Jicama

Here’s another good way to utilize root vegetables raw; the dressing adds a rich, delicious flavor.

JÍCAMA IS A ROOT VEGETABLE that is used throughout Latin America. It looks like a large radish and has a clean, neutral flavor that adds a crisp texture to any dish. This refreshing salad, with its Asian vinaigrette, will be a welcome addition to a summer picnic or barbecue. I leave out the salt and pepper because the soy sauce provides the seasoning.

Jícama, a Mexican root vegetable with the crispness of a raw potato, but with a sweeter taste, adds great crunch to this simple salad, which gets a lift from the unexpected addition of soy sauce and sesame oil to the dressing. My great-grandmother used beet coloring as lipstick and as blush. Here I add beets not only for their vibrant color but also for crunch.

The spicy sweetness of this Mexican salad is super-refreshing and delicious as long as you have ripe fruit; vary the ingredients depending on what you find. Really, any fruit is suitable, from oranges and apples to pineapples and papayas; peaches and melons are wonderful summer options.

Cha gio, which originated in Saigon are among Vietnam’s national dishes. They are often misleadingly translated as spring rolls, because they seem like a riff on the Chinese spring roll, or as imperial rolls, a translation of pâté imperial, their French moniker. But these rolls are not reserved for royalty, nor are they exclusively eaten during the Spring Festival (Chinese New Year). And their filling, wrapper, and accompaniments are uniquely Vietnamese. Out of culinary pride, I encourage people to call these rolls cha gio, their southern Viet name. The rolls are made in varying sizes. Cooks with great manual dexterity create thumb-sized rolls. Lacking such skill and patience, I make stubby cigar-sized ones and cut them up before serving. Larger ones also involve less labor when frying up enough for a special lunch or dinner. Some Vietnamese American cooks use Filipino lumpia or Chinese spring roll wrappers, which are made of wheat flour and fry up crisp, but an authentic flavor is lost. For the best results, use rice paper made of all rice flour or of rice and tapioca flours.

Loaded with beef, crunchy texture, and heady sweet flavors, this specialty of southern Vietnam echoes Chinese mu shu pork and Malaysian and Singaporean poh piah. But instead of rolling the filling in a wheat flour–based wrapper, rice paper is used. Bò bía are traditionally made by street vendors in a to-go format that recalls a Mexican burrito. When we lived in Saigon, my sister Ha and her best friend, Loan, were addicted to the rolls. On the way home from school, my parents or our driver would take them by one of the hawkers strategically positioned on a street corner, hot wok at the ready. Hand rolls and money were exchanged through the car window, with the girls giggling as they dove into their favorite snack. Because we don’t have those wonderful street vendors here, our family makes bò bía at home as a prelude to a big meal or the focus of a light lunch. We set things up at the table for everyone to assemble his or her own rolls. Th is do-it-yourself approach is ideal because these rolls, unlike salad rolls (page 32), can be messy and should be eaten as soon as they are made.

When I was a kid, my parents really wanted me to try this dish. Jellyfish? No way. Until the fourth grade, that is, when I finally got the courage to taste it. I clearly remember that moment because I was so surprised by how delicious it was. In Japan, jellyfish is sold like Portuguese bacalhau (dried salted cod), naturally preserved in salt. In America, it can be found in Asian groceries, stored at room temperature in large tubs of water or in 1-pound packages. Be sure to rinse the jellyfish very well to remove excess salt. This dish is prepared with a very traditional Japanese sweet vinegar marinade, which gives it a nice tangy flavor. I added my own twist and included jicama because I love this root’s crunchy texture and delicate sweetness. You can also substitute green papaya for the jicama.

This salad is as crunchy as it is tangy, which makes it the perfect refreshing complement to any Mexican dish. While the salad is very flavorful, it is not overpowering and can offer freshness and texture to a menu. Feel free to omit the cucumber or substitute radish, carrot, or any other hearty vegetable that won’t wilt after being left to marinate in lime juice.

Snacking is as much a Mexican pastime as it is an American one. These snacks, which are sold by street vendors, go great with beer and cocktails. Served as a trio or on their own, they are incredibly addicting!

Cantonese deep-fried sticky rice dumplings can be filled many ways, but there is usually chopped rehydrated shiitake mushroom and a little chopped dried shrimp for savory oomph. With those two ingredients in this vegetable-laden alternative, you won’t miss the meat.

Many Chiu Chow people migrated from mainland China to Southeast Asia, particularly to the Malay Peninsula. That is why you will find Chiu Chow dumplings among the hawker street food offerings in places like Penang. Along with the regular version in the preceding recipe, there is usually a vegetarian option. Chai kuih (literally “vegetable cake”) can be flavored with dried shrimp and oyster sauce, or it can be totally vegetarian. I have presented the latter, though you can certainly add the other seasonings if you wish. The mushroom soaking liquid adds savory depth to this jewel-like filling, so remember to save it after rehydrating the shiitakes.

The Cantonese dim sum repertoire would be incomplete without this wonderful contribution from the Chiu Chow, a seafaring people from a region located on the Taiwan Strait. Robustly flavored by briny dried shrimp, this dumpling also tastes light because it’s packed with vegetables, including jicama and shiitake mushrooms, and peanuts. The varied texture of the filling gets rounded out by a touch of pork, though you can use any meat. Because there is lots of chopping involved with the filling, make it a couple days in advance to minimize last-minute pressures. I first enjoyed these nearly twenty years ago in Hong Kong and they instantaneously became one of my favorites. Good renditions were hard to find in the United States, so I began making them myself. Enjoy them alone or with soy sauce and an Asian chile garlic sauce of your choice. If jicama is not available, substitute canned water chestnuts.

Certain childhood treats stick with you, and for me these crisp turnovers are a tasty reminder of our life in Saigon. Sister Thien, our cook, and a family friend whom we called Uncle Thu, would make the dough and fill it with this delectable mixture of shrimp, pork, and jicama. Although they were hot right out of the oil, I could barely wait to dive in. My piggishness often led to a burned tongue. These are not easy to find abroad in expatriate Vietnamese enclaves, and I wasn’t able to rediscover the flavor and texture from my youth until I made them myself. For a baked version, substitute this filling for the one in the empanada recipe (page 111). Note that in the central region of Vietnam, bánh quai vac is the name of unrelated rice-or tapioca-based dumplings.

While the concept of sweet-and-sour dishes is generally appealing, the execution often leaves something to be desired. Sweet-and-sour is like a seesaw; if it tilts too far in either direction, you could be thrown off balance, mangling your taste buds in the process. In this recipe I use a very light hand on both sides; the sour is a delicate brown rice vinegar, the sweet a gentle agave nectar. They dance together nicely on the tongue, more like ballet than Irish clogging. For folks who like a crunchy texture or who want to avoid fat, this one’s a winner.

Eggplant with garlic sauce is one of my favorite dishes at Chinese restaurants. This version tastes slightly different because it is not wok-fried; it is much less oily than the traditional version but has a similar sweet/spicy/salty sauce. I like to use sushi rice in this recipe, but any kind of white rice or even parboiled precooked brown rice will work. Use this recipe to make almost anything with garlic sauce—broccoli, tofu, chicken, or whatever you like. Edamame are soybeans. The Japanese traditionally like to munch on these, boiled and salted, as a healthy source of protein. If you aren’t familiar with jicama, try it—it is a light, crunchy, slightly starchy root vegetable. It peels easily with a vegetable peeler and is wonderful raw in salads or as a crudité. If not using jicama, substitute carrots or celery in thin strips or a four-ounce can of sliced bamboo shoots, drained.

Here’s a new twist on chicken salad. Serve this one with baked tortilla chips on lettuce-lined plates, garnished with jalapeño rings.