Asian

Crunchy, mildly sweet, and lightly spicy, this is a lovely little salad I learned in Kyoto. If you can find myoga—a lily root that looks something like garlic and is sold at some Asian markets—use it instead of the onion. Like onion, it’s spicy and peppery; unlike onion, if you eat too much of it, you forget everything— or so I was told.

A popular accompaniment for White Cut Chicken (page 273), this is also good stirred into soups.

So basic yet so wonderful, this sauce has literally dozens of possible permutations. Especially good with spring, summer, or egg rolls, it’s also terrific with grilled fish or meats. If you have the time, let it sit for a few minutes before serving to allow the flavors to come together. Information on Asian fish sauces like nam pla is on page 500.

This is no more than hoisin sauce spiced up. It’s great with Spring Rolls (page 38) or Lumpia Rolls (page 68) and makes an acceptable substitute for Sesame-Chile Paste (page 591). Like every other bottled condiment, hoisin varies in quality: look for a jar that lists soy as the first ingredient and little more than that, sugar, chile, and spices. As for chili sauce, look for Vietnamese chili-garlic sauce, sold at almost every Asian food store; like hoisin sauce, it keeps indefinitely in your refrigerator.

This salad is found throughout Southeast Asia. It’s a great dish for entertaining since it must marinate for at least an hour before being served and can sit for a couple of hours after that.

A good all-purpose fresh chile sauce, one that will keep for a couple of weeks in the refrigerator. Hot but flavorful; great for bland foods, such as Hainanese Chicken Rice (page 275).

The strong, unusual aroma of nam pla (Thai fish sauce, page 500) is not something that instantly appeals to many Westerners. But when you cook with it, or mix it with other flavors, its wonderful, characteristic saltiness blossoms. This incredibly simple dressing is great with seafood or mixed greens.

This is an essential, basic, slightly sweet Thai sauce (the Vietnamese nuoc cham is almost identical) used as a dressing for vegetables, noodles, meats, and fish and as a dipping sauce for almost any tidbit of food. Addictive, if you ask me. (Try it with plain grilled shrimp and you’ll see.) Many people make this blazingly hot; my version is much tamer. If you add five, or even ten, small Thai chiles, you won’t be breaking with tradition. See page 500 for information on Asian fish sauces like nam pla, page 185 for a description of dried shrimp.

Raita is salad, relish, dip, and side dish in one. Yogurt-based, it usually includes something sharp to balance the sour blandness: onion, spices, mustard, even chiles. (It’s most closely associated with India, but similar mixtures are made in the Middle East.) The recipe here is the basic foundation of many raitas and is usually not eaten as is but added to according to preference. There are infinite variations, of which the ones that follow are among the most popular. All balance spicy curries well but are also good eaten on their own or as a dip for flatbreads, like those on pages 559–565.

A complex, multipurpose sauce that is good enough to eat with a spoon; adjust the proportions to your taste once you get used to it. Serve it warm, with Grilled Satay (page 101), Fried Satay (page 100), Spring Rolls (page 38), or simply rice crackers, sold at many Asian and health food markets, or other crackers. See page 500 for information on Asian fish sauces like nam pla.

Who knew something so simple could be so good? Ground, toasted sticky rice is an ingredient used as a binder in some Thai dishes, but it’s also sprinkled over sticky rice as a seasoning, contributing a toasty, smoky note. Unless you make Thai food with unusual frequency, I think it’s best to make single-meal batches, though you could easily multiply this recipe. Use it in Laarb (page 199), or sprinkle over sticky rice any time you make it.

This fiery, strong northern Thai specialty (if it’s made correctly, you will really reek after eating it, but it’s worth it) has become one of the most popular dishes in Thailand and at Thai restaurants in the States. When I was in Bangkok, I could not walk down the streets or through the markets without at least a dozen offers of Som Tum from the vendors, and it was hard not to stop for a little dish with some grilled meat and sticky rice. You can usually find green, or unripe, papayas and yard-long beans (and the Thai fish sauce called nam pla) at Asian or Latin groceries, but you can also substitute Granny Smith apples for the papaya and Napa cabbage for the beans.

Used widely for spring rolls, this also tastes great with plain grilled meat or chicken or spooned over lightly steamed vegetables. You can substitute soy sauce for the nuoc mam (usually called nam pla in this book and described on page 500, but in any case Southeast Asian fish sauce) if you prefer.

Sambal is the generic name given to sauces in Indonesia, and this is the most basic. Nuts, coconut, dried shrimp, sugar, garlic, and other seasonings are often added before using this as a condiment for noodle, rice, and other dishes. If you want a really fiery sambal, leave in the chile seeds.

In Philippine cuisine, dark, fairly harsh soy sauce is favored, but it’s often combined with sugar to create a syrupy dressing for vegetables. The added garlic gives this sweet and salty sauce a pleasant kick.

You can buy go chu jang, the excellent, slightly sweet and not-superhot Korean chile paste that is a part of Crab Soup (page 135) and many other Korean dishes, but in many places it’s easier just to make this substitute, which keeps for about a month, covered, in the refrigerator. It’s a good sauce for any grilled food or even raw vegetables. The best chile powder for this is not the typical Mexican chile powder but ground Korean chiles—co chu kara—which (obviously) you can buy at Korean markets (you can also buy pretoasted and ground sesame seeds). It’s bright red, looks like coarse cayenne, and is not super hot. A good alternative is chile powder made from ground New Mexico chiles.

This common, versatile sauce is usually served with grilled fish or vegetables or with shabu-shabu, but it turns up everywhere and can be used in many ways. It keeps indefinitely—a friend of mine insists it’s best after months in the refrigerator; certainly it’s no worse. You can buy yuzu juice frozen or—sometimes—fresh at Japanese specialty markets; it has a unique flavor but close enough to lemon and lime that the combination is a good substitute. You can also get bonito flakes at Japanese markets. If you are serving this as a dipping sauce at the table, garnish with finely chopped scallions or chives.

This is not the pickled ginger served at most Japanese restaurants: It’s better, because it contains no preservatives or coloring. It will not turn pink, or only slightly, but it will be delicious. You may have to play with the sugar content: Some people like it far sweeter than others. Two tablespoons, the amount I use here, is the minimum. If at all possible, use fresh young ginger for this recipe. It will be pinker, with a soft, smooth skin, not woody, like most of the ginger at the market (which is fine for other recipes and uses). Young ginger is easier to peel and slice, and the resulting pickle will have a more delicate texture.

Sesame seeds flavor foods from the Middle to the Far East, and this Japanese version is sublime. Spooned over grilled or broiled chicken, meat, or full-flavored fish, it produces a kind of instant teriyaki. It’s also fine over lightly steamed spinach or other vegetables. Good with a little minced ginger added, too.

Curry powder may be hot, mild, or fragrant; it’s usually blended to the producer’s taste, and if you make it often enough, you’ll find exactly what you like. Here the heat comes from a combination of black pepper and chiles. But the heat is usually moderate and well tempered by the other spices. If you like a milder, sweeter curry powder, see the next three recipes.