One of the most iconic Vietnamese dishes is the French-inspired bánh mì: a fresh, crispy yet fluffy baguette filled with the most captivating flavours and textures.
Use a regular rack or St. Louis-style rack of ribs for this Vietnamese kho recipe. Ask the butcher to saw the ribs into strips; that is not a job for the home cook. Serve with rice and a boiled vegetable or simple stir-fry. In Vietnamese, this is called sườn kho.
This earthy, tangy main dish shares a sauce similar to my Pomegranate Sriracha Shrimp, but the tofu, soy sauce, and vegetables turn it into something distinctively delicious. Tofu is typically deep-fried for dishes like this one, but panfrying is a healthier way to inject richness and character. For texture, complexity, and color, I add mushroom and mild-tasting chiles. Anaheims are my go-to but during the warmer months when chiles are in season, I love to use varieties such as Hatch and Corno di Toro. In a major pinch, half a large bell pepper will do.
When my husband saw this on the counter, he mistook it for caramelized porky crumbles. Yes, they look alike, but these crumbles are vegan, with a citrusy and spicy edge. Tempeh isn’t a Viet ingredient, but I’ve used it in banh mi, pho, and here to mimic meat. When crumbled into small pieces in this recipe, tempeh absorbs the seasonings well and fries up nicely. Whether made from meat or tempeh, these sorts of crumbles are used the same way—to mix into and season rice, kind of like a condiment. Add a side of radish and carrot pickle for refreshing crunch and tang. The crumbles will keep, covered, in the refrigerator, for up to 3 days (though they never last long in my house) and are good scooped up with tortilla chips.
When I think of Vietnamese food, it’s fresh herbs that spring to mind. The coriander (cilantro) in this dish is essential, but ideally you should get all three herbs – they’re well worth it. Life is full of choices, and so is this recipe. For instance, you can add steamed broccoli or pak choi (bok choi), or have it with noodles instead of rice.
The classic fish for this intense and sweetly aromatic recipe is catfish. In Vietnam, thick bone-in catfish steaks are simmered in a dark and highly peppery caramel for upwards of an hour, until the fish practically falls apart in its bittersweet, pungent sauce. Here, I’ve replaced catfish with salmon, which has a rich succulence that can stand up to the ginger, chiles, and black pepper. And by using brown sugar instead of making my own caramel, I’ve also hastened the process so that the whole thing is ready in less than thirty minutes. The salmon still has time to absorb all the intense flavors of the caramel, but it doesn’t overcook, staying firm but tender. Serve this with some kind of rice as a gentle foil for all the rich spiciness on the plate.
This is a wonderful dish of vaguely Vietnamese origins, where it is more commonly served with dill than coriander (cilantro). Both work well in my opinion, or use a mixture of the two herbs.
Turmeric-stained chả cá Hà Nội is a superb and iconic dish from Vietnam’s capital. Finding supermarket ingredients to make this treat required creativity, because it typically features pieces of freshwater fish fillet marinated in a creamy, umami-laden mixture of turmeric, galangal (an edgy cousin of ginger and turmeric), fermented shrimp sauce (mắm tôm, a toothpaste-textured, mauve-colored umami bomb), and mẻ (a mash of fermented cooked rice).
These crepes are yellow and folded over like an omelet, but don’t contain eggs; they’re crisp like the bottom of a paella, but no rice grains are visible. Bánh xèo rice crepes are in a class of their own. The southern Viet charmers are named for the sizzling sound they make while cooking and typically contain pork, shrimp, mushroom, and bean sprouts. Snipped or broken into pieces and eaten as lettuce-and-herb wraps with nước chấm dipping sauce, the crepes hit all pleasure centers.
This “pizza” is extremely popular in Vietnam and is often ordered at street-food stands to be eaten straight off the grill. And we totally understand why. Either in spite of or because of its simplicity, it tastes fantastic.