled Salad (page 85), or substitute ¾ cup grated carrot tossed with 1 teaspoon sugar and 1 tablespoon rice vinegar
½ cup packed mint leaves
30 chives or Chinese chives, or substitute greens from 6 to 8 scallions, cut lengthwise into slivers
½ cup packed coriander leaves
ACCOMPANIMENTS
Vietnamese Herb and Salad Plate (page 68)
Vietnamese Must-Have Table Sauce (nuoc cham, page 28) or Vietnamese Peanut Sauce (nuoc leo, page 28)
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Drop in the shrimp, bring back to a boil, and cook just until pink and firm to the touch, 1 to 3 minutes. Lift out immediately with tongs or chopsticks and transfer to a plate to cool.
Bring the water back to a boil. Drop in the soaked vermicelli, cook for 2 minutes, or until soft, and drain. Refresh with cold water, drain, and set aside.
Remove the shrimp shells, devein, and cut the shrimp lengthwise in half down the back. Set aside.
Place a large bowl of warm water by your work area. Moisten a tea towel or cotton cloth thoroughly with water and lay it flat on the work surface. Working with 1 rice paper at a time, immerse the rice paper in the water. It will soften in less than 30 seconds. Lift it out and place it flat on the wet cloth. Place about 1 tablespoon of noodles on it, spreading them in a line across the wrapper about one third of the way from the bottom edge. Lay about 1 tablespoon bean sprouts and a heaping teaspoon carrot salad along the line of noodles and then sprinkle several mint leaves along it. Start to roll up the fillings in the wrapper, then place 2 shrimp halves along the length of the roll. Fold over the ends to seal in the filling, then roll up another halfturn. Place 2 chives or a sliver or two of scallion along the crease, letting one end stick out past the end of the roll. Place several coriander leaves along the crease, then finish rolling up. Moisten the edge with water and set on a plate, seam side down. Cover with a damp cloth and with plastic wrap, then repeat with the remaining rolls.
Serve immediately, or set aside for up to 2 hours, covered with the damp cloth and plastic wrap to prevent the rice paper wrappers from drying out. Serve on a platter or on individual plates, whole or cut crosswise in half.
To eat, place a leaf of lettuce in your palm and lay a roll-up on it. Wrap the lettuce leaf round one end of the roll-up (as if you were wrapping a cone in a napkin). Use a small spoon to drizzle on the sauce as you eat, mouthful by mouthful.
MAKES 15 roll-ups; serves 10 as part of a rice meal
Vientiane (pronounced “Venjiang” in Lao), the modern-day capital of the Lao People’s Democratic Republic, is not what we would call a cosmopolitan city. There is a large UN and NGO presence here, and there are many embassies and consulates, but basically Vientiane is more of a town than a city. There is life at night on its four or five main roads, with fancy UN four-wheel-drive vehicles and secondhand Japanese imports sharing space with scooter rickshaws, bicycles, and pedestrians. The foreign community goes out to dinner: a Swedish bakery-café, a nice Italian restaurant with pizza, a fancy hotel. And there are wine shops, good wine shops, an oddity in Southeast Asia, but still.…
The first time we were in Vientiane, in 1989, there was almost no traffic in the capital, and for dining there were only two streets downtown where we could find small restaurants open at night. They were serving primarily Vietnamese food, good food. Walking at night, we’d see foreigners, but they’d never look our way. They were mostly Russians, stationed in Laos (as many were at that time also in Vietnam). They never seemed to smile.
We like Vientiane a lot. We wish someone would offer us a job there, or at least give us a very long visa. We’d hang out at the Raintree Book Store and chat with the proprietor, Mr. Hodgson, who has run his bookstore through thick and thin for a long time. And we’d stop and chat with Carol Cassidy at Lao Textiles, maybe sit in the back and watch the weavers.
For lunch, probably most days we’d end up at the river, eating sticky rice and grilled chicken bought from a street vendor with a table and stools set up under a big tree, or we’d order a spicy grilled sausage salad, or laab (spicy chopped pork or chicken salad with herbs—see page 196), or som tam (see page 76).
For dinner, well, dinner would be no problem in our family, living in Vientiane. Apart from all the places with good Lao food, there is an Indian restaurant, also down by the river, called Nazim. It serves both North and South Indian food and prepares both remarkably well. There are masala dosas, chapatis, pakoras and samosas, dal, baingen bharta, naan, and uppuma, the whole works! Dominic and Tashi love it all. They like sticky rice a lot, but not more than masala dosas.
And Nazim also serves french fries with ketchup.
Vientiane has many reminders of the French colonial era, including old-style two-story shop-houses with gracefully fading painted plaster walls.
Steaming fish or chicken with aromatics in banana leaf packets is a technique found from Yunnan to Cambodia. The technique is mawk in modern Thai, Lao, and Khmer, and the word and technique may originally be Khmer. Making the packets is difficult here, so we steam the mixture in bowls placed in a steamer. (We use several small bowls, to ensure quicker and more even cooking.) The bowls of curry get turned out onto a platter afterwards, smelling wonderful and tasting even better. Serve with rice and a clear soup.
Use catfish or red snapper or whatever firm-fleshed fish you prefer. Buy a whole fish, so you can see that it’s very fresh, and then ask that it be cleaned and filleted.
1½ pounds fish fillets (see Headnote)
1 Thai dried red chile, soaked in ½ cup warm water until softened
2 stalks lemongrass, trimmed and minced very fine
½ cup chopped shallots
2 tablespoons chopped coriander roots
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons Thai fish sauce
½ teaspoon salt, or more to taste
1 cup chopped scallion greens
¼ cup packed Asian basil or sweet basil leaves, coarsely torn
Cut the fish into bite-sized pieces, about 1½ inches across, discarding any bones or other tough bits, and set aside in a bowl.
Reserve the chile soaking water and mince the soaked chile, discarding the tough stem. Place in a large mortar or in a blender, add the lemongrass, shallots, and coriander roots, and pound or blend to as smooth a paste as possible. Add the chile soaking liquid and lime juice and stir or blend together.
Pour the flavor paste over the fish and stir. Add the fish sauce and salt and stir, then taste and add a little more salt if you wish. Stir in most of the scallion greens, reserving about 2 tablespoons for garnish. Stir in the basil leaves.
Divide the mixture between two or three wide shallow heatproof bowls (most large cereal bowls will do just fine). Make sure there’s a good ½ inch left at the top of each bowl so the contents have room to expand during cooking. Place the bowls in a steamer (you may need to stack two steamers) set over water in a large pot.
Bring the water to a boil, cover, and steam until the fish is tender and opaque, about 40 minutes. Turn out into a shallow bowl or deep platter, garnish with the reserved scallion greens, and serve.
SERVES 4 to 6 as part of a rice meal
NOTE: The Khmer version of this dish is known as ah mawk. It includes coconut milk and is often topped with a dollop of coconut cream and some finely shredded lime leaves rather than with scallion leaves.
Samla’ are “wet dishes,” somewhere between a stew and a hearty soup. They are the standard accompaniment for rice in Cambodia, hot and tasty, often sour, and usually loaded with lemongrass and other aromatics. The most common samla’ is made with fish, fish from the river or from the Great Lake, the Tonle Sap.
This fish samla’ is easy, needing no special broth and no long cooking. It’s a close cousin of canh chua, the Vietnamese sour soup so common in the Delta, but heartier. Perhaps canh chua is originally Khmer, or maybe it’s an inevitable combination, because a lightly sour and lemony broth goes so beautifully with fish.
Serve this from a large bowl at the table, ladling it into individual small bowls, accompanied by rice, and perhaps a simple vegetable stir-fry, to make an easy meal.
4 cups water
4 stalks lemongrass, trimmed and smashed flat with the side of a cleaver
3 tablespoons tamarind pulp
¾ pound fish steaks (catfish, tilapia, or other freshwater fish of your choice)
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 tablespoon Cambodian or Thai fish sauce
½ teaspoon salt
½ pound green or half-ripe tomatoes, seeded and cut into scant ½-inch pieces
2 small scallions, trimmed and cut into ½-inch lengths
4 sawtooth herb leaves, coarsely chopped
12 Asian basil or sweet basil leaves, coarsely chopped
4 to 6 sprigs rice paddy herb (ngo om), coarsely chopped
1 teaspoon sugar, or to taste
Put the water in a large pot, add the lemongrass, and bring to a vigorous boil. Boil for 5 minutes, half-covered, then lower the heat and simmer over medium heat for a few minutes.
Once the broth is simmering, scoop out about 1 cup of the liquid into a small bowl. Add the tamarind pulp to the bowl, stir well to dissolve it thoroughly, and set aside.
Rinse off the fish. If using large steaks, cut into roughly 1½- to 2-inch pieces. If using small steaks, cut in half. Add to the broth, together with the garlic, bring to a boil, and simmer until the fish is opaque. Add the fish sauce and salt. Place a sieve or fine strainer over the soup and pour the tamarind liquid through it. Use the back of a wooden spoon to press the tamarind pulp against the strainer, then discard the remaining seeds and pith. Stir the stew well and let it simmer for several minutes.
Add the tomatoes, scallions, herbs, and sugar to the stew and simmer for 5 minutes. Serve hot.
SERVES 4 as part of a rice meal
This Lao freshwater fish dish is a kind of curry, moist and savory, but with relatively little sauce (haeng means dry). A simple medium-hot spice paste is cooked in a little coconut milk and then used to flavor sliced fish fillets as they cook over low heat. We’ve adapted this recipe from Phia Sing’s cookbook, a remarkable collection of recipes by the chef to the Lao royal family, who died in 1967. His notebooks were given to Alan Davidson in the early seventies and then edited by Alan and Jennifer Davidson into a wonderful cookbook and reference (see Bibliography). Phia Sing calls for a kind of catfish known in Lao as pa ling. Use whatever freshwater fish you prefer.
This is a good dish to make whenever you come across fresh wild lime leaves at the store, or when you’ve got a stash of frozen leaves in your freezer that you want to share with friends. Serve with a fresh salad or another dish with crisp, contrasting textures.
1 pound fish fillets (catfish, tilapia, or other freshwater fish of your choice)
½ teaspoon salt, plus a pinch
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 Thai dried red chiles, soaked in a little warm water until softened
5 scallions
2 small shallots, chopped
2 tablespoons rendered pork fat or peanut or vegetable oil
1 cup canned or fresh coconut milk (see page 315), divided into ½ cup thicker milk and ½ cup thinner milk
1 to 2 tablespoons Thai fish sauce
3 to 5 fresh or frozen wild lime leaves
Freshly ground black pepper
¼ to ½ cup coarsely chopped coriander
Slice the fish into pieces less than ½ inch thick. Place in a medium bowl, add the ½ teaspoon salt and the pepper, and toss to coat: set aside, covered.
To prepare the spice paste, reserve the chile soaking water and coarsely chop the chiles, discarding any tough stems. Place the chiles and a pinch of salt in a mortar or in a blender. Cut the greens off the scallions, leaving the bulbs and green stems, and set aside. Trim off the roots, then finely chop the bulbs and stems. Place in the mortar or blender, add the shallots, and pound or blend to a paste, adding a little of the reserved chile soaking water to the blender as necessary. Set the paste aside in a bowl.
Finely chop enough of the reserved scallion greens to make ½ cup and set aside.
Heat a wok or heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Add the pork fat or oil and when it is hot, add the fish pieces. Stir-fry until browned on both sides, then transfer to a plate and set aside.
Place the pan back over high heat, add the ½ cup thick coconut milk, and lower the temperature to medium-high. Cook until the oil begins to separate, about 5 minutes, then stir in the spice paste. Cook, stirring, for another 5 minutes, or until the mixture begins to smell fragrant. Add the remaining ½ cup coconut milk and the fish sauce and bring to a simmer. Add the fried fish pieces and the lime leaves, move the fish around gently to coat it well with sauce, and add most of the chopped scallion greens. Taste for seasoning and adjust if you wish. Let cook for 30 seconds, then transfer to a shallow bowl and serve, topped with a grinding of black pepper, the remaining scallion leaves, and the coriander. Serve with plain jasmine rice.
SERVES 4 as part of a rice meal
Salted fish arranged in threesomes in Luang Prabang’s central market.
In this simple Khmer stir-fry, a close cousin of Khmer Stir-fried Ginger and Beef (page 219), ginger is the vegetable as well as the flavoring. Use catfish or snapper or any other firm-fleshed fish.
Serve with rice, a clear soup, and a fresh-tasting salad, such as Pomelo Salad (page 72), Vietnamese Green Papaya Salad (page 75), or a Western-style tossed salad.
1 pound fish fillets (see Headnote)
½ pound ginger, preferably young ginger
3 tablespoons vegetable or peanut oil
¼ cup minced shallots
4 scallions, trimmed, smashed flat with the side of a cleaver, sliced lengthwise in half, and then cut into 2-inch lengths
2 tablespoons Thai fish sauce
2 teaspoons sugar
1 teaspoon salt, or to taste
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
Slice the fish fillets into strips about 2 inches long and less than ½ inch thick. Peel the ginger, then cut into fine matchstick-length julienne (this is most easily done by cutting thin slices, then stacking these to cut them into matchsticks). You should have about 2 cups, loosely packed.
Heat a wok over medium-high heat. Add the oil and, when it is hot, add the ginger. When the ginger is starting to turn golden, after about 3 minutes, toss in the shallots. Stir-fry until the ginger is golden brown, 2 to 4 minutes. Toss in the scallions, reserving a few shreds for garnish, and stir-fry briefly, pressing the scallions against the hot wok to sear them. Add the sliced fish and stir-fry gently for 1 minute, using your spatula to separate the slices and to expose them all to the hot wok. Add the fish sauce, sugar, and salt, stir gently, and cook for 3 minutes, or until the fish is just cooked through. Add the lime juice, taste and adjust the seasonings if you wish, and turn out onto a platter. Garnish with the reserved scallion shreds and serve hot.
SERVES 4 as part of a rice meal
NOTE: A similar dish, very common in the rainy season and in places near streams, is frogs’ legs, coarsely chopped and stir-fried with plenty of ginger
BAKED BASS WITH SPICY RUB
In Laos and northeast Thailand, fish and curries are often cooked in banana leaf wrappers over a small fire. Wrapping keeps in moisture and flavor, so it lends itself perfectly to fish prepared with a marinade or with aromatics.
You don’t have to have banana leaves for this dish, just aluminum foil, but if you do come across banana leaves fresh or in the freezer section at a Southeast Asian grocery store, buy a package and keep it in your freezer. Banana leaves give a pleasant scent to the food as it cooks and they’re easy and fun to work with.
Two 1- to 1½-pound gutted and scaled whole firm-fleshed fish (striped bass or lake trout, for example, or a saltwater fish such as snapper)
2 tablespoons Peppercorn–Coriander Root Flavor Paste (recipe follows)
2 stalks lemongrass, trimmed, smashed flat with the side of a cleaver, and cut into 1-inch lengths
2 limes, cut into wedges
Salt and freshly ground black pepper (optional)
Preheat the oven to 400°F, or light a grill to produce a medium heat.
Wash the fish inside and out and wipe dry. Make three shallow diagonal slashes on each side of each fish. Put some flavor paste in each slit and then smear the rest over the outside and a little on the inside of the fish. Put the chopped lemongrass inside the fish.
Place two 18-inch square pieces of heavy-duty aluminum foil side by side on your work surface. If you have fresh or frozen banana leaves, use them: Lay one or more overlapping pieces of banana leaf (strip out the central rib of the leaf first) on top of each. Lay one fish on each set of wrappings, diagonally or whichever way allows a complete wrap. Wrap each fish firmly in the banana leaf, if using, and then in foil, tucking in the ends as you roll it up to seal it well.
Bake on a baking sheet in the center of the oven for 30 to 40 minutes, or grill on a grill rack 5 to 6 inches from the flame for 15 to 20 minutes a side. The fish should be moist and tender. Remove from the heat and place on one or two platters. Serve in the banana leaf wrapping or turned out onto the platter(s), as you please. Accompany with lime wedges and, if you wish, salt and pepper.
SERVES 4 as part of a rice meal
Here the essential flavors of the Thai repertoire all come together: black pepper (prik thai), coriander roots, and garlic, salted with a little Thai fish sauce. Use this paste as a marinade for fish, grilled chicken (see Grilled Chicken with Hot and Sweet Dipping Sauce, page 199), or pork.
Because the paste is so versatile, it’s handy to have a stash of coriander roots in the freezer. Whenever you have a bunch of coriander, after you have used the leaves, chop off the roots, wash, and store them in a plastic bag in the freezer. You don’t need to defrost them before using, as they can be chopped and pounded still frozen.
This recipe makes a small quantity of flavor paste, just over 2 tablespoons; double the quantities if you’d like to make more.
2 teaspoons black peppercorns
5 to 6 large cloves garlic, coarsely chopped (about 2 tablespoons)
3 tablespoons coarsely chopped coriander roots
Pinch of salt
1 teaspoon Thai fish sauce
Place the peppercorns in a mortar with the garlic and pound to a paste. Add the coriander roots and salt and pound to a paste. This will take 5 to 10 minutes; if you have a small blender or other food grinder that can produce a smooth paste, use it instead. Stir in the fish sauce.
Store in a well-sealed glass jar; this keeps for 4 days.
MAKES 2 to 3 tablespoons paste
In Laos, we flew in a fourteen-seater up to Phonsavan, a new town in the northeastern part of the country. The old town, Xieng Khuang, about twenty-five miles away, was totally destroyed in the war, and Phonsavan grew up in its place. As we approached Phonsavan, the jungly mountain landscape, littered with thousands of small and not so small bomb craters, looked as if it had a terrible case of the chicken pox; later we discovered that the town of Phonsavan has no big trees left whatsoever. The area is still denuded as a result of Agent Orange.
When we got out of the plane onto the small airstrip, the sun was just setting and the sky was ablaze. There was a crowd of tribal Hmong waiting to greet family members arriving on the plane, family members who had long ago escaped and ended up in the United States as refugees, in San Diego, Missoula, Minneapolis. When we got to the terminal, a tiny little building, the sun had set, and it was pitch black. The town’s electricity hadn’t yet come on; it would be another twenty minutes.
That night we found a nice place to stay run by a Lao family. There were two kids in the family, just the ages of our kids, and all of them immediately hit it off and started to play. We ate dinner with the family, then we drank a local brew with the parents, Sivone and Sousath, and settled in for some late-night conversation. The mother, Sivone, from Sainyabuli, in western Laos, is tall and calm. The father, born into an upper-class family in Vientiane, had been shipped off to school and safety in China in the late sixties at the age of ten. At thirteen, homesick, he had run away from the school, heading back to Laos, but he encountered the Pathet Lao and enlisted with them as a soldier. He lived in the caves of northeast Laos with them and fought for the rest of the war.
Sousath is my age, maybe a year or two younger. I didn’t fight in the war; my friends and brothers didn’t fight. I had a high lottery number in the draft, so I didn’t have to go. In 1977, I went to Bangkok for the first time, and I lived in a house just on the edge of what had been the main U.S. airbase. The war was still there: the fatherless children left behind, the bars, and the edginess. Thousands of Thais died in the war, fighting for terrible low wages.
In Phonsavan, we learned immediately not to walk off the trail, not to wander around carelessly for fear of unexploded ordnance. We all took a certain keen interest in studying the enormous bomb casings that littered the road as we walked to and from the market. One day we took a jeep to the old town of Xieng Khuang. An ancient town, capital of the old Tai Phuan kingdom of Xieng Khuang, it is a town we’d read about in books, a town entirely tribal in composition and forever isolated in the far northern mountains of Laos. People have trickled back into Xieng Khuang, inhabiting the ruins and building new shops. We went to the market and had lunch. An old monk came by wanting to speak English with Dom and Tashi.
It’s twenty-five years since the fall of Saigon.
The big skies, dirt roads, and traces of war we saw around Phonsavan gave it a Wild West feel, far from the apparent sedateness of Vientiane.
Walk through any small market in the Mekong Delta and you’ll see small food stands with a counter or some small tables and a scattering of stools. Some serve bowls of noodles over salad greens, topped with an assortment of offerings from spring rolls to roast pork; others specialize in rice combos. The food is usually very tasty and very fresh. The only problem, as always with street food, is deciding what to have each time.
Some toppings for rice and noodles, like this one, are so simple and straightforward that they can easily become part of your standard repertoire here in North America. When you want to get good flavor on the table quickly, try this stir-fry. It is eaten in homes, street stands, and restaurants all around the Delta. Serve as part of a rice meal or as a topping for noodles (see Notes), with Vietnamese Must-Have Table Sauce (nuoc cham, page 28) and fresh salad greens.
½ pound medium to small peeled and deveined shrimp (about ¾ pound shrimp in the shell, peeled and deveined)
¼ pound boneless pork butt or shoulder, thinly sliced (about ½ cup)
2 tablespoons Vietnamese or Thai fish sauce
1 teaspoon sugar
2 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil
1 tablespoon minced garlic
2 tablespoons minced lemongrass
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons chopped mint or coriander, for garnish (optional)
Place the shrimp and pork slices in a bowl. In a small bowl, mix together the fish sauce and sugar, then pour over the shrimp and pork and turn to make sure all the pieces are coated. Set aside, covered, to marinate for 30 minutes.
Heat a wok over high heat. Add the oil and swirl to coat the pan. When the oil is hot, add the garlic and stir-fry for 10 seconds, then add the lemongrass and stir-fry until the garlic starts to change color. Toss in the shrimp and pork and any remaining marinade and stir-fry vigorously until the pork is cooked through. Transfer to a plate, grind black pepper over, and garnish with the fresh herb if you wish.
SERVES 4
NOTES: If serving over rice noodles and you are starting with dried rice noodles, soak them in warm water for 15 minutes, then drain. Just before serving, bring a large pot of water to a boil and cook the noodles for about 30 seconds, then drain well and serve topped by the stir-fried shrimp and pork. Or, instead of heating the noodles in boiling water, add them to your wok once the pork is cooked through and toss them with the sauce. Add a little water if the mixture seems too dry. Stir-fry for several minutes, long enough to fully soften the noodles and coat them with sauce, then turn out onto a platter or onto individual plates and garnish with the fresh herb if desired.
Use a little Stir-fried Shrimp and Pork as a filling for Vietnamese Savory Crepes (banh xeo, page 280) if you wish.
In Menghan, we’d watch Mae (see Menghan, page 60) as she prepared home-style dishes in her outdoor kitchen, then we’d move over to our table in the large main room to eat, meal after meal. Grilled stuffed fish, fresh from the pond down the road, was one of our favorites. First she filled them with a simple flavor paste, then she placed them in a simple grilling holder made of split bamboo and grilled them over a small fire. They were crisp on the outside and tender inside.
We’ve tried to reproduce Mae’s method many times, but have not yet found a fish that lends itself perfectly to her technique. Admitting defeat, we’ve adapted the recipe we were shown. We grill or bake small striped bass wrapped in banana leaf (if available) and in foil. If you can’t get banana leaves, use lettuce leaves instead; heat them briefly in a microwave or dip them into boiling water to soften them. The fish lacks the crispness of the original, but it has all its succulence and flavor.
Two 1-pound striped bass, cleaned and scaled
1 teaspoon salt
1½ teaspoons Two Pepper–Salt Spice Dip (page 309)
FILLING
2 cups chopped scallions (white and tender green parts)
¼ cup minced pork fat (see Note)
2 serrano or cayenne chiles
4 cloves garlic
Light a grill or preheat the oven to 350°F.
Rub the fish all over with the salt. Slash both sides of each fish two or three times. Rub the pepper-salt all over the fish, inside and out, including into the slashes.
In a large mortar or in the food processor, combine all the filling ingredients and pound or process to make a pale green paste. Stuff the slashes of the fish with some of the filling and place the rest inside the cavities of the fish. Wrap each fish well in a banana leaf if available (or a lettuce leaf) and then in aluminum foil (see page 184 for detailed instructions).
Grill over medium heat about 5 inches from the flame, or place on a baking sheet and bake in the center of the preheated oven, allowing about 10 minutes per inch of thickness, measured at the thickest part of the fish. If grilling, turn the fish over partway through cooking. Turn out onto a serving platter.
SERVES 4 as part of a rice meal
NOTE: We’ve learned what good flavor a little pork fat can give. We trim the fat off pork roasts or other cuts when we bring them home, then freeze the fat in small quantities in plastic bags, so it’s there when we need it. You can also buy pork trimmings from your butcher.
In the Lao and northeast Thai village markets along the Mekong, vendors set up small grills on which they cook slender freshwater fish coated in coarse salt. There’s usually a chopstick-sized stake, like a wooden skewer, running the length of each fish to hold it straight over the fire. When done, the fish are a little blackened, with traces of salt crystals in the slits cut in their sides.
Like many simple foods, salt-grilled fish is delicious, especially if the grilling is done over a wood or charcoal fire. Serve whole, either hot off the grill or at room temperature, and let guests lift the chunks of tender meat off the bone. If you think your guests may hesitate to take on whole fish, though, you can instead lift the flesh off the bones after grilling and serve it in pieces on a platter, with some tender lettuce or a salad plate on the side, and wedges of lime.
Serve with sticky rice or jasmine rice, a spicy salad such as Som Tam with Yard-long Beans (page 76), and a salsa such as Grilled Tomato Salsa (page 44). Guests can eat with their fingers, wrapping pieces of fish in a lettuce leaf, or with chopsticks or a fork and knife.
Four ½-pound catfish or other firm-fleshed fish, cleaned and scaled
About ½ cup kosher salt
OPTIONAL ACCOMPANIMENTS
Lime wedges
Salad greens or Vietnamese Herb and Salad Plate (page 68)
Hot and Sweet Dipping Sauce (page 199) or Vietnamese Must-Have Table Sauce (nuoc cham, page 28)
Heat a grill or preheat a broiler.
Once the grill or broiler is hot, rinse the fish thoroughly; do not rub dry. Make three shallow diagonal slashes on each side of each fish. Place the salt on a large platter. Working with one fish at a time, place the fish on the salt and press down so the salt adheres; rub some salt into each slash, then turn the fish over and repeat on other side.
If using a grill, place each salted fish directly on the grill as you prepare it. Cook for about 4 minutes, then turn over and cook for about 4 minutes longer. If using a broiler, place the salted fish on a rack in a broiling pan as you prepare them. When all the fish have been salted, place about 5 inches from the heating element and broil for 8 to 10 minutes, turning the fish over after about 4 minutes. When done, the fish will be tender and flake when tested with a fork.
Place the fish on individual plates or on a platter with the lime wedges, and serve the salad greens separately. Give guests individual small bowls of whichever table sauce you choose to serve.
SERVES 4 as part of a rice meal
NOTE: You can use salt-grilled fish in many ways: as an extra topping for noodles, for example, or dressed in a simple Thai or Vietnamese salad with a lime juice and fish sauce dressing like that for Vietnamese Chicken Salad with Rau Ram (page 197).
To make this dish, you need a heavy cast-iron skillet. Thin small fish steaks, preferably with the backbone in, are briefly seared, then simmered in a hot-sweet-salty sauce that cooks down in about fifteen minutes. The fish often used in the Delta for ca kho tieu is called ca bac, firm-fleshed and sweet-tasting. You can use any small freshwater fish, the freshest possible. Serve with plenty of rice and with a sour or tart vegetable or meat dish, such as Stir-fried Pork and Tomato (page 244) or Buddhist Sour Soup (page 58), to balance the sweet saltiness of the sauce.
½ pound firm fish steaks
½ teaspoon freshly ground black or white pepper, plus extra for serving if desired
2 tablespoons palm sugar, or substitute brown sugar
¼ cup warm water
2 tablespoons Vietnamese or Thai fish sauce
1 to 2 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil
1 tablespoon finely minced lemongrass
2 scallions, trimmed, smashed flat with the side of a cleaver, sliced lengthwise into 2 or 3 pieces, and then cut crosswise into 2- to 3-inch lengths
1 tablespoon Fried Garlic (page 310) or Fried Shallots (page 310), optional
Place the fish on a plate, sprinkle both sides with the pepper, and set aside. In a medium bowl, dissolve the sugar in the warm water, then stir in the fish sauce. Set aside.
Place a heavy medium (no larger than 8 inches in diameter) skillet over high heat. When it is hot, add the oil and swirl around to coat the pan. Toss in the lemongrass, then immediately place the fillets in the hot oil and sear for 10 to 15 seconds, then turn over and repeat. Add the liquid ingredients. Bring to a fierce boil, then lower the heat to medium and toss in the scallions. Cook for 10 minutes, uncovered, turning the fish over after about 5 minutes. As the liquid cooks down, lower the heat little by little, just enough to prevent the sauce from burning. It will reduce gradually to a texture somewhere between a heavy syrup and a paste.
Serve hot, in the skillet or in a shallow serving dish, topped with a generous grinding of pepper if you wish, and the fried garlic or fried shallots. Put out a serving spoon so guests can spoon a little sauce over their fish.
SERVES 4 as part of a rice meal
