Cantonese

Well known by their Cantonese name har gow, these delightful pinkish-white morsels are among the most popular offerings at dim sum houses. They go fast, and I’ve chased down my fair share of dim sum ladies to get a fresh order. When I started making my own and realized that they can be kept refrigerated and frozen, my fear of har gow scarcity diminished. These are difficult to prepare only if you aim to produce exemplary diminutive ones, which most dim sum places don’t. Start out with ones that are a little bigger and scale down as you gain dexterity. You can even make these dumplings as half-moons, and they’ll taste swell. Use the best shrimp possible, and immerse the canned bamboo shoots in boiling water to rid it of its tinny flavor before chopping. To make the pork fat easier to mince, blanch it in boiling water for 1 minute, or until firm. Obtain the fat from fatback (I go to a Latino butcher counter) or cut it off a pork chop. Fatty bacon works well, too.

This malleable, snowy white dough is the foundation for many Cantonese dim sum favorites, such as Chiu Chow Dumplings (page 137) and Har Gow Shrimp Dumplings (page 135). Wheat starch dough is easy to manipulate; texturally, it is like Play-Doh. In fact, I’ve seen rabbit-shaped dumplings made from this type of dough. You can definitely sculpt it, though I mostly focus on making sure the filling is sealed up well. When cooked, this dough has a translucency that allows the filling colors to be visible in a beautiful, impressionistic way. Wheat starch on its own would make a dough that is too firm, so dim sum cooks commonly add elasticity by way of tapioca starch, though cornstarch and potato starch are options, too. The oil lends suppleness and richness. This dough can be prepared up to 6 hours in advance and kept at room temperature in the plastic bag. When forming wrappers from this dough, do your best to keep the cut dough and formed wrappers covered with plastic wrap to prevent drying. At Chinese markets, look for plastic bags of wheat starch near other starches and flours; Middle Eastern markets sometimes carry it, too. Tapioca starch is reasonably priced at Chinese and Southeast Asian markets but is also available at health food stores, specialty grocers, and some supermarkets.

Whether steamed or baked, buns stuffed with Cantonese char siu pork are among my favorite dim sum. I rarely pass up the opportunity to savor how the spongy, slightly sweet dough complements the savory-sweet, rich meat. For spectacular buns, make this filling with homemade roast pork (page 224); in fact you can prepare a triple batch of filling from a single recipe of roast pork. If you elect to use store-bought pork, wait to salt the filling until after it is done and you can taste it to see what it needs; the meat is often well seasoned already.

The Chinese repertoire has many kinds of rolls—savory, sweet, thin, fat, fried, and unfried—and they’re all hard to pass up. The Cantonese fried version is bigger than its Shanghai kin, and it is encased in a large version of a wonton skin. Cantonese spring rolls, also known as egg rolls, have gotten a bad rap in America because they’re often greasy, overly doughy, and bland. However, when made from thin skins and a savory-sweet mixture of fresh vegetables and meat, Cantonese spring rolls reveal their worth as a splendid snack. Resembling gold bars and symbolizing wealth, prosperity, and good fortune, spring rolls are savored during the Lunar New Year, which is called the Spring Festival in Chinese. Cantonese spring rolls often combine pork and shrimp, but I prefer to keep the focus on tasty roast pork, which is best when homemade. Finely chopping and shredding the ingredients is time consuming, but you want the filling to be compact so that it fills out the long shape of the roll. Lighten your workload by making the filling and skins in advance.

These open-faced dumplings are a requisite part of the Cantonese dim sum repertoire. In contrast to their dainty size and frilly edge, shāomai (siu mai in Cantonese) are packed with a pork filling that’s typically punctuated by earthy mushrooms and crunchy water chestnuts. The dumplings here are made from thin wonton skins that have been cut into circles. Don’t confuse them with the Jiangnan version from the area between Shanghai and Nanjing, which is made from hot-water dough wrappers and filled with a sticky rice mixture. Both go by the name shāomai, which literally means “cook and sell,” reflecting their perennial popularity. Feel free to add chopped raw shrimp to the filling (cut back on the vegetables) for variety. Any of the wonton fillings can be used, too; but do remember to double the pork and shrimp filling on page 41 or quadruple the shrimp filling on page 70, adding a beaten egg white in each case to insure a smoother texture. The shape of siu mai enables them to hold a lot more filling than other dumplings of the same size.

Soup marks the beginning of many Asian meals, and a little bowl of delicate wontons floating in fragrant broth is a fine way to kick things off. The clean flavors prepare the palate for anything that may follow. Shrimp-laden dumplings star in this simple recipe, but you may want to adorn the finished soup with some blanched leafy greens, such as spinach, bok choy, or watercress, and perhaps even slices of roasted Cantonese Char Siu Pork (page 224). Instead of the shrimp filling, you can use a half batch of the pork and shrimp filling for the Fried Wontons on page 69.

One of the most beautiful and inspired cookbooks of the year was The Breath of a Wok. Grace Young's stories and recipes make us want to set off in pursuit of wok hay, the special taste of wok-cooked food. But if the wok itself is too much to tackle, Young gives us permission to stir-fry in a skillet, as her parents did when they emigrated from China to San Francisco.... Young tells us that the Cantonese word for lettuce sounds like the words for "growing fortune," which makes this an auspicious dish to serve for the lunar New Year.

This authentic Cantonese version of chow mein features fresh egg noodles, which are fried into a cake that softens slightly when topped with a meat and vegetable sauce. Be careful not to mistake wonton noodles for Chinese egg noodles — although they look similar, wonton noodles don't have the same rich texture.

Food Editor: Lillian Chou
Father: Kuo Hung Chou, Pine Brook, NJ
Jook, a rice porridge, is eaten at breakfast or as a light lunch in many parts of Asia. Although my father came from Shanghai, he preferred the more flavorful Cantonese version my mother made. Breakfast with "Baba"("Daddy" in Mandarin) on Sundays meant a table adorned with many small dishes of condiments. One of his favorites was "thousand-year-old eggs" (pei dan), which are actually chicken or duck eggs preserved in a mixture of clay, lime, and salt. Thousand-year-old eggs are available at Chinese markets, where they're sold individually or in packs of six. (Don't confuse them with "salted eggs," which are brined duck eggs.) Since their quality varies widely, it pays to buy a more expensive variety, if available.

The provenance of this southern dish is shared by the Hakka and the Cantonese. The historic popularity of salt-baked chicken over the years led to various foods being called "salt-baked" even though they were not. The process of water-blanching, coating, and oil-blanching approximates baking to the Hakka taste. To the Cantonese the dish is simply jiu yim, or "pepper salt" to demote its primary flavors.

A cool trick (pouring boiling water on chicken skin preps it for a layer of perfect shiny lacquer) turns a few basic ingredients into a flavorful dinner.

The corn ribs are great. The garlicky-spicy-aromatic-electrifying crispy breadcrumb mixture showered over the top? Unforgettable.

You read that right. For the best steamed fish of your life, cook it in the microwave—then finish with an aromatic sizzle of ginger and garlic in hot oil.

These five spice-scented, melt-in-your-mouth, crispy skin-topped pork belly bites are perfect alone (but sing with a sidecar of hot mustard and hoisin sauce).

Comfort food at its finest, this layered casserole features fried rice, flavorful pork chops, and a punched-up tomato sauce under a blanket of melty cheese.

Also called pineapple buns, this recipe for bolo bao makes a delectable version of the Hong Kong pastry, with a crispy cookie topping and fluffy interior.

A beloved Hong Kong dish with approximately one billion variations, this soup—which relies heavily on fridge and pantry staples—is meant to be a little sweet and a touch sharp.