LUNCH & SMALL EATS
BLANK CANVAS CHINESE FRIED RICE
Serves 4 to 6
In my family, fried rice wasn’t so much a recipe as a method, simply broad strokes of a meal to be colored in according to whatever you might have on hand that day. It always began with a few eggs and a generous pinch of salt, whisked vigorously with chopsticks and scrambled into small wisps in a screaming-hot wok. But it could go all sorts of ways after that—a generous handful of frozen peas, a finely diced onion, or maybe a few carrots; chopped honey ham, shrimp, crab, or diced char siu pork. Whatever we had, it went in, and the end result was a wok heaping with savory, hearty rice, to be kept warm on the stove over low heat, crackling softly and forming a delightfully crisp bottom crust, while everyone went back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.
I consider this recipe a “blank canvas” starting point for our family’s fried rice. We love it as written, but it works just as well with an extra cup of diced carrots, a few sliced scallions, or some Chinese wood ear mushrooms in addition to the green peas and onions below; for your meat, you can try Char Siu Pork (this page), shrimp, lump crabmeat, or lap cheong (Chinese sausage) in place of the diced ham, or throw in a combination of all of the above. The world is your fried-rice oyster.
4 large eggs
Salt and white pepper
2 tablespoons shallot oil (from Crispy Fried Shallots, this page) or vegetable oil, divided
1 tablespoon minced garlic (2 to 3 cloves)
1 cup diced onion (about 1 small onion)
6 ounces (about 1½ cups) diced ham or other cooked protein of your choice
1 cup frozen green peas, thawed
¼ cup sliced scallions (2 to 3 scallions)
1 to 2 cups vegetables of your choice (optional)
4 to 6 cups cooked white rice (see Notes)
1 to 2 tablespoons soy sauce (optional)
¼ cup Crispy Fried Shallots (this page)
1 Beat the eggs with ¼ teaspoon salt and a generous pinch of white pepper. In a large wok or skillet, heat a tablespoon of oil over medium-high until shimmering. Add the eggs and scramble to your liking; I find that breaking the eggs into smaller pieces makes for more flavorful fried rice. Remove from the wok and set aside.
2 Wipe out the wok and heat the remaining tablespoon of oil over medium-high until shimmering. Add the garlic and onion. Season generously with salt and white pepper and cook until the onions just begin to soften, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the ham and cook for another 1 to 2 minutes. Finally, add the green peas, scallions, other vegetables (if using), and the scrambled eggs, and stir until combined.
3 Add the rice and vigorously break up any lumps, stirring until everything is evenly distributed. Season with more salt and pepper, if needed, as well as soy sauce, if desired. Reduce the heat to its lowest setting and let sit for about 5 minutes, without stirring, to allow the bottom of the rice to crisp up. Top liberally with Crispy Fried Shallots, and enjoy! Leftovers will keep in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.
NOTES
There is a school of thought that, in order to avoid soggy fried rice, you must use day-old or days-old rice, chilled in the refrigerator until needed. I haven’t always discovered this to be the case, and tend to find old, chilled rice somewhat difficult to break up in the pan. (On top of this, I hardly ever find myself in the happy circumstance of having enough leftover rice when a craving for fried rice hits!) As such, I prefer to simply make my rice with a little less water than usual in order to yield a slightly drier rice that breaks apart easily in the pan, allowing the individual grains to incorporate more evenly and flavorfully and absorb any moisture from the other mix-ins, to end up perfectly fluffy and delicious.
STEAMED BUNS
(FOR SCALLION BUNS, CHAR SIU BUNS, OR EGG CUSTARD BUNS)
Makes 12 to 16 buns
When steamed instead of baked, bread becomes soft, white, and pillowy, with a cheerful bounce and a light yet satisfying chew. It’s the kind of bread that forms the mainstay of Chinese breakfasts and comforting snacks, and I grew up sinking my teeth into steamed buns of all kinds. This basic dough is gently tweaked from my mother’s recipe—it yields a creamy, gently sweet, springy-textured bread, ready to be twisted into steamed scallion buns, wrapped into pork buns, or filled with egg custard, or simply enjoyed all on its own with a glass of warm soy milk.
1 cup milk of your choice (I use whole)
1 tablespoon oil
2 teaspoons active dry yeast or instant yeast (see Notes)
3 cups (375 grams) all-purpose flour, plus more for kneading and rolling
¼ cup sugar
1 tablespoon nonfat dry milk powder (optional)
½ teaspoon salt
1 The night before, or at least 2 hours before baking: In a small saucepan over medium heat, bring the milk just to a boil, 2 to 3 minutes, or heat the milk to a boil in a small microwave-safe bowl in the microwave, about 1 minute. (This scalds the milk to kill any enzymes that might prevent the yeast from doing their thing.) Set aside to cool slightly until warm to the touch but not hot, about 100°F to 110°F. If you find a film on the surface of the milk after heating it, just pour the milk through a sieve. Stir in the oil, then sprinkle the yeast on top and let sit until foamy, 5 to 10 minutes. If the milk-yeast mixture does not foam, you may want to start over to make sure your yeast is active. (See Notes if using instant yeast.)
2 Meanwhile, in a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, milk powder (if using), and salt. If not using a scale, take care to use the spoon-and-sweep method for measuring your flour (see this page), since too much flour can make the dough dense. When the yeast is foamy, add the yeast mixture to the flour mixture and stir with a wooden spoon or silicone spatula until a dough forms.
3 Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic, 6 to 8 minutes. Place the dough in a large bowl with plenty of room (no need to grease) and cover with plastic wrap or a damp dish towel. Let rise in the refrigerator overnight, at least 8 hours. (Alternatively, you can let it rise at room temperature for 2 hours or so, until well doubled. I prefer a longer rise, to give the flavor time to develop and to split up the labor. The dough should be fine for up to 24 hours.)
4 The next day, at least 1 hour before baking: Once it’s done rising, turn the dough out onto a floured surface and knead once or twice to deflate. At this point, you can shape the dough as desired for Egg Custard Steamed Buns (this page), Char Siu Barbecue Pork Buns, Two Ways (this page), or Steamed Scallion Buns (this page).
5 If making plain buns (mantou), roll the dough into an 8 × 10-inch rectangle and then tightly roll that into a large cylinder. Cut the log into small 1- to 1½-inch-wide pieces, and cut out the same number of 4-inch parchment squares. Place each bun on a parchment square and let rise until the dough bounces back very slowly when pressed with a fingertip, but an indent remains visible, about 1 hour.
6 While the dough is rising, set up your steamer. If using a pot with a steamer basket, fill the pot with about 2 quarts of water and bring it to a boil over high heat. If using a bamboo steamer, fill a large wok or skillet with about 2 inches of water and bring to a boil over high heat. The water should be high enough that the rim of the bamboo steamer rests in the water, but not so high that the bottom of the basket touches the water.
7 Place 3 or 4 buns in each steamer tier, or however many will fit with a generous 2 to 3 inches between each bun. Reduce the heat to medium-low, or low enough to keep the water just at a gentle simmer, cover the steamer, and set it over the water. Let the buns steam until resilient when touched and cooked through, about 15 minutes. (You may want to place the remaining buns in the refrigerator to slow the rising while you steam the first batches.)
NOTES
To use instant yeast, use the same amount as active dry yeast, but mix it in with the dry ingredients instead of adding it to the scalded milk. I have found SAF Instant Yeast (available at amazon.com) to be wonderful and reliable, yielding yeast goods that are fluffier, softer, and more flavorful than most.
Variations on steamed bun recipes sometimes call for part cake flour for a lighter, fluffier texture, or baking powder or baking soda for more lift. In trying out each of these methods, I did not find an appreciable difference in the texture, but rather that they tended to create a dimpled surface on the bun, so I’ve kept things simple here.
STEAMED SCALLION BUNS
(XIANG CONG HUA JUAN)
Makes 12 to 16 buns
There are two things I find marvelous about these scallion buns. First, they’re an ode to the power of the humble scallion, which so wholly infuses these rolls with a pungent, savory fragrance it’s hard to believe that they, along with a bit of oil and salt, are the only thing separating these rolls from plain steamed mantou. And second, these rolls are practically license to play with your food. With just a few cuts and folds, they become the intricately twisted “flowers” that inspire their name in Mandarin: hua (“flower”) + juan (“twist” or “curl” or “roll”). There are two techniques you can use, both of which are far easier than they sound on paper, but if they don’t turn out how you imagine, never fear—the differences will only give them character, and after all, they all taste the same in the end.
1 cup finely sliced scallions (8 to 9 scallions)
3 to 4 tablespoons vegetable oil or other neutral oil, or more as needed to moisten scallions
¼ teaspoon salt, plus more for sprinkling on top (optional)
1 batch Steamed Buns (this page), prepared to the end of the first rise
All-purpose flour, for kneading and rolling
1 In a small bowl, whisk together the scallions, vegetable oil, and salt. Cut out twelve to sixteen 6-inch squares of parchment paper to place underneath each bun.
2 When the dough has doubled in size, turn it out onto a floured surface and deflate. Divide the dough into 12 to 16 pieces. A dozen rolls will be quite large, about 6 inches across; more rolls will be, of course, smaller.
3 For each piece of dough, roll it out to an oval about 4-inches wide and 6-inches long (it doesn’t have to be exact). Slice ribbons lengthwise into the oval, leaving about ½ inch at the top of the oval intact. Brush about 1 tablespoon of the scallion mixture across the dough, then pick up each end of the ribboned oval and twist the dough into a rope, with the ribbons forming a spiral. Either coil or knot the rope into a circle, and place it onto a square of parchment paper. Repeat with the remaining dough. (See Notes for alternative shaping methods.) When all the dough has been shaped into rolls, cover lightly with a damp dish towel or paper towels and let rest until the first batch of rolls you shaped has risen for 30 to 40 minutes, until the dough bounces back very slowly when pressed with a fingertip, but an indent remains visible.
4 While the dough is rising, set up your steamer. If using a pot with a steamer basket, fill the pot with about 2 quarts of water and bring it to a boil over high heat. If using a bamboo steamer, fill a large wok or skillet with about 2 inches of water and bring to a boil over high heat. The water should be high enough that the rim of the bamboo steamer rests in the water, but not so high that the bottom of the basket touches the water.
5 Starting with the buns you shaped first, place 3 or 4 in each steamer tier, or however many will fit with a generous 2 to 3 inches between each bun. Reduce the heat to medium-low, or low enough to keep the water just at a gentle simmer, cover your steamer, and set it over the water. Let the buns steam until resilient when touched and cooked through, about 15 minutes. (You may want to place the remaining buns in the refrigerator to slow the rising while you steam the first batches.)
6 Repeat with the remaining buns. Enjoy warm, sprinkled with salt, if desired. Leftovers can be frozen and reheated in the steamer or the microwave.
NOTES
For a simpler technique, you can shape the dough as though you are making plain Steamed Buns (this page) or My Favorite Cinnamon Rolls (this page). Roll out the dough into a large 12 × 14-inch rectangle, then spread the scallion mixture evenly across the dough, leaving a ½-inch border around the edges. Starting at a short end, roll the rectangle snugly into a log, then slice the log into about a dozen pieces. Steam as is, or press a chopstick down lengthwise on top of each piece, causing the roll to “fold” in the center and the swirls on either side of the bun to face upward, then tuck the ends underneath.
CHAR SIU BARBECUE PORK BUNS, TWO WAYS
Makes 12 to 16 buns, baked or steamed
In law school, I used to take a bus from Boston to New York that let off on the corner of Thirty-Fourth Street and Eighth Avenue in Manhattan. Just near there, squeezed between a Wendy’s and a Burger King, was a tiny Chinese bakery that sold some of the tastiest barbecue pork buns I’ve ever had in New York. The steamed versions were fluffy and snow-white, with appealingly cracked tops; the baked ones were burnished golden yet soft and feathery inside. Both held mounds of deliciously sweet-yet-savory chopped pork in their bellies, which stained the dough a vibrant crimson when you bit into them. I could never choose between the steamed and baked varieties, and for a time, every return trip from New York found me clutching at least one of each, tucked neatly in their wax paper jackets, for the ride back.
Later, after I met my husband and visited his home in Hawaii for the first time, his family would introduce me to manapua, Hawaii’s version of char siu buns. I had thought that my beloved pork buns could not be improved upon, but I was wrong. It turns out, all you have to do is make them bigger. Manapua were just like the char siu buns I knew, but impressively rotund and even squashier from all their extra heft. As I grew up eating char siu buns on pilgrimages to dim sum restaurants in neighboring Atlanta, my husband’s family had been eating the same thing (only bigger), picked up after mass on Sundays from a tiny Chinese bakery in Mānoa.
Loving those pork buns as much as we both did, it was only a matter of time before I tried my hand at them in my own kitchen. I like to make both the steamed and the baked varieties; the wonderful thing about making them yourself is that you never have to choose. They’re a labor of love, to be certain, but worth it for every soft, pork-filled pillow that emerges from the oven or steamer. As a bonus, any leftovers freeze wonderfully: To reheat, just wrap one in a damp paper towel and microwave for 30 seconds to 1 minute, or wrap it in foil and heat in a 350°F oven for 5 to 10 minutes, until heated through.
FOR THE DOUGH
1 batch Our Favorite Enriched Bread (this page), prepared to the start of the first rise
FOR THE CHAR SIU PORK FILLING
2 teaspoons vegetable oil or other neutral oil, or as needed
1½ pounds Char Siu Pork (this page), diced small
¼ cup hoisin sauce
¼ cup packed dark brown sugar, or more to taste
¼ cup Shaoxing rice wine, dry sherry, or sake
2 tablespoons soy sauce, or more to taste
1 tablespoon oyster sauce
¼ teaspoon white pepper
2 tablespoons cornstarch
2 tablespoons water
TO BAKE
All-purpose flour, for rolling
1 large egg mixed with a splash of water, for egg wash
FOR THE DOUGH
1 batch Steamed Buns (this page), prepared to the end of the first rise
FOR THE FILLING
1 batch Char Siu Pork Filling
BAKED
1 The night before, or at least 2 hours in advance: Prepare Our Favorite Enriched Bread up to the start of the first rise.
2 While the dough is rising, make the filling: In a large skillet, heat a little vegetable oil over medium until shimmering. Add the pork, hoisin sauce, brown sugar, rice wine, soy sauce, oyster sauce, and white pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until the sauce begins to thicken and turn viscous, 3 to 4 minutes.
3 In a small bowl, whisk together the cornstarch and water until smooth. Add the cornstarch slurry to the pan and continue to cook until the pork mixture can be mounded, another 1 to 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and refrigerate until ready to use.
4 The day of: Line two baking sheets with parchment paper or Silpat mats. When the dough has doubled in size, turn it out onto a floured surface and divide into 12 pieces for large buns (about 5 inches in diameter each), or 16 for medium (3 to 4 inches in diameter each). Roll each dough piece out to a 4- to 5-inch circle. Place 2 to 3 teaspoons of filling in the center of the circle, then fold the dough around the filling and pinch the edges together to seal them shut. Transfer to the lined baking sheet and repeat with the remaining dough pieces, leaving about 2 to 3 inches between each bun on the pan.
5 When all the buns are formed, cover with a damp dish towel and let rise for another hour or so, until the buns are puffy and doubled in size, and the dough bounces back very slowly when pressed with a fingertip, but an indent remains visible.
6 Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 350°F. Once the buns have finished the second rise, brush the egg wash generously over each one. Bake for 18 to 20 minutes, until golden on top. Enjoy warm.
NOTES
You can halve the filling if you prefer, freeze any you have left for your next bun-making party—or simply enjoy it with congee (this page) or over rice.
STEAMED
1 When the dough has risen, deflate the dough and knead it a few times. Divide the dough into 12 to 16 equal pieces and cut out the same number of 4-inch parchment-paper squares. Roll each piece of dough out into a 4- or 5-inch circle, aiming to roll the edges thinner than the center. Place 2 to 3 teaspoons of filling in the center of the circle and pinch the edges of the dough up around the filling to seal. Take care not to get the filling on the edges of the dough, which can keep them from sealing properly. (See this page, though it doesn’t need to be perfect if you steam the bun seam-side down.) Place the shaped bun seam-side down on a parchment square. Repeat until the remaining filling and dough is gone.
2 While the dough is rising, set up your steamer. If using a pot with a steamer basket, fill the large pot with about 2 quarts of water and bring it to a boil over high heat. If using a bamboo steamer, fill a large wok or skillet with about 2 inches of water and bring to a boil over high heat. The water should be high enough that the bamboo steamer rim rests in the water, but not so high that the bottom of the basket touches the water.
3 Starting with the buns you shaped first, place 3 or 4 in each steamer tier, or however many will fit with a generous 2 to 3 inches between each bun. Reduce the heat to medium-low, or low enough to keep the water just at a gentle simmer, cover the steamer, and set it over the water. Let the buns steam until the buns are resilient when touched and cooked through, about 15 minutes. (You may want to place the remaining buns in the refrigerator to slow the rising while you steam the first batches.)
4 Repeat with the remaining buns. Enjoy warm. Leftovers can be frozen and reheated in the steamer or the microwave.
NOTES
If you like, you can steam these with the pleats facing upward, which will make them more similar to the buns you might get at a dim sum restaurant. They won’t look exactly like the craggy, cracked “smiling” char siu buns, but they may split open a bit as they steam. I prefer them seam-side down, manapua-style, for a neater appearance and more fully sealed bun.
CHAR SIU PORK
Serves 4 to 6
My love of glossy-red char siu barbecue pork goes back a long way. For a few months in my childhood, I lived with my grandparents in Changzhou, a town two hours east of Shanghai. It was there that I first remember enjoying char siu pork, and it took no time at all before my grandmother realized that my favorite treat was looking in my rice bowl and finding a neat row of crimson, tender roast pork slices, glistening with a sweet glaze and ready to be devoured with rice and bok choy.
Char siu or cha shao literally means “fork-roasted,” and traditional char siu pork is roasted in large slabs to be hung tantalizingly in restaurant storefronts, beckoning to passersby. Luckily for us, slicing pork shoulder into thick strips and roasting it in a regular old oven will yield juicy, flavorful meat that’s every bit as addictive. Enjoy it on its own over rice, then dice the leftovers and use in fried rice (see this page) or fluffy pork buns (see this page).
¼ cup hoisin sauce
¼ cup soy sauce
¼ cup honey
¼ cup packed dark brown sugar
2 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine, dry sherry, or sake
2 teaspoons sesame oil
2 teaspoons oyster sauce (optional)
1 tablespoon minced garlic (2 to 3 cloves)
½ teaspoon Chinese five-spice powder (see Notes)
¼ teaspoon white pepper
2 pounds pork shoulder, sliced into 2-inch-thick strips
1 1 day ahead, or up to 2 hours in advance: In a medium bowl or liquid measuring cup, mix together all the ingredients except the pork shoulder. Place the pork shoulder in a large, shallow baking dish or a gallon Ziploc bag. Pour the marinade over the pork and let marinate for several hours, ideally overnight or up to 1 day in advance.
2 When ready to cook: Preheat the oven to 275°F. Place the pork slices on a baking sheet, reserving the marinade for basting. Bake for about 1 hour, brushing the marinade generously over the pork every 10 minutes, until the pork reaches an internal temperature of 160°F. If the pork is not yet tender to your liking, cover with foil and continue to bake for an additional 30 minutes, until a fork slides through the meat with less resistance. Let cool briefly, then slice and enjoy.
NOTES
Typically, char siu pork gets its deep red color from things like red fermented tofu or red yeast rice, and its lacquer-like shine from maltose syrup; these aren’t terribly easy to come by in the United States, however, and I have found that my go-to recipe—while not as brightly vermilion as the pork you might find in a restaurant—does not suffer in the least without them.
To make your own Chinese five-spice powder, in a medium saucepan over medium, toast 2 star anise, 2 teaspoons Sichuan or regular peppercorns, 1 teaspoon whole cloves, 1 teaspoon fennel seeds, 1 teaspoon coriander seed, and 1 cinnamon stick until fragrant, 2 to 3 minutes. Place in a spice grinder or clean coffee grinder and grind to a fine powder.
DUMPLING DOUGH
(FOR POTSTICKERS, KIMCHI SUJEBI, GINGER-SCALLION CHICKEN & DUMPLINGS)
Makes 18 to 24 dumpling wrappers
It may seem like quite the endeavor to make your own dumpling wrappers, but in truth they couldn’t be easier. There’s something magical about the fact that it takes nothing more than flour, water, and a touch of salt to make something that’s not just edible, but delicious—a pliable and toothsome vehicle for all kinds of fillings. And these hardy little wrappers show up in all sorts of other incarnations. As it turns out, the very same recipe for Chinese dumpling wrappers will make the hand-torn noodles in Korean sujebi (this page), which in turn bears an uncanny resemblance to the “flat dumpling” in Southern chicken and dumplings (this page). You can even swap out some of the all-purpose flour for semolina flour, use warm water instead of boiling, and, voilà, have yourself handmade orecchiette pasta. It’s truly a jack-of-all-trades.
2 cups (250 grams) all-purpose flour, plus up to ¼ cup (30 grams) more for kneading and rolling
½ teaspoon salt
¾ cup boiling water
1 In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour and salt. Let the boiling water rest for a few seconds, then trickle it slowly into the flour while stirring with chopsticks or a silicone spatula. A wet dish towel placed under the bowl can help keep it in place while you stir.
2 After you’ve added all the water, continue to stir until the mixture becomes pebbly and shaggy, and the water is evenly incorporated. Make sure the dough is a comfortable temperature to touch, then use your hands to knead until the dough comes together into one mass. Turn it out onto a lightly floured surface and knead until smooth and taut, about 5 to 10 minutes. The dough should be fairly firm, not tacky, and should not stick to your hands or the bowl. If it is overly sticky, add a few more tablespoons of flour as you knead. Place in an airtight container or Ziploc bag and allow the dough to rest at room temperature for at least 15 minutes or up to 2 hours, or in the refrigerator for 1 day. In a closed container, the moisture will evenly distribute, allowing the dough to relax to a consistency that’s easy to work with and roll out.
3 At this point, it’s ready to be rolled out into wrappers for Potstickers (this page) or torn into pieces for kimchi sujebi (this page). You can also pop them into Ginger-Scallion Chicken & Dumplings (this page), though those dumplings benefit from a bit of chicken stock in place of the boiling water.
GINGER-SCALLION CHICKEN & DUMPLINGS
Serves 4
For me, two kinds of dumplings come to mind when it comes to Southern cooking: the large, round variety akin to matzo balls that crop up both in chicken and dumplings and in desserts like blueberry dumplings; and the “flat dumplings” (or “slicks,” depending on where in the South you call home). The latter is the sort I’ve always preferred with my chicken. You’ll find all sorts of recipes for flat dumplings, some involving baking powder and others unleavened, some involving a few tablespoons of butter, but I was delighted to realize that their simplest incarnation was almost identical to something I’d been making all along—the dough for potsticker dumpling wrappers (this page). So, of course, there was no question what recipe I’d be using in my own kitchen.
These chicken and dumplings get another slight Asian twist from a different kind of “southern” cuisine—Hainanese chicken and rice, a beloved staple from southern China. While the ingredient list might seem woefully short, simmering chicken with nothing more than a generous pile of sliced ginger and scallions results in a spicy, savory, and unexpectedly complex meal that is simple to prepare but deeply flavorful. You can add a drizzle of soy sauce or a dollop of chili garlic paste, if you’d like, but I’ve always found that this six-ingredient dish is all I need.
2 pounds chicken drumsticks or thighs, skin-on and bone-in
1½ teaspoons salt
3 or 4 scallions, sliced into 1-inch pieces (about ½ cup)
3 inches ginger root, sliced into ⅛-inch pieces (about ⅓ cup)
6 cups water
1 cup (125 grams) all-purpose flour, plus more as needed
OPTIONAL
Soy sauce, for serving
Chili garlic paste, for serving
1 Make the soup: Season the chicken generously with 1 teaspoon salt. Place it in a medium pot with the scallions, ginger, and water. (If desired, tie the ginger in cheesecloth to make it easier to remove later.) Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce to medium-low, keeping the soup at a bare simmer.
2 Make the dumpling dough: After the soup has been simmering for about 30 minutes, start the dumplings. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour and remaining ½ teaspoon salt. Ladle about 6 tablespoons broth and trickle it into the bowl of flour while stirring the flour with chopsticks or a silicone spatula. A wet dish towel under the bowl may help keep it in place while you stir. After you’ve added all the broth, continue to stir until the flour mixture becomes pebbly and the water is evenly incorporated. Make sure the dough is a comfortable temperature to touch, then use your hands to knead the dough until smooth and taut, 5 to 10 minutes. The dough should be fairly firm, not tacky, and should not stick to your hands or the bowl. If it does, add more flour, a tablespoon at a time, until the dough is firm. Place in an airtight container or a Ziploc bag and allow to rest while the broth simmers for another 25 to 30 minutes (for a total of 1 hour altogether).
3 Skim any scum off the top of the broth and remove the ginger, if you’d like. Transfer the chicken to a plate or cutting board and use a fork to pull the meat from the bones. Return the meat to the pot and let the soup continue to simmer gently while you make the dumplings.
4 Form the dumplings: By now, the dumpling dough should be nice and pliable after its rest. The traditional method of preparing flat dumplings is to roll the dough out to a large rectangle, ¼ inch or less in thickness, and then slice the rectangle into 1 × 2-inch strips. Alternatively, you can form them the way noodles are torn for kimchi sujebi (this page): Pinch off a tablespoon of dough and pull it in half so that it forms 2 flat pieces. Flatten the pieces to about ¼ inch or less, if needed, but otherwise the pieces need not be uniform. Roughly torn edges create a nice texture. Repeat until the dough is gone.
5 Bring the soup back to a lively simmer over medium heat, then drop the dumpling pieces into the pot. Simmer until the dumplings float to the surface, 1 to 2 more minutes, then serve, with soy sauce and chili garlic paste on the side, if desired.
SPICY KIMCHI HAND-TORN NOODLE SOUP
Serves 2 or 3
There are two main types of the rustic Korean noodle soup called sujebi. The non-spicy version, a chicken-based soup with hand-torn noodles made from flour and water, is surprisingly reminiscent of Southern chicken and flat dumplings. This one has a little bit more of a kick, though, simmering kimchi with a dash of fish juice and a heap of hearty vegetables to form a spicy, rich broth—almost like a quick kimchi stew—to go along with the chewy handmade noodles. It’s quick but flavorful, and utterly satisfying—my ideal snow-day lunch.
½ batch Dumpling Dough (this page), prepared to the resting step
1 tablespoon vegetable oil or other neutral oil
1½ cup chopped kimchi, plus 2 tablespoons kimchi juice
1 cup sliced onions (about ½ large onion)
1 cup diced zucchini (about 1 small zucchini)
1 cup scrubbed and diced potato (about 2 small red potatoes or ½ russet)
Salt, to taste
4 cups water
1 tablespoon gochujang (optional)
1 teaspoon fish sauce
1 teaspoon sesame oil
2 to 3 tablespoons sliced scallions (1 to 2 scallions)
1 teaspoon sugar, if necessary
1 Make the broth while the dumpling dough is resting: In a large nonstick or well-seasoned cast-iron skillet, heat the oil over medium-high until shimmering. Add the kimchi and onions. Cook, stirring often, until the onions begin to soften and the juices begin to absorb, 2 to 4 minutes.
2 Add the zucchini and potato and season generously with about ½ teaspoon salt. Continue to sauté briefly until zucchini just begins to soften, 1 to 2 more minutes.
3 Transfer the vegetables to a medium saucepan, along with the water, 2 tablespoons kimchi juice, gochujang (if using), fish sauce, and sesame oil. Bring to a boil and let simmer until the potato is nearly cooked but still firm in the center, 10 to 15 minutes.
4 While the broth is simmering, I like to tear the dough into dumplings. Pinch off a tablespoon of dough, then pull this piece in half so that it forms 2 flat pieces. Flatten those pieces to about ¼-inch thick or less, if needed, but otherwise the pieces need not be uniform. Roughly torn edges create a nice texture. Repeat until the dough is gone.
5 Add the dumplings and sliced scallions to the broth. Simmer until the dumplings float and no longer taste floury, 2 to 3 more minutes. If the soup tastes a bit sour, add a teaspoon of sugar. Adjust salt and serve immediately.
I WAS TWELVE YEARS OLD BEFORE I REALIZED for the first time that Spam wasn’t something everyone loved. At summer camp that year, my counselor was a half-Chinese college sophomore. In my whole twelve years of living I had never met a girl who was so cool and self-assured and yet still somewhat like me. We traded stories about our Chinese mothers’ cooking, rattling off all the dishes we had in common. Stir-fried potatoes with mustard greens! Scrambled eggs and tomatoes! Red-cooked pork! Stir-fried green beans with Spam?
She paused. “Um, no, I don’t remember that one,” she said at last, tactfully.
Thus came the slow, dawning realization: To me, Spam may have been a delicious, salty, addictive superior to ham, but to almost everyone else I knew, it was abhorrent—nothing more than a clammy pink slab of mystery meat, to be avoided at all costs. Perhaps they would have felt differently had they experienced it, not cold and straight out of the can, but fried in a pan until browned and crackling, crisp on the outside but juicy within, dabbed with oyster sauce and eaten with rice. Or perhaps they wouldn’t have. Either way, it was, to my chagrin, anathema.
More than a decade after I’d first discovered my beloved Spam’s abiding unpopularity, I was studying in my dorm room in law school, my love of Spam well-hidden (or so I thought), when a classmate of mine sent me a message. I knew him only vaguely. He was half-Korean, and handsome; I had heard he was from Hawaii.
“I heard you like Spam,” he typed. My skeleton in the culinary closet! How did he know? I expected him to poke fun, or ask, with incredulity, why. Instead, the next message popped up, friendly and unjudging: “Do you have a musubi mold?”
This guy was, of course, my future husband, and it turned out that where he was from, Spam was not reviled but ordinary. He’d grown up eating pan-fried slices of Spam, doused with ketchup and served with a pile of white rice and clouds of scrambled eggs for breakfast; he ate Spam musubi—portable, portly versions of over-large sushi, made by placing Spam on rice and wrapping it up in seaweed—for lunch.
It was a revelation. After hiding my love of Spam for years, I’d met someone who was wholly indifferent that everyone on the “mainland” hated it, because he’d grown up with it as a part of life. It would be another year before we started dating, but in that conversation I had found my mystery meat soulmate.
“No, I’m so sorry, I don’t have a musubi mold!” I typed in reply. “I have no idea what that is, actually.”
I’m not necessarily saying you should get married to someone just because you share a mutual love for a food most people dislike. But if you do meet someone who happens to be your idea of a dream partner, who happens to fulfill you intellectually and emotionally and share your values, et cetera, but who also happens to have grown up loving a questionably composed, bafflingly shelf-stable canned meat just as much as you did; who introduces you to Spam musubi, that triumph of Spam and rice and seaweed; whose idea of a grand morning a few weekends after you’ve started dating is getting your hands covered in rice by making those musubi at home?
Well, in that case, it certainly can’t hurt.
BARTER-WORTHY SPAM MUSUBI
Makes 8 or 9 musubi
Musubi are a Hawaii staple, where slices of Spam are fried and cloaked in a lightly flavored sauce, then placed on pressed rice and wrapped in toasty seaweed for a portable, savory snack. You’ll find them wrapped tightly in plastic wrap in every 7-Eleven in Hawaii, in lunchboxes at school, in backpacks on hikes. It’s not the only way that people in Hawaii enjoy Spam, but it’s one of the most popular, and the first time I had one—even the first time my husband described one to me—I was irrevocably in love with them.
According to Andrew, his friend’s mother has always made the best musubi he’s ever had. They were the perfect balance of salty, crispy Spam and just enough sauce, fluffy rice and briny seaweed. In school, “Hyatt’s mom’s musubis” were their own currency, he told me. Hyatt would peddle them at lunch for cash, or use them to barter for coveted snacks. (It has since become my dream to be a mom whose homemade snacks become legal tender.)
To me, a green girlfriend eager to prove her worth, a gauntlet had been thrown. The best ever? Every recipe I came across had some variation of Spam, sugar, and soy sauce, with rice and seaweed. How hard could it be to match Hyatt’s mom, no matter how legendary her musubi were? I was determined to best her.
After that, every weekend for a time saw me elbow-deep in rice, Spam, and nori strips, pressing rice into balls, lining up saucy Spam slices on top, and wrapping them up in seaweed. And yet, with every single recipe I tried, Andrew would just say that it wasn’t quite it. A bit too salty, he’d say. Too much soy sauce. Or, more mystifying yet, “just not right.” After an umpteeth attempt that was “almost but not quite,” I finally asked him, in abject defeat, if he’d mind actually emailing her and asking for the legendary recipe.
The email that landed in his inbox just a few hours later was only four lines long. “Fry Spams until brown,” she wrote cheerfully. “Add one spoon sugar and some water. Cook until dry, then put on rice balls and wrap with seaweed. Easy!”
I was stunned. No soy sauce! No brown sugar! No way. Refusing to believe that it could be that simple, but with no choice but to try her vaunted recipe, I told my husband we’d be doing a blind taste test. One grain of rice on top of the musubi labeled the one made with brown sugar and soy sauce; the one with two grains was made with white sugar and soy sauce. And lastly, three grains, in a dainty triangle, adorned Hyatt’s mother’s impossibly simple version.
Lo and behold, it was hers that Andrew picked, right away.
1 teaspoon vegetable oil or other neutral oil, or as necessary
1 (12-ounce) can Spam, sliced into 8 or 9 pieces
¼ cup water
2 teaspoons soy sauce (see Notes)
2 tablespoons sugar
3 to 4 cups cooked rice, room temperature
3 sheets roasted seaweed (nori), cut into 9 strips about 2 inches wide and 8 inches long
1 Heat a 12-inch nonstick or well-seasoned cast-iron skillet over medium. (If the pan is not nonstick, wait until the pan is hot, then heat a teaspoon or so of oil, just enough to thinly coat the pan.) Add the Spam slices and cook until browned and crisp on the bottom side, 2 to 3 minutes. Flip and cook until the second side is also browned and crisp, an additional 2 to 3 minutes.
2 In a small bowl, whisk together the water and soy sauce. Sprinkle the sugar evenly over the Spam slices, then add the soy sauce mixture. Swirl to evenly distribute, then let the Spam simmer until the liquid is nearly absorbed, 3 to 4 minutes. Remove from the heat and let cool.
3 Meanwhile, prepare your rice and nori strips. When the Spam is cool enough to handle, form the musubi. Place a nori strip on a clean surface or cutting board, with the short end of the nori facing you.
4 If using a mold: Place the mold perpendicular to the nori strip in the center of the strip (forming a cross shape) and place a slice of Spam inside the mold. Add about ⅓ to ½ cup of rice, depending on the Spam-to-rice ratio you prefer—we like a bit less rice, and usually use a little over ⅓ cup. Press down firmly on the rice with the mold press, to form a rectangle of rice on top of the Spam. Carefully remove the press and the mold, and fold both ends of the nori strip up and over the rice, sealing with a few stray grains of rice or a bit of water. Turn the musubi seam-side down and set aside while you make the rest. Repeat with the remaining nori strips, Spam, and rice.
5 If not using a mold: Place one slice of Spam perpendicular to the nori strip in the center of the strip (forming a cross shape). Wet your hands and pick up ⅓ to ½ cup of rice. Firmly press the rice into a rectangular shape about the size of the Spam, then place on top of the Spam and fold both ends of the nori strip up and over the rice, sealing with a few stray grains of rice or a bit of water. Turn the musubi seam-side down and set aside while you make the rest; repeat with the remaining nori strips, Spam, and rice. Enjoy immediately, or wrap each musubi tightly in plastic wrap for later. If refrigerated, the musubi is best warmed in the microwave for 20 seconds before eating.
NOTES
In a slight departure from the recipe Hyatt’s mom so kindly shared, I add just a splash of soy sauce to my Spam. Feel free to omit.
If you like, tuck some egg omelet in between the rice and the Spam (similar to the method in the Ham & Egg Baked Buns, this page) or a generous sprinkling of furikake, a type of Japanese seasoning.
A SAUCIER MUSUBI: TERIYAKI-STYLE
Hyatt’s mom’s musubi is a simpler vision, with just a bit of sauce that clings to the Spam and hints at flavoring the rice. If you want a saltier, saucier, more flavor-forward version, try teriyaki-style musubi: Instead of the ¼ cup water, 2 teaspoons soy sauce, and 2 tablespoons sugar called for above, whisk together ⅓ cup soy sauce, ⅓ cup mirin, 3 tablespoons brown sugar (light or dark), and 2 tablespoons sake. Add it to the pan after you’ve browned the Spam, then let it simmer until the sauce thickens and turns viscous. Remove the Spam slices from the pan, proceed as directed, and serve any sauce that’s left over in the pan on the side.
SPICY AHI POKE
Serves 3 or 4
The first time I had poke was less than an hour after I’d landed at Honolulu International Airport to visit Andrew’s family and his home for the first time. Andrew had it waiting, his favorite kind from a Hawaii supermarket chain called Foodland, in the fridge at home. This was before the poke craze that swept the entire country, and back then I had no idea what joy I was about to experience: cool, silky chunks of ahi tuna, layered with flavor and mounded over rice, savory from a soy sauce and sesame oil marinade, but gently spicy from a creamy mayonnaise-based sauce, with pops of flavor and texture from delicate orange fish roe (masago), and fresh scallions. It is one of my husband’s most beloved foods, and with one bite, it became one of mine, too.
In its most traditional form, poke is usually marinated in a simple combination of soy sauce and and sesame oil, then tossed with scallions, some thinly sliced Maui sweet onion, and topped with sesame seeds, Hawaiian salt, or perhaps some Hawaiian seaweed, limu. My husband’s favorite is this creamier version, cloaked in a simple mixture of hot sauce and Kewpie mayonnaise after the poke has marinated, and topped with a confetti of masago or tobiko. The mild heat is a perfect contrast to the fresh, crisp tuna, and the pink sauce will cling seductively to any leftover rice in your bowl for a flavorful ending to your meal.
1 pound sushi-grade ahi tuna, fresh or frozen
1 tablespoon soy sauce, or to taste
½ to 1 teaspoon sesame oil, or to taste
¼ cup finely sliced scallions (2 to 3 scallions), plus more for garnish
¼ to ⅓ cup very thinly sliced sweet onion (about ¼ onion; optional)
2 tablespoons Kewpie mayonnaise
1 to 2 tablespoons sriracha
1 to 2 teaspoons masago or tobiko, plus more for garnish
1 teaspoon toasted sesame seeds, for garnish
1 If your tuna is frozen, thaw it briefly by submerging it in very cold water for about 30 minutes. When it’s just short of fully thawed, slice it into cubes, about ¾- to 1-inch thick (I tend to go a bit smaller for more flavor).
2 In a medium bowl, combine the tuna, soy sauce, sesame oil, half the scallions, and the onion (if using), and toss until the tuna is well coated. Adjust the soy sauce and sesame oil to your taste—I generally use just enough to coat the tuna thinly. Cover and chill the tuna in the refrigerator for about 30 minutes.
3 Meanwhile, in a small bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, sriracha, the remaining scallions, and the masago until combined. Add the spicy mayonnaise mixture to the chilled tuna, folding gently until evenly coated. Serve with rice, topped with masago, scallions, and sesame seeds.
NOTES
Take special care to look for sushi- or sashimi-grade tuna when purchasing your fish, and avoid using any that is not clearly labeled as such. Good fish vendors should be able to point you in the right direction.
Masago and tobiko are fairly interchangeable—you will generally find masago is a bit more affordable, with a less-concentrated flavor, but both will work.
MY MOTHER-IN-LAW’S KOREAN SPICY SHOYU POKE
Serves 3 or 4
This is my mother-in-law’s Korean-inspired take on traditional shoyu poke. She adds a bit more sesame oil and a smattering of gochugaru for a smoky heat; omit the latter, and you have a classic shoyu poke.
1 pound sushi-grade ahi tuna, fresh or frozen
2 tablespoons soy sauce, or more to taste
1 to 2 teaspoons sesame oil, or more to taste
2 to 3 teaspoons gochugaru
1 teaspoon toasted sesame seeds, plus more for garnish
¼ cup finely sliced scallions (2 to 3 scallions), plus more for garnish
½ to ¾ cup very thinly sliced sweet onion (about ½ sweet onion)
1 If your tuna is frozen, thaw briefly by submerging it in very cold water for about 30 minutes. When it’s just short of fully thawed, slice it into cubes, about ¾ inch or smaller (I tend to go a bit smaller for more flavor).
2 In a medium bowl, combine the tuna, soy sauce, sesame oil, gochugaru, sesame seeds, scallions, and sweet onion and toss until well combined. Serve with rice, topped with more sesame seeds and scallions.
KOREAN MIXED FISH & RICE BOWL
Serves 2
I like to think of hwedupbap as a summer version of bibimbap—whereas bibimbap is pure belly-warming food, rich with molten yolk and hot from crackling rice, hwedupbap is its cool but wonderfully fierce cousin. It bursts with flavors and textures, snappy lettuce and smooth chunks of raw fish against ribbons of carrot and tangy pickled daikon. Underneath it all is a generous portion of fluffy rice for balance, and drizzled on top is the brightly tart but brow-sweatingly hot cho-gochujang, a version of gochujang sauce cut with vinegar to better complement seafood. It’s a dish that’s equal parts crisp and silky, spicy and cold, comforting and refreshing. Sassier than Japanese chirashi bowls yet quicker than poke, it’s not the first way most folks think to enjoy raw fish over rice, but ever since I first had it, it’s been one of my most beloved.
FOR THE CHO-GOCHUJANG
¼ cup Gochujang Sauce (this page)
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
FOR THE HWEDUPBAP
3 cups cooked rice of your choice (I like short-grain white rice, but any type will work)
10 to 12 ounces assorted sushi-grade fish (I like a combination of ahi tuna and salmon)
4 cups chopped red leaf or romaine lettuce (about 1 small head)
½ cup julienned carrot (about 1 carrot)
½ cup julienned Persian or Kirby cucumber (1 to 2 cucumbers)
½ cup julienned daikon radish (about a 2-inch segment of radish; optional)
¼ cup radish sprouts or other microgreens (optional)
¼ cup shredded roasted seaweed (nori)
3 to 4 tablespoons masago or tobiko
2 to 3 teaspoons sesame oil, for garnish
1 tablespoon sesame seeds, for garnish
1 In a small bowl, whisk together the gochujang sauce and rice vinegar to make the cho-gochujang. Set aside.
2 Divide the rice, fish, lettuce, carrot, cucumber, daikon (if using), microgreens, seaweed, and masago between 2 large bowls. Drizzle each bowl with sesame oil and top with sesame seeds. Serve with plenty of cho-gochujang sauce, and enjoy!
GOCHUJANG BUFFALO CHICKEN WRAPS
Makes 4 wraps
While a law school dining hall might not strike you as the most likely source for inspiring cuisine, you’d be hard-pressed to find a buffalo chicken wrap better than the ones I got there. They were perfect in their unapologetic simplicity—fried chicken tenders, fresh red onion, tomato, and iceberg lettuce, swiftly chopped and tucked into a generous tortilla with shredded cheddar, cloaked with plenty of ranch dressing and buffalo sauce, then rolled up neat and tight, with a pickle on the side. No fuss, no frills, and wonderful every time.
I love that wrap because it reminds me that food doesn’t have to be complicated to be delicious. This is my nod to it, with just the slightest twist to incorporate gochujang, the hot sauce I’m always more likely to have in my own refrigerator than buffalo sauce. There’s a splash of vinegar in the gochujang sauce to call back the tang of buffalo sauce, but otherwise it adds a smoky-sweet spice to the wrap that is wholly different from its predecessor, yet no less addictive. For even more Korean-inspired heat, sneak in some kimchi-brined spicy chicken (this page).
2 cups shredded or chopped romaine lettuce (about ½ small head)
4 large (10-inch) flour tortillas
½ pound (about 2 to 3) breaded and fried chicken tenders, diced (or ½ batch kimchi-brined spicy chicken, this page)
½ cup diced tomato (about 1 small tomato)
¼ cup diced red onion (about ¼ small onion)
1 batch Gochujang Sauce (this page), or to taste
1 tablespoon rice vinegar
½ cup store-bought ranch dressing, or to taste
Place ½ cup lettuce horizontally across the middle of each tortilla, followed by the chicken, tomato, and red onion. In a small bowl, whisk together the gochujang sauce and rice vinegar until smooth. Drizzle the sauce across each tortilla, followed by the ranch dressing. Fold the ends of the tortillas in over the filling, then roll up widthwise to form a wrap.