It has been a hot minute since posting, but life has been busy—mostly because I’ve picked up ceramic arts which has taken up most of my free time. I did it because I want to be able to create the physical dishes that I present my food on, to be able to say that every bit of what I made is handmade. Needless to say, I got a little sidetracked with that goal as ceramics proves difficult to master—my instructor said it takes three to four years to be considered good, so I have some time I need to put under my belt.

But that doesn’t mean I’ve put my cooking to the side, in fact, quite the opposite. I’m still testing and trying out family recipes, but haven’t documented it. Partly because I don’t have time, but partly because not all of it has a great meaningful story. But maybe that’s okay. The story is that it’s a simple dish that takes very little time for very big flavor. That’s how the vegetable dishes always worked in the Phan household. And if there are any parents out there reading this post…I grew up LOVING vegetables. I never understood why other kids didn’t love their veggies. Mom would tell me we were having green beans for dinner and I would jump for joy, I couldn’t get enough.

So if you need to convince your kids that veggies are yummy or if you just want a simple side dish to go with your entree, then try out our Chinese stir fry green beans. You’ll want to add it to your weekly rotation it’s so easy.

Prep: 15 mins | Cook: 10 mins

INGREDIENTS (FOR 2-3)

*It’s more of a rough guideline, you can adjust based on your saltiness preference. The only thing to remember is that it should be equal parts soy and oyster sauce.

PREPARE

1. Trim off the ends of the beans. I grew up trimming off both ends, but the important thing is to remove the stems. When we are doing this, we also like to snap the beans into halves or thirds because it makes it easier to eat with chopsticks. This method is entirely optional and I do it about 50% of the time. Wash beans throughly.

2. Roughly chop the garlic.

COOK

1. Warm up the pan on medium-high heat, add the oil and wait so that it just starts to shimmer.

2. Add about half the garlic, you should hear a nice strong sizzle when you do so—that’s how you know the oil is ready, if there’s no sizzle sound then it’s not hot enough, so then wait for the garlic to start sizzling.

3. Carefully add the green beans, watching out for any oil splatter. Using chopsticks, stir the beans around so that it’s coated in the oil. Give the pan a nice strong flick every few minutes or so—that helps the beans cook more evenly.

4. After about five to eight minutes, the beans should be bright green and completely covered in oil. Add in the soy sauce, oyster sauce, and the rest of the garlic. The sizzle sound will be strong. Stir aggressively so that the soy sauce doesn’t stick to the pan and burn. After a few more minutes you can turn off the stove, and stir in the chili oil.

EAT

Stir fry green beans are meant to be a side dish. Try pairing it with ma po tofu or Chinese beef and potatoes. You can’t go wrong with a side of good ol’ Chinese stir fry green beans

Mom and Dad were both baffled–I had just gotten back from Vietnam, wouldn’t I be craving literally anything else but Vietnamese food? It’s true, I needed a break from all the pho and banh mi, but there was one dish that try as I might, I couldn’t find. I ate some pretty bomb food, hello fried tofu with scallion sauce dipped in wonderful Maggi sauce, but I couldn’t find one of my favorite dishes. Less hyped than its northern or western cousin, but definitely no less delicious–the delectable Vietnamese curry.

A couple of things differentiate the dish. First, it’s soupy and thin, thinner than any of the more familiar curries. Secondly, it’s meant to be eaten with either vermicelli noodles OR a French baguette (banh mi bread, if you have the option). Dipping the baguette into the curry is uniquely Vietnamese and is one of the most unequivocal evidence of French influence over Vietnamese cuisine.

Going the vermicelli route means eating it as a noodle soup dish, similar to pho. But if you prefer the baguette, then the curry becomes a dipping sauce for the bread. I spilt the banh mi bread and take fewer noodles so I can have the best of both worlds. Both carbs were plentiful on our table when Vietnamese curry was concerned.

It’s the perfect cozy winter dish, each bite filling you up with warmth and happiness. And so upon my return to New York, on a blustery cold day with snow in the forecast, I called up Mom and asked how to make the dish—finally satisfying a long craving. The hunt ended right where it started: home.

Prep: 30 mins | Cook: 2 hours and 30 mins

INGREDIENTS (FOR 4)

+ scallion, cilantro, and lime for serving

* You can substitute turkey with chicken as long as it’s bones from a whole chicken

** Again, you can sub in chicken with turkey. I used chicken thigh.

*** optional, but highly recommended

PREPARE

1. If you have an electric stove, turn it on medium. If you have a gas stove, turn it on low. Cut the onion into halves and, along with the ginger, place straight over the heat. You want to get a nice charr on the onion and ginger. This should take no more than 10 minutes, but monitor closely.

2. As you wait for the onion and ginger to char, chop up the turkey (or chicken) into two inch pieces that are about half an inch thick. I deboned a chicken thigh and cut it into two inch pieces, but really any cut will do—if breast is easier then go with breast. It’s flexible.

3. Remove the onion and ginger and set aside if done. If not, continue monitoring. Peel and chop sweet potato and potato into two inch pieces. Set aside.

4. At his point your onion and ginger should be charred. Set aside.

5. Cut lemongrass stalk into fourths.

COOK

Ok, disclaimer, I used my Instant Pot to make this, but it can easily be done on the stove as well, it might just take a bit longer.

1. Set your Instant Pot to sauté. Add oil and once it starts to shimmer, add the turkey (or chicken) bones. Toss in the charred onion, ginger, and lemongrass. Stir so that it doesn’t burn. After about 5 minutes, add enough water so the bones are covered but ensuring it doesn’t reach the max fill line. For me this was about six cups. Add salt to taste, you want it to be salty enough that there’s flavor but not so salty that it taste like the ocean–about 1 tbsp.

2. Set Instant pot to high pressure for 45 minutes. If you’re using the stove, follow the steps above in a pot and bring to a boil then turn it down to a simmer for an hour.

3. Let the Instant pot natural release for at least 15 minutes and then quick release. Give the broth a good stir. Add coconut milk (ensuring that the max fill line is not exceeded), curry powder, turkey (or chicken) meat, sweet potato, potato, carrots, lime juice, and fish sauce. Give the lime leaf a few rips to release the aroma and toss into broth. Set the Instant pot back on high pressure and cook for another 40 minutes. If you’re using the stove, you can follow the steps above and bring back to a boil. Then let it simmer for another hour to hour and half, stirring to ensure nothing burns.

4. Natural release for 20 minutes and then do a quick release.

EAT

Chop up a handful of scallion and cilantro. Ladle a generous amount of curry into your bowl and add the fresh toppings. Finish off the curry with a squeeze of lime, some Sriracha, and more fish sauce. And as noted above, you can add vermicelli noodles or dip a baguette into the curry–or go crazy and do both, you deserve it.

Have leftovers? It’s even better the next day.

I asked Mom for the recipe last winter, on a blustery winter day. “I mean you don’t need the fish sauce, especially since you have roommates, but it’s so much better,” she tells me, getting herself hungry as well. Nothing sounded cozier than a bowl of braised pork belly with eggs—a staple dish that’s beloved throughout Asia. Each country has its take on what it should be braised in; the Chinese prefer two different soy sauces while the Vietnamese opt for soy sauce and fish sauce.

I have a strong, unbreakable love for fish sauce. I remember when I first tried it—I was about four(ish) years old and we had noodles. Served assembly-line style, each person was given an empty bowl which they filled themselves, first with noodles, then with fresh toppings (scallion, cilantro, basil, bean sprouts, etc.), the following was the broth, and finally the condiments—fried shallots, hot sauce, and fish sauce. I stayed away from the hot sauce (at least for another year, but that’s another story), and added some fish sauce, intrigued by the smell. I took my first bite of noodles, and I never looked back. Henceforth, I added fish sauce to EVERYTHING. At least everything I ate at home—there was no way I would eat it publicly amongst my schoolmates. They would come over, and my parents would be cooking with fish sauce, and they would hold their nose asking what that stench was (yea, kids can be mean), and so fish sauce became my little secret.

Moving away for college, I would keep a small bottle as a condiment but refrained from cooking with it because I knew how potent that smell became once it came into contact with heat. I did see it slowly crop up in more grocery stores, so public opinion was slowly shifting. However, the big change didn’t happen until I moved to New York, one of the many gifts this City gave me was the ability to be myself which meant the freedom to use fish sauce (more) liberally. It wasn’t as often as I would like, but my new roommates didn’t have the same horrified reaction.

Soon I started reading articles on food blogs about the “the secret ingredient” that made everything taste better, and what were they talking about but my beloved fish sauce, of course. The food scene had finally accepted it, saying it provides an umami bomb. It’s not just great in Asian dishes, they state, but all savory dishes. I started seeing a tablespoon here or teaspoon there in things like chili or beef stew, or going to restaurants and seeing the unusual, but awesome, combination of fried chicken and fish sauce.

I no longer had to hold the sauce so close to me, happy to share it with the world. Glad that I could be free to cook as I pleased. Sometimes it bothers me that the same people who love fish sauce now grew up with a scrunched up nose around the aromatic sauce. However, I try not to fault people, as flavor profiles certainly change as you get older.

And, so when Mom tells me I don’t need to use fish sauce in the braised pork belly with eggs, that just soy sauce was good too, I knew there was no way I wasn’t going to add that umami bomb—roommates be damned. Well, that and they didn’t mind.

Braised pork belly with eggs is a great Sunday night meal to make and eat throughout the week because it taste better with time, and you’ll never be able to make a portion for just one or two, it’s like chili that way.

Prep: 30 mins + overnight marinade | Cook: 2 hours

INGREDIENTS (FOR 4-5)

* pick a piece that’s fairly proportional and not too fatty.

** the water should be enough to just cover the meat and eggs

*** optional

Prepare

1. Sprinkle the salt all over the pork belly and refrigerate overnight.

2. Take out the pork belly when you’re ready to start cooking and chop it into 1-inch pieces. Set aside, so that it will come to room temperature.

Cook

1. Set a dutch oven or a sauté pan with lid to high heat and cover generously with oil. When it starts to shimmer add in ginger, Thai chili pepper (if using), and pork belly. Stir around the pan until the pork belly starts to brown (3-5 minutes).

2. Add in both the soy sauces, fish sauce, and water so that it just cover the pork. Bring this mixture to a rolling boil and then reduce it to medium-low heat, so that it becomes a gentle simmer.

3. Cook with the lid ajar for 1.5 to 2 hours. The longer you cook it, the more tender the pork belly becomes, so if you have the time, go for the full 2 hours. Give it a good mix every now and then and sample the flavor and adjust as necessary (sometime I like to get aggressive with the fish sauce).

4. Hard boil and shell the eggs. In the last 30 minutes or so, add the eggs to the pot.

EAT

Serve the pork belly with eggs over a side of rice and some sauté veggies.

I posted about ma po tofu back in 2016–sharing Mom's recipe which skews Cantonese with soy and oyster sauce, neglecting the spices that make this a Sichuan classic. Since then I've read up on Sichuan cuisine and the unique spices used throughout the region, which led me to revamping Mom's classic. It still has a bit of her influence, but I've tweaked it and added a few ingredients to make what has become one of my signature dish. Not to brag, but this *might* be one of the best things I've ever made...at least some people have stated this as fact. 

Prep: 15 minutes + Overnight marinade | Cook: 30 minutes

INGREDIENTS (FOR 2)

*You can sub in ground beef, turkey, or chicken.

PREPARE

1. Add soy sauce, oyster sauce, and 1 tbsp of hot bean sauce to the ground pork. Let marinate overnight.

2. When you're ready to prepare the dish, take the pork out of the fridge and set aside.

3. Take the tofu out of the packaging and let it soak in a salt brine for 15 minutes, this will keep it from falling apart when your stir fry it.

4. Roughly chop up the Thai chili pepper, mince the garlic, mince the ginger. 

5. Chop scallion and cilantro. Set aside. 

6. Cube the tofu into 1/2-1 inch pieces. 

COOK

1. Heat oil in a skillet and toss in garlic, ginger, and Thai chili pepper, constantly stirring until aromatic, but not burnt, about 30 seconds. Toss in 1 tbsp of hot bean sauce and ground Sichuan peppercorn. Continue stirring.

2. Break up the pork and scatter evenly into the pan, mixing it well into the sauce. 

3. After about three minutes, or when pork is no longer pink add the tofu and mix in the rest of the hot bean sauce. Stir well and cover the pan to cook for a few minutes. 

4. Uncover pan, toss in the scallion and cilantro and continue stirring for another few minutes. Turn off the heat and mix in the chili oil. 

EAT

Scoop into a bowl and toss in more scallion. Serve with a side of rice and maybe some milk, it's going to get hotttttt. 

Mom says over the phone as I try to hold back tears. It had been a long and emotionally draining Friday. 

Almost a month has passed, and I still can't stop thinking about how we lost one of the greatest storytellers too soon. Anthony Bourdain didn't live a perfect life, and he had his demons, but he stood by his beliefs, and through that, he showed us that diversity should be celebrated, not feared. He is one of the few celebrity personalities that didn't give a shit about being a celebrity, and he did what he loved. We should aspire to be a little more like him — maybe the world would be a kinder place, indeed more inclusive then it is currently. 

My goal in starting Soy + Ginger was to tell the stories around the foods that I grew up with — my personal narrative of what it means to be Chinese and American. I'm not rare, there are plenty of us out there. And although our experiences are cut from the same cake, we are still each our own individual slices. These are my stories that go with the foods that I ate, foods that are now becoming more widely accepted because of people like Anthony Bourdain. Because of him, I have grown to embrace the foods of my heritage instead of carrying a secret shame around like I did for most of my childhood. I didn't want to be an "other," so I pretended that I ate mac and cheese at home when really I was happily enjoying things like fish cakes, summer rolls, or ma po tofu — some (if not all) of which are now commonly found on menus across the U.S. 

I wholeheartedly embrace the welcoming of these foods in popular American culture, but it becomes problematic when you erase the culture from the dish, and you don't acknowledge the people who gave it to you in the first place. And it becomes worse when you don't recognize the real talents behind these dishes because they're not white — do you think Fuchsia Dunlop would be as famous as she is today if she were a Chinese person promoting Chinese food? I have nothing against her, but I also don't see her telling the stories of people behind the food. No, not like Anthony Bourdain. That was why he was so beloved because he showed us the food, and then he showed us the people that made it great. 

I met him at a book signing a few years ago, and it was one of the best days of my life. I still carry around the advice he gave that night — just do what you love, don't think about how you're going to monetize it, that way you'll always be genuine, and if it's good, eventually someone will notice.  So I'm going to continue working on my blog, but I'm going to go my own pace and do it for me and not for anyone else. I'm going to share the summer roll recipe that I grew up with — so that I can remember how to make it down the road. This was Grandma's recipe, she picked it up in Vietnam when she lived there for most of her adult life. It's something a simple Google just can't yield. 

Today is Anthony Bourdain's birthday, and I wish so much that he was still here to celebrate it because we need more people like him in the world. Thanks for everything you've done.

Prep: 60 mins. | Assemble: varies

INGREDIENTS (FOR 2)

For the dipping sauce, we use a traditional Vietnamese chili fish sauce. 

PREPARE

The bulk of the work comes in the preparation stage. You will need to spend some time washing, poaching, and chopping. 

1. Bring a pot of water to a roaring boil. As you wait for that, chop the cucumber into half-inch lengthwise pieces. Set aside. 

2. When the water is boiling, place the vermicelli noodles in the pot and cook for about eight minutes (similar to making dry pasta). Drain the noodles and wash with cold water to make sure it stops cooking.

3. Bring the pot back to the stove refilled with fresh water, and bring that to a roaring boil. In the meantime, wash the lettuce and Thai basil. 

4. Once the water has come to a boil, cook the shrimp for about five minutes or until pink — you don't want it to overcook. 

Assemble

It's simple to assemble and fold if you think of it as a burrito — it's a similar technique. My advice — don't get greedy with the fillings and put just a little bit of everything in, and believe in the strength of the rice paper — it's not as delicate as it looks. 

1. Fill a large bowl, pie plate, or round baking sheet with water. Place the rice paper wrapper in the water pressing down to make sure all parts are submerged. When it's just a little softer (it should still be a little tough) transport it to a plate and press down around the plate using the rim as a guide until it is completely soften. 

2. Start with a leaf of lettuce, layer in the noodles, Thai basil, cucumber and then the shrimp so that it all forms a nice rectangle that's around five inches long and two inches wide within the circle of the wrapper.

3. Fold the bottom and top end of the wrapper into the filling. Pick up the left side of the wrapper and cover the filling and then start rolling it to the right until you have a perfectly formed roll. 

4. Repeat for each roll. 

EAT

As mentioned earlier, we like using the traditional Vietnamese dipping fish sauce, which you can make ahead of time and keep in the fridge. Another alternative is to use peanut sauce, which my secret is to add oyster sauce and not hoisin sauce — it will be unlike any peanut sauce you've ever had in the best way possible. 

This dish is fun to make with a group of friends as it is very hands on. You can use them as the main dish or as appetizers — our family did the latter. Vietnamese bun bowls served as the as the main dish in Grandma's household. 

Enjoy!

I've been raving about ramps to Mom since the season started this year, referring to them as a fancy scallion. So when I bought a bus ticket home to visit her for Mother's Day, she also requested I bring one bunch back for her to inspect. Per the recommendation of Aunt Six, she already has a few various types of allium growing in the backyard and wanted to know if one of them were ramps — despite me telling her that ramps grow in the wild and must be foraged, like when we went hunting for truffles in Italy. 

Since she and Dad switched to empty-nester status, they have been obsessed with gardening and growing enough vegetables to sustain them through the fall. "It's environmentally-friendly AND wallet-friendly," Mom says every season. 

So now she's on a mission to grow ramps. Is it do-able? Research says TBD, but that's not going to stop Mom from trying. I mean if anyone can do it, it's this woman. I bought her orchids for Mother's Day four years ago, and somehow they're still thriving — mine died after two weeks. Maybe after you've raised two kids, you have a knack for keeping things alive? 

Only time will tell if Mom's successful. In the meantime, the bulbs may be cut, but that leaves (pun intended) the whole rest of the ramp and what better way to cook it than tossing it in a Mom-approved classic fried rice?  

Prep: 45 mins. | Cook: 15 mins. 

INGREDIENTS (FOR 2)

* Fish sauce is a great substitute for soy sauce in this recepie, but it's personal preference as both provide a distinct umami flavor. 

PREPARE

1. Make the rice in either a rice cooker or the stove top. The minute it's done, remove from heat and let it cool. Harden rice makes for better fried rice. You can even refrigerate it overnight, in fact, Mom use to make fried rice from leftover rice. 

2. As the rice is cooking, chop up the ramps by first separating the stem from the leaves and then finely chopping both, but keeping it separate. The leaves will wilt faster in the pan, so that's added towards the very end. 

3. Crack the eggs and use a fork to whip the eggs. 

COOK

1. Toss some oil on a pan and turn the heat on high. When the oil starts to shimmer, throw the minced garlic, ginger, and chopped ramp stems in, and stir for a minute (being sure that it doesn't burn). 

2. Fold in the rice and use a wooden spoon to break up any clumps that may have formed. At this point, incorporate the leaves of the ramps. 

3. Add the eggs and mix well with the rice. Then add the soy sauce and give the pan a few really good tosses, it will help bring out the flavor. 

EAT

Your ramp fried rice is ready to eat, but if you're like me and want to be extra, then try adding a fried turkey egg (which you can find at select farmer's market) and some sriracha. If you so desire, you can also serve your rice with a side of vegetables as I did. We paired the ramp fried rice with overwintered kale. 

Always the humble one in the family, Mom claims she makes Dad's mom's dish better than Dad (which, to be fair, she sometimes does). But because the apple doesn't fall far from the tree (or as some would say, the apple is still on the tree), I think my recipe is a tad better than mom's. I took her directions and tweaked them a little to enhance the crispiness of the potatoes, which made all the difference.

In researching this recipe I realized that I was recreating an OG Phan dish—I couldn't find a version of what I was cooking up on the internet. This got me thinking, so I put on my tinfoil cap and starting theorizing. Beef and potatoes form the crux of French cuisine. Grandma grew up in French Indochina. We all know about the influence of the French over Vietnamese cuisine and vice versa. I think it's plausible to assume that Grandma learned about the perfect pairing of beef and potatoes from the French soldiers, but added her own take—and because she was Chinese in French Indochina, the flavors of the dish resemble classic Cantonese over Vietnamese. 

I'm not saying any of this is actual truth, but I think there's plausibility there. And maybe it isn't even Grandma's dish at all, or even a Phan family dish, but something she learned from a neighbor. I don't know, but I do know that she brought this dish with her to the States and she taught it to Mom, who then taught it to me. We all tweaked it some along the way. I've never tried Grandma's rendition, so I can't say if mine's better than her's, but I think it's still pretty damn good. 

Prep: 30 mins. | Cook: 15 mins.  

INGREDIENTS (FOR 2)

*You can use flank, London broil, sirloin, or eye of round steak. 

PREPARE

1. Bring a pot of water to a rolling boil, toss in some salt.

2. Peel potatoes. Thinly cut them width-wise, as if you were cutting the potatoes to make chips. Side note, another reason why my theory makes sense, is that this method of cutting the potato appears often in French dishes.

3. Toss in the potatoes for about 5 minutes. You want them to be pretty firm—a VP addition to the recipe because I noticed that Mom and Dad would sometimes have the dish completed and the potatoes didn't taste completely cooked through.  

2. Slice the beef thinly, so that it's about 1/4 inch thick. Toss some salt on it.

COOK

1. Coat your (preferably cast iron) pan with oil and crank up the heat to high until the oil shimmers.

2. Toss in your potatoes so that no potato is on top of another. Repeat this process if your potatoes don't all fit comfortably in the pan.

3. Toss in a small pinch of salt and let the potatoes crisp up (about 8 minutes), and then flip them, salt the other side, and let them brown and crisp up again. Once both sides have some browning, turn the heat to low and let the potatoes continue to cook, flipping as necessary so that they get really crisps. This can take about 15–20 minutes. 

4. Once the potatoes are done, remove them from the heat and set them aside. 

5. Grease up the pan again and toss in the steak. Quickly add the soy and oyster sauce and stir. Toss in the scallion. The steak should cook fairly quickly, so this whole process should take about 5 minutes. 

6. Turn off the stove and add the potatoes to the beef mixture until well combined. If you're using a cast iron pan, even with the stove off, it should still sizzle and cook as you're mixing everything together. Adding the potatoes after turning off the stove is another VP addition, in order to maximize crispiness and minimize sogginess. 

EAT

We serve this dish up with a side of rice and some vegetables, but there are other variations if you're not feeling the rice. Turn it into a brunch dish by nixing the rice and adding an egg. If you like kimchee, add that as a finisher to give it a kick. Have fun with this cross-cultural dish and enjoy!  

The thing about basic congee is that it's usually made from leftover rice—and Mom and Dad have been on a real health kick lately, blending their rice with quinoa...which I hate (the quinoa, not the rice). Growing up, Saturday afternoons were spent eating basic congee (known in Cantonese as bok juk, or white congee), when Mom was short for time, made with yesterday's plain-Jane white rice. And that's how it should be. I mean if you're a health nut, feel free to add quinoa, use brown rice, add hemp or chia seed, etc., but if you want this dish in its truest form—in the same way that village peasants would eat it in China—simply add rice and water. 

Mushy and bland, there's really no reason to love basic congee—but as a non-congee lover, I have a deep affection for this dish. Why? Because it's an AMAZING vehicle for pickled vegetables and fûrû, or fermented bean curd (a traditional Chinese condiment made from tofu soaked in brine that's similar to blue cheese in that it's a really wonderful kind of stinky and salty).

Usually #onthetable would be your bowl of basic congee and then a communal bowl of fûrû, and next to that the glorious Chinese Pickled Cucumbers. Exactly as they sound, they're cucumbers pickled in soy sauce and sugar. They come in a red can, one that brings me warm and fuzzy feelings every time I see it. The nostalgia runs deep. They have a satisfying crunch with a savory-sweet taste that goes perfectly with mushy white congee. I remember when we were visiting family in China, and basic congee was lunch one afternoon, I saw all the different pickled and fermented goods to pair with the congee. I threw a hissy fit because I didn't see THE Chinese Pickled Cucumbers. Ironically no one could find them, and I sulked the whole time, thinking how absurd it was that they didn't have my favorite addition—I mean the word "Chinese" was in the name! 

During a trip home in October, I asked Mom for basic congee for lunch and she made it—but I was SO disappointed because there was quinoa in it and it didn't taste quite the same. So the following month, when I went home, we had basic congee redux sans quinoa. But we did have a few additions to the table—turns out Dad pickles veggies in his spare time (#retirement). Mom said she never tried any of his pickled goods, and it was just a corner of the fridge she never touched. Dad had pickled daikon, classic cucumbers, peanuts, red beans, and ginger. We took all of it out and tried it with the basic congee—and for once, the prized and beloved Chinese Pickled Cucumbers were left unfinished. 

My love for Chinese Pickled Cucumbers will never go away, but I've learned to keep an open mind and make room for changes that may be even better. It's like an old boyfriend—you broke up somewhat amicably and you're always going to have a place for him in your heart, but you've moved on and realized you don't love or need him in the same way you thought. 

Prep: 5 mins. | Cook: 15 mins. 

INGREDIENTS (FOR 2) 

PREPARE

1. Wash and strain rice.

COOK

1. Toss rice and water in rice cooker. If you don't have a rice cooker, use a saucepan and cook rice as you normally would. Extra water creates the mushy texture, so if you like it softer, feel free to add more water.

*As noted above, feel free to make it your own and add quinoa, hemp, flax, or chia seeds, but I'm happiest with simple white rice. 

EAT

Pair the basic congee with anything pickled. I bought a jar of Chinese pickled cucumbers (not the same brand I grew up with because I couldn't find it anywhere), but it's brined in chili oil, so naturally I was intrigued. If you want to experiment with various pickled goods from the Asian grocery store, you can find all your options in the sauce aisle. But you can also just pair with your favorite pickled goodies or whatever you have in the fridge. And if you want an added kick, try the basic congee with some fûrû. 

Flashback to 1999—Sis and I are sitting around the small kitchen table folding wontons and she sees the filling exploding out of the wrapper and looks at me with disdain. I always went heavy on the filling whereas Sis made petite ones that hardly had any meat, making them wayyyy less satisfying to eat TBH (sorry if you're reading this, Sis). Hers never fell apart, though, so there's that I guess.

Folding wontons might be one of my favorite childhood memories. During my formative years, it would be something Mom, Sis, and I did together and I would always try to get really creative with my fold—making heart shapes and envelopes. As I got older, it became just me and Mom or just me, as Mom worked on other things. But there's something really meditative about using your hands to fold the wontons one by one. It's how I feel about cooking in general—it's the one time where I can turn off my brain completely and truly be in the moment. 

Despite being one of my favorite dishes (growing up, I was borderline obsessed—on a three-week trip to China I ordered only wontons, seriously), I haven't had wontons in years. And it had been even longer since I took a small bit of pork and shrimp filling, rolled it up in a ball, placed it on the wonton wrapper, folded it twice to form a triangle, picked it up, dipped one end of the triangle in egg yolk, and twisted it, forming one perfect wonton. Nine years to be exact. 

I've wanted to learn how to make them from scratch but have put it off for whatever reason. Maybe I didn't want the mystique of the filling to disappear—that somehow it would taint some of my happiest childhood memories. But I had an intense craving, caved in, and called Mom. 

With the filling made and my station prepped, I stood at the counter and stared. The chopping board on my left had a bowl with the filling, next to it lay the wonton wrappers, and next to them sat a bowl of egg yolk. The chopping board on my right sat empty and dusted with flour, ready to receive the finished wontons. I panicked. How do I fold them? I completely forgot.

But my hands took over and moved with certainty and fluidity. Before I knew it, I had folded the perfect wonton. The beauty of muscle memory had me a little choked up because folding wontons is something unique to my childhood and upbringing—even my own cousin has never folded wontons, and it's really nice to know that no matter what has happened and how much I've been through, I'll never lose that part of me.

Prep: 1 hour active + overnight marinade | Cook: 20 mins.

INGREDIENTS (FOR 2)

*We go with the traditional "Hong Kong style," which you'll easily find in any Asian grocery store. 

**I used Tuscan kale, but really any will do, i.e. bok choy, yu choy, swiss chard, etc.

PREPARE

1.  Combine the pork with soy sauce, oyster sauce, sugar, and a pinch of salt. Leave in the fridge overnight.

2. Before you begin working with the physical wontons, start with some stock on the stove. I used chicken feet, ginger, scallion, and salt in my first iteration of testing the wontons and I used Better than Bouillon for the second iteration and both were great. Bring that to a boil and then you can keep it on a low simmer until ready to eat. I usually make about two quarts. You can also make the stock beforehand and reheat when you're ready to serve. 

3. Devein the shrimp and chop into small pieces, almost like you're mincing the shrimp. Sprinkle a pinch of salt on top and roll that into a large ball. Set aside. 

4. Finely chop the scallion. Take the pork out of the fridge and mix in the scallion. Roll that into a large ball and place next to the shrimp. 

5. Take a wonton wrapper and place it in front of you so that you're looking down on a diamond shape rather than a square.

6. Grab a small bit of pork, about the size of a thumbnail, and a small bit of shrimp and roll them together into a ball. Place that on the corner of the wrapper that's closest to you. 

7. Take that same corner and fold it up so that it hits the halfway point of the other two sides of the diamond shape. Press down gently on the wrapper to flatten the ball of meat. Then fold once more so that it hits the half way point past the two sides of the diamond shape. 

8. Pick up the soon-to-be wonton and dip the back corner of the right side of the triangle into the egg yolk—this will help bind the wonton because egg is a natural glue. 

9. Lift and twist the un-egged side so that it faces forward, then lift and twist the egged side so that it's behind the un-egged side and press the corners together until it holds. 

10. Repeat steps 5–9 until you've run out of meat. You'll probably have leftover wonton wrappers, and that's okay. They freeze nicely for the next time you want to make wontons. 

COOK

1. Bring a pot of water to a rolling boil. At the same time, in a different pot, reheat the stock if you made it ahead of time. 

2. Gently place the wontons in the pot of water, then stir to make submerge. Cook for 3–5 minutes, or until the wrapper becomes slightly transparent and you can see the meat is no longer pink. 

3. As the wontons cook, chop the leafy greens and toss into the stock.

4. When the wontons are done, strain and place them in your serving bowl. Ladle the stock over the wontons, making sure you get those leafy greens in the bowl too!

EAT

Chopped scallion and cilantro are great finishing herbs for the dish. On the side, I like having a hoisin and chili garlic sauce mixture to top off each wonton. I'll place a wonton on the soup spoon and use my chopsticks to dab the sauce on top of the wonton to create the most magical bite. 

Excitedly, Mom pulls out a Japanese eggplant—which normally takes the form of a sweet and sour dish made by Dad. But he wasn't home, and Mom really wanted to use the eggplant before it reached the point of no return.

Seeing as how it was a weeknight and she had to pick Sis up from ballet in a couple of hours, it had to be a quick dish. Then she remembered her mother-in-law and a simple dish that always came out phenomenal—roasted eggplant served with a side of fish sauce. She hadn't ever seen Grandma make it before, but she improvised. She chopped the eggplant into roughly two-inch pieces, wrapped it in foil, and turned up the electric stove. She used her cooking chopsticks to flip the eggplant a few times to get an even roast.

She told me to grab the fish sauce and pour it in a saucer, which as her helping hand in the kitchen I happily obliged. I waited with excitement to taste the end results. 

Mom unwrapped the eggplant and it was beautifully charred on all ends, the bright purple turned a deep brown. She told me to grab some chopsticks and try a bite with her before we set the table.

Chopsticks in hand, I reached for the eggplant, dipped it in the fish sauce and my God it blew my mind. The flavor simultaneously encompassed the umami brought on by the fish sauce and the smokiness of the eggplant—which doesn't have a lot of flavor naturally, so it becomes a great vessel for other spices and sauces. Mom added it to her mental rolodex of weeknight dishes after that. 

The version I've made differs from Mom's slightly because I have a gas stove and the Japanese eggplants I bought were small, so they didn't have to be chopped the same way—but the flavor experience, luckily, is the same.  

Prep: 10 mins | Cook: 30 mins

INGREDIENTS (FOR 2)

*this should be equal to either six small eggplants (pictured) or two large eggplants

PREPARE

1. Wash eggplants. If you're using the large Japanese eggplants, chop them into roughly two-inch pieces lengthwise and then slice them widthwise. If you're using small ones, then no need to take out the knife quite yet. 

2. Preheat oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. 

COOK

1. Grab your tongs or cooking chopsticks and turn up your stove to medium heat. As noted above, I have a gas stove, so there's an open flame for me to use for roasting. I hold the eggplant over the flame and rotate it, giving it a nice even char. If you're using an electric stove, then wrap your eggplant in foil and place it on top of the stove, remembering to turn it on its various sides every few minutes. 

2. Once the outside is evenly charred, take the eggplant off the stove and if you're using the small ones, slice widthwise so the inside is revealed. You'll note that it's green. Grab your tongs/cooking chopsticks and bring that back to the stove to roast the insides as well. If you're using the large eggplants pre-sliced, you can skip this step.

3. When the eggplant is evenly charred, place it on a baking sheet and drizzle with olive oil. Place in oven for 15 minutes (you can play with the time a little here, depending on how charred your eggplants become), so that the inside gets cooked through. 

4. Take out of the oven and toss scallion on top.  

EAT

Dip the eggplant in the fish sauce—let it really swim in there, and take the best bite of your life. Serve with a side of rice and any other protein you may be eating that night, or just with rice because it doesn't really need anything else.  

...She says, in between my mouthfuls of braised bitter melon. Growing up, bitter melon was a staple in our household. The versatility of the vegetable makes it suitable for pretty much all methods of cooking save for baking. As a regular rotational vegetable, I never grew tired of the various dishes featuring the bitter squash. Because of its flavor, those that love it intensely are people who can suffer the bitterness of life—an old Chinese saying that Mom often recited.

I always think back to that aphorism whenever a challenge comes barreling down the pipeline of life. I've been primed from the beginning to know that I can handle anything because I've literally tasted bitterness and loved it. Maybe that's all part of Mom's strategy in raising us because she knew that the universe is indifferent. It's not forgiving and it's tough as hell—but it makes the victories all the sweeter.

You may hate bitter melon or you may love it, but you definitely need to give it a go at least once. It is incredibly healthy—to the point where Epicurious listed it in their 9 Health Food Trends You Need to Try Right Now article. It's filled with antioxidants and used for medicinal purposes in Asia. Despite the article mentioning the difficulty in preparation, I'm here to debunk that rumor and say it's actually easy peasy, lemon squeezy. 

Previously I've written about beef and bitter melon as a substitute for beef and broccoli, and now I'm going to share one of the BEST bitter melon recipes around: braised bitter melon. Usually it's paired with a meat—you can do pork, beef, or chicken, and probably even tofu for the vegetarians and vegans (but I haven't tried it). I chose chicken for this go-around, but that's only because it's what I had in the fridge. The sauce, which is a product of the bitter melon losing water as it cooks, is liquid gold. I've literally had four bowls of rice just with the sauce and I don't feel even slightly ashamed. Trust me, if you try braising bitter melon, you'll understand what I mean. 

Prep: 15 mins | Cook: 20 mins

INGREDIENTS (FOR 2)

PREPARE

1. Slice bitter melon lengthwise. De-seed it, which you do by hitting the back of the bitter melon until they pop out (similar to how you get rid of lingering seeds in peppers), then chop into two-inch pieces. Set aside.

2. Slice chicken into two-inch pieces and toss in the soy sauce. Set aside.

3. As the chicken is marinating, bring a pot of water to boil and dump in the bitter melon until it starts to boil again. Be careful not to overcook it; this just helps remove some of the bitterness.

COOK

1. Toss some oil into a pan and sprinkle in the garlic. Turn the heat on high and wait for that garlic to start sizzling, filling the air with its fragrance.

2. Add in the chicken and mix into the oil, then toss in the bitter melon. Add the hot bean sauce, oyster sauce, and sugar. Stir well to make sure everything is evenly coated. 

3. Pour in the water or chicken broth and cover the pan. Once it's brought to a boil, turn down the heat and let it simmer for 10–15 minutes, or until the bitter melon becomes a dark, olive-y green. 

EAT

Serve braised bitter melon with a healthy heaping side of rice. Few things in life are better than the braised bitter melon sauce, with its subtle flavors of bitterness, saltiness, spiciness, and sweetness. The bitter melon itself is pretty good, too. 

...Mom tells me in exasperation as I call her after my two-week vacation in Chile, half of which was spent trekking through the mountains of Patagonia alone. While away, she did a Google on the region and saw that there were videos and watched them. Big mistake. That's where she learned about the hurricane-force winds, the torrential downpours, and the overall difficulty of the hike—and with no ability to contact me, she started panicking. All the bad thoughts ran through her head. She pretty much convinced herself that I was dead at the end of each day, until I messaged Sis via Facebook (which weirdly is the only thing that works down there) that I had made it. She probably cares too much, if that's possible...though I guess she did spend her whole adult life making sacrifices to ensure her children were happy, healthy, functioning adults.

And sometimes her children forget about those sacrifices. So, for Mother's Day, I'm going to list them out as opposed to a blanket "thanks for all the sacrifices Mom, wouldn't be here without you" shoutout because that pretty much describes all Moms. Every Mom makes different sacrifices and I think acknowledging that paints a more authentic picture of motherhood and creates genuine gratitude.  

Without further ado:

• Immigrated to a new country, where she didn't know the language, leaving her family and friends behind, to marry a man she had never met in person, so that when she did have kids, they would have every opportunity that communist China could never provide
   
• Worked tough manual labor jobs while pregnant and going to night classes to learn English so that she could get re-certified as an accountant, a degree she already earned in China
   
• Not being able to afford childcare, she sent me off to be raised by her sister and mother in California while she finished up her degrees. Giving up a child, even if temporarily, is never easy, but she was playing the long game. Without the degrees, she would be stuck in low income, manual labor work
   
• Gave up a bank job when I was in preschool because they were moving locations, meaning it would be too far from home and she wouldn't have the time to spend with me and Sis
   
• Found an office job that was still beneath her, but gave her the flexibility to be a mom; to make dinner, to wake us up, to shuffle us around our extracurricular activities, to buy presents for our teacher on Teacher Appreciation Day, etc.
   
• Never bought anything nice for herself and instead saved the money so that we could go on fun family vacations every summer, because she believed that traveling would add more value to our lives than any pair of shoes for herself could
   
• Signed me up for club soccer, where she had to hang out with the other soccer moms, which was difficult for her because she's not fluent in the language or the culture. She was often the only person of color during these meetings.
   
• Worked a full-time job to help pay the bills while also making time to cook awesome meals every single night, because she believed in the positive power of family dinners, not to mention a home-cooked meal that would never let me forget where I came from. Not every meal was a huge affair, and there were times when she would simply toss things together and hope for the best, but somehow those became some of my favorites, like her edamame beans with ground beef—there were never leftovers. It's a simple recipe, but the very basic flavors when mixed together create an umami sensation.

Despite Mom's biggest weakness, which is her fear of the world and everything in it, she was able to face each challenge head on because she was playing the long game. She knew what she had to do for Sis and me to grow up to be the best versions of ourselves, even before we were born. She told me that she was proud of me for hiking Patagonia solo and she didn't know where I got that bravery from, but I think she forgot her own bravery when she first stepped on that plane to meet Dad and start her new life. 

Prep: 20 mins | Cook: 15 mins

INGREDIENTS (FOR 2)

* I use frozen, and so does Mom, but it doesn't make a difference

**Sometimes it's called chili bean sauce and in Chinese it's toban djan

PREPARE

1. Fold corn starch, red wine, soy sauce, and oyster sauce into the ground beef. Set aside for a minimum of 20 minutes, but the longer you let it marinate the better—like when you're making a burger.

COOK

1. Toss some oil into a frying pan and add the garlic over medium heat. 

2. Once the garlic starts sizzling, add in the edamame beans and stir around the pan, so that it's coated in the oil. Do this for about 3-5 minutes, or until the beans are soften.

3. Mix in the hot bean sauce, reserving about a tablespoon for later.

4. Add in the ground beef, using a wooden spoon to break apart the beef.

5. Once the beef is broken up, add the rest of the hot bean sauce and give the pan a few good toss so that everything mixes really well together. 

EAT

Serve Mamma Li's edamame beans over rice and, if so desired, any other stir fry veggies on the side because there's no such thing as too many vegetables. Once you've tried this recipe, I guarantee you'll add it to your weeknight rotation.

...Grandma tells a four-year-old Sis, who is trying to convince her that she's actually going to have a baby sister. "Mom said the doctor said it was a sister," she stated matter-of-factly. But no, Grandma could not be swayed. She felt in her heart that her eldest son, a.k.a. Dad, was to have a son and that the doctors had no idea what they were talking about. Nonsense really, compared to the "gut feeling" of a Grandma. Spoiler alert: she was wrong. 

She couldn't even look at me for the longest time, but she was the grandma that I grew up with. I wasn't on her hate list—which definitely existed—but I was never a favorite. That spot remained firmly in place for Sis when it turned out the doctors were right. I don't have the same fond memories she recalls of Grandma. We experienced two different sides of the same woman. In the eye of Sis, Grandma was loving, warm, and generous, but to me she was rigid, cold, and frightening.

But despite her questionable beliefs, no one could cook like Grandma—she had a talent for food. No matter how well you knew the recipe, no one could replicate her dishes. A favorite she made for her family and later taught Mom was steamed mackerel with lemon pepper sauce. No where else in China do they eat mackerel in quite the same way as the small village where Grandma was raised. The dish is exactly as it sounds. You steam the mackerel, leaving the fish with all of its natural, fatty goodness, which is then dipped in a very simple sauce that—when combined with the mackerel—creates a beautiful, umami-rich bite.

Grandma passed away a year ago after a long, happy life. Her funeral didn't bring sadness as much as it did joy for what she has done and how far she has brought her family.

Prep: 20 mins | Cook: 15 mins

INGREDIENTS (FOR 3)

*Any hot pepper will do.

PREPARE

1. Chop mackerel into three to four pieces and toss with olive oil. Set into steamer. 

COOK

1. Bring a pot of water to boil.

2. Place the steamer with fish into water when it's at a rolling boil. Set the timer for eight minutes. 

3. Mix together lemon juice, ground peppercorn, white vinegar, chili pepper, minced garlic, salt, and sugar.

4. Check on the fish. If the eyes look plump then it's ready. If not, continue cooking for two minutes. 

EAT

Serve it with a side of rice and veggie of choice. Luckily mackerel doesn't have too many bones, so you can pry off the spine and dip each bite into the prepared lemon-pepper sauce. Enjoy! 

"Do you know how to make it?" Sis inquiries. "Or where I can get some that's not full of food coloring?"

"No, I leave that to Mom and Dad to make," I responded. But it had me thinking. I mean, why can't I make char siu? Granted it's not a family recipe I grew up with, but instead a dish reserved for special occasions.

We would buy char siu, but also siu yuk (crispy roast pork) together for take-out from our local Cantonese restaurant. You've probably seen it without being aware—whenever you're in a traditional Chinese sit-down joint, or walking through Chinatown, you'll notice various meats hanging from the window. Char siu hangs vibrantly red and siu yuk shines with the ripples of a perfectly crispy skin. You go in and tell the butcher how many pounds you want and they'll weild their cleaver and chop away at the displayed meats. This isn't for you vegetarians or vegans—sorry.

Both meats are incredibly difficult to get right and usually fall into the category of a "treat yo' self" meal. My family would order both when there was a birthday or holiday to celebrate, or if a promotion was had, or good grades earned. When my friends got pizza for a job well done, I got char siu and siu yuk. But you know what? I sort of thought it was better than a pepperoni pizza from Domino's. I mean char siu has this richly sweet and savory BBQ flavor and siu yuk has the wonderful crispiness of fried chicken, but mixed with classic Chinese five spice. Trust me, I was not missing out. 

Over time, Mom stopped buying the char siu because she got on the natural, organic health trend and said that char siu is nothing but food coloring. And so she had Dad make it instead, as he actually knows how, but it's just such an arduous process that we always went for take out because, well, convenience. What do you know? We really are true Americans. 

Mom's attempted to make siu yuk in the past, but hasn't been able to get the texture and flavor right, so I won't share that until she's mastered it. But three months after Sis asked me about char siu, I decided to ask Mom and Dad for the recipe, since that's one they've got down. I know my craving was delayed, but better late than never!

I would say, if you haven't tried char siu from the butcher in Chinatown, give it a go and then try our recipe. Treat yo' self to a taste test. You're worth it. 

Prep: 3 days | Cook: 1 hour

INGREDIENTS (FOR 3)

PREPARE

1. Slice pork shoulder into two lengthwise strips, about two to three inches thick. 

2. Mince the garlic and then prepare marinade by combining everything from the honey to the garlic in a bowl and whisk. 

3. Reserve about a quarter of the marinade in a separate bowl or Tupperware. This will be used at the very end, so set aside in refrigerator. 

4. Coat the pork shoulder in the remaining marinade, ensuring that every ounce of meat is covered by the sauce, and then place in zip lock bag. Let the flavors stew together in your fridge for a least 24 hours, but for best results, three days. 

COOK

1.  Welcome back! Hope you've had a nice three days, because your pork has been getting friendly with the marinade. Let's preheat the oven to 425 F. 

2. You want to use a roasting pan for this, same as you would for a turkey for Thanksgiving. The key to roasting char siu correctly is ensuring that everything is cooked evenly, so you don't want the pork to touch the pan. I made it work by grabbing the rack from our toaster oven and placing that over an aluminum foil-wrapped sheet pan.

3. Toss some water under the rack and onto the sheet pan, about a quarter cup, and place the strips of meat on the rack, ensuring there's a few inches between the pieces of pork. The water will keep the drippings from burning and keep the pork from drying out. Place in oven and set the timer for 15 minutes. 

4. Take out the pork and flip the meat; use a spoon to drizzle on some of the marinade from the ziplock bag. Add some water to the pan again. Place back in oven for another 15 minutes. 

5. Repeat step four two more times.

6. Make sure there's water on the pan and set your oven to broil, which will give the char siu a naturally reddish color while crisping the skin just slightly. Do this for about five minutes and up to 10 minutes, depending on your preferred level of crispness.

7. Remove from oven and use a brush to apply the reserved marinade.

8. Let cool.

EAT

Traditionally, we eat char siu with rice and a veggie dish—I've paired it with stir-fried bok choy. But once you have the meat done, you can eat it in a sandwich topped with scallion and cilantro or you can toss it into a bowl of noodle soup or lo mein. Char siu will keep up to a week in the fridge or several months in the freezer. Exercise your creativity and enjoy!

I scooped a mound of sticky rice into my bowl from the vat Mom brought up to her bedroom, then proceeded to add soy sauce, pork fu, and a drizzle of oil.

Mom being who she is grabbed the spoon from me and heaped on the infused oil and said I needed more. The house was being renovated and instead of ordering pizza like your average American family, Mom decided to serve us sticky rice with scallion infused oil and pork fu.

"It's healthier and cheaper," she said as I asked why we couldn't just order from Domino's. At age 12, I really wanted to be normal and this was not helping my case. But add on another 12 years and you'll find me making this dish in the kitchen as a quick lunch before starting a busy day, because it's healthier and cheaper—I hate it when Mom's right. 

The beauty in the dish lies in its simplicity, similar to a classic cacio e pepe...you know, if we were Italian. The ingredients are few and the time needed isn't much, which makes it perfect for anyone constantly on the go. It's the magical combination of taste and texture that makes this dish a Phan favorite. The sharply seared scallion flavor dances with the sweetly salted pork fu. The stickiness of the rice becomes smooth with the infused oil which also binds together the rice and the cotton candy-like pork fu.   

I may have complained to Mom about the fact that we should have ordered pizza while the entire first floor of our home was being remodeled, but I also ate three bowls. But hey, being a brat was part of my role as youngest child and I wanted to do it justice. 

Prep: 15 mins | Cook: 30 mins

INGREDIENTS (FOR 2)

PREPARE

1. Wash the sticky rice and combine it with the 1/2 cup of water in a rice cooker, then press cook.

2. Finely chop the scallion.

COOK

1. Using a small pan, heat the olive oil until it starts to shimmer.

2. Add the chopped scallion and stir until fragrant, about two minutes. Take care to ensure that the scallion doesn't burn. 

3. Pour infused oil into a small bowl. Set aside. 

EAT

Scoop rice into a bowl, drizzle on soy sauce to taste, add a healthy heaping of infused scallion oil and top with pork fu. Mix together and enjoy!

It is the year of the Rooster that's rapidly approaching, so it's allowed. I'm going to highlight and revisit a recipe from last year's Chinese New Years, but with a few adjustments–one of which is to make it truly vegetarian. 

Lo han jai, or just jai if you're a member of the Phan household, is commonly referred to as Buddha's Delight. I'm sharing a traditional recipe, where the ingredients may not be the easiest to source (hello, Amazon!), but is filled with rich earthy notes believed to bring you good luck in the upcoming New Year. And let's be honest, with the current state of affairs, we could all use some luck. 

You'll find other variations of Buddha's Delight, which will often include common ingredients like snow peas, carrots, baby corn, etc., which isn't wrong and is often delicious, on various menus from Chinese restaurants. But if you're superstitious like any well raised Chinese person (thank you Mamma Li), you'll want to stick with the tried and true traditional, at least for the holidays. 

RECAP

Lo han jai stems from the Buddhist belief that the body is best cleansed with a diet of vegetables. Jai is a general term to describe all vegetarian dishes, but for Chinese New Year's, typically the dish will contain dried shiitake mushroom (dong gu) and tree ear fungus (ha mok yi), representing longevity; dried oysters (ho see) representing good luck; black moss (fat choy) representing wealth and prosperity; bean curd sticks (foo juk) representing blessings for the home; and napa cabbage or lettuce representing spring. Not all have to be present (the below recipe is representative of what is typically had in my household)—it's really up to you and which fortunes you want to be #blessed with.

REVAMPED

Prep: 1 hour | Cook: 30 mins

INGREDIENTS (FOR 3)

PREPARE

1. Rehydrate bean curd, shiitake mushroom, daylily buds, and wood ear in warm water until softened. The rate at which they soften will vary, but typically all should be done within an hour.

2. Meanwhile, bring a pot of water to boil and throw in the mung bean noodles. They take about the same amount of time to cook as dry pasta—around 10 minutes.

3. Peel and chop the lotus root widthwise.

4. Chop napa cabbage.

5. Combine soy sauce and cane sugar, set aside.

COOK

1. Remove the rehydrated ingredients from the water.

2. Grab a large pan and toss in some oil. Add the minced garlic and ginger and wait for it to start sizzling.

3. Toss in the lotus root and stir for about 3 minutes.

4. Add the bean curd, shiitake mushroom, daylily buds, and napa cabbage. Stir for another couple of minutes, then toss in the mung bean noodles.

5. Stir in the soy sauce mixture until well combined with all of the vegetables.

EAT

Lo han jai is served best with a bowl of rice on the side. Enjoy!

*This recipe was featured on the Fluent City website

Mom wearily started the rice cooker, tossed some veggies in the pan, and popped open a can of fried dace with salted black beans after a long day at work and shuffling Sis and me to our various practices and after-school activities. 

Dinner was served.

The canned sardines of Chinese cuisine, fried dace with salted black beans is best served straight from the can over a bed of rice. Because of its preserved nature, the bones have a soft, chewy texture, so you can eat them whole.

That was my FAVORITE aspect of the dish as a kid, being able to eat the bones. Often times I would try to pick off the meat and eat just the bones because it felt so delightful to eat something that can't normally be eaten—which in retrospect was a precursor to my love for gastronomically creative restaurants. One of my favorite dishes from Geranium was a razor clam with an edible shell. The joy I had in eating the shell of that clam is the same feeling I had whenever mom would serve this fishy dish.  

The origin of canned dace with salted black beans started in Guangzhou, China (or Southern China) when workers had to travel to Southeast Asia for work. They would fry the dace and preserve it in a salted black bean sauce to ensure it traveled well. This way they could eat food from home while commuting and living in foreign countries for weeks at a time. Eventually this grew and transformed into a canned food business, one that travels a little further than Southeast Asia and into the western markets. You can find the canned fish in any Asian market—it's a staple nowadays. And if you don't have an Asian market near you, there's good old reliable Amazon. 

When you do find it, stock up—it'll be your go-to lazy dinner soon enough.

Prep: 15 minutes | Cook: N/A

INGREDIENTS (FOR 2)

1 can of Fried Dace with Salted Black Beans

PREP

1. Prepare rice

2. Open can of Fried Dace with Salted Black Beans

3. Place fish on top of rice, pour sauce over the plate

EAT

I suggest making some stir-fry veggies on the side for a complete meal. I served mine with snow pea shoots which I fried up with simple salt and white pepper, then finished it with seasame oil. 

Christmas has descended upon us once more, which means Sis and I are home at the same time—a rare occurrence. And to celebrate, Mom and Dad spent the weeks leading up to our visit preparing their top hitters including poached chicken, roast duck and taro, stuffed vegetables—not to mention actual Christmas dinner, which includes turkey, ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes...a.k.a. Thanksgiving Take Two. Well, in this case, Thanksgiving Take One, since we spent turkey day in Italy this year. 

But let's not forget about the low-key lunches. They may not take as much time and effort to prepare, but that doesn't mean they don't deserve a shining gold star. Every bit as crave-able as the braised pork trotter and papaya for dinner are dishes like offal congee. 

Typically made with pork liver and kidney in a pork broth base, the flavor is intensely earthy with a rich, palatable mineral taste. This congee is amazing, a staple in the Phan household, but it's not for everyone. Some would even say it's pretty "offal." I've had a few uninitiated taste testers and it wasn't their favorite thing, but like durian or stinky cheese, offal is an acquired taste.

Offal congee serves as a great in-between meal during the holiday season as something light, flavorful, and healthy—but you'll need a sense of adventure if this is your first time.  

Prep: 15 mins + overnight brine  Cook: 1.5 hours

INGREDIENTS (FOR 2)

PREPARE

1. Separate the meat from the bones. Sprinkle 1.5 tsp of the salt over the bones and place in fridge overnight.

COOK

1. Take the meat out and toss into a large pot. Add in rice, water, and the remaining salt. 

2. Bring the pot to a boil before turning down to a low simmer.

3. While that's cooking, start preparing the kidney and liver. Slice the offal super thin and cut each slice down to 2" pieces. Set in a bowl.

4. Mix together soy sauce, sugar, ginger, and oil to create the marinade. 

5. Combine the marinade with the offal and let sit in refrigerator until ready to serve. 

6. After about an hour and half to two hours, when the rice is broken down but the texture is still soupy rather than sludgy, take the offal from the fridge and stir into the congee.

7. Turn the heat back up and bring the congee to a boil, but be sure to turn the stove off immediately when it does boil. It's really quite awful when the offal is overcooked. 

EAT

Similar to peanut congee, potential toppings are endless. I added chopped scallion, cilantro, lettuce, and youtiao as well as a boatload of white pepper and sesame oil. It tasted just like mom's and I couldn't be more pleased, even if my taste tester preferred the beef chow fun. 

Craving the fried oily goodness after a night out, I asked Mom for her scallion pancake recipe. She gave it to me but warned that it deviated from the recipe book she sometimes uses.

Her directions didn't make sense, which prompted me to take action—a.k.a. go online—and see for myself. Recipe after recipe, there appeared to be some common ground between all the sites, but none that recommended Mom's convoluted way. The internet agreed that the dough kneads (haha get it?) to be made first and let sit for about 30 minutes—whereas Mama Li said I should just toss everything together and throw it into a pan.

Sorry Mom—I took a page from her book and didn't follow the recipe...that she gave me. It didn't make sense. Dough needs time to rise and her recipe didn't allow for that. So, except for a few tweaks here and there, I followed a recipe from the Kitchn and it turned out well, save for a few burnt pancakes when I wasn't paying attention. But what's life without a few burnt pancakes? It makes the perfect ones all the better.   

Recipe adapted from the Kitchn: How to Make Scallion Pancakes

Prep: 40 minutes Cook: 30 minutes 

INGREDIENTS (FOR 4)

PREPARE

1. Mix flour and water together until it becomes smooth. Continue to fold the dough into itself for about five minutes, creating an elastic texture.

2. Form dough mixture into a ball, oil lightly, and set in a bowl. Cover with a damp cloth and set aside for 30 minutes. 

3. Finely chop scallions and set aside. 

COOK

1. Form 4 equal sized dough balls.

2. On a gently floured surface, take one dough ball and roll it out so that it's about 12 x 9 in.

3. Use a pastry brush to oil the top surface of the dough. Generously sprinkle chopped scallion, salt, and sugar on top.

4. Starting with the long end, tightly roll up the dough so it forms a long snake. Cut the roll in half. 

5. Take one half of the roll and coil it within itself so that it forms a bundle. Repeat with other half of roll. Set aside. 

6. Repeat steps 2–5 with the other dough balls. 

7. One at time, use a rolling pin to flatten out the coiled dough bundle so that it's about 3 in. in diameter 

8. Heat high smoke point oil in a cast iron skillet until shimmering and gently place pancakes, one at a time, in the pan. It should give a satisfying sizzle. Cook each side for about 2 minutes, until brown but not burnt. Pay attention—if you don't, you'll end up burning the pancake, and if you live in a really old apartment that has no vents, your apartment will be incredibly smoky. Your roommates will panic and think the apartment is on fire. So I reiterate, PAY ATTENTION. 

EAT

Scallion pancakes are made 1000% better with a really excellent dipping sauce. I usually toss together (in equal parts) soy sauce and hoisin sauce topped with a dab of sesame oil and sriracha. Enjoy!

... I recently explained to a friend, as I eagerly anticipated my annual apple picking trip. Aside from it being an absolute joy within itself, apple picking brings me back to happy childhood memories. Getting to run through the orchard, climbing the trees (not sure if that was actually allowed...), and trying my hardest to reach for an apple that was just within reach of my very short arm length—it's wholesome, PG-rated, all-American fun, but the thing is that I didn't have a lot of that growing up, so I really cherish the memories I do have. It's not because I had disinterested parents, it's that they weren't aware—really, we were learning about American culture right alongside one another.

To complete the picture of the perfect, classic American family, Mom would bake apple turnovers with the bounty we collected. She used a recipe, ironically, from a Chinese cookbook purchased in Canada, so yay, metric measurements! And recipe aside, most of her baking was still guesstimation, but her turnovers came out perfect every time. So when she gave me the recipe after my successful day on the farm, she recited the book, but also annotated it along the way. Which confused the fuck out of me, to be perfectly honest.

My first attempt turned out terrible because I didn't properly seal the pastry dough (while also overstuffing it) and I didn't properly brush each turnover with a beaten egg like I was directed. Also, I'm pretty sure I low-balled the oven temperature at 350 degrees. It was a disaster.

Attempt two required me to think critically about baking pastries and correcting my mistakes, so that I got the shareable results I wanted—apple turnovers that taste just like Mom's. 

Prep: 30 minutes Cook: 35 minutes

INGREDIENTS (FOR 8)

*Equal to about 1 large apple or 3 small apples.

PREPARE

1. Peel and core apples. Chop into roughly half-inch cubes. 

2. Remove puff pastry sheet from freezer and let it thaw.

COOK

1. Toss oil into pan on medium heat and swirl it around as it warms up. Toss in the apples, stirring for about two minutes or until apples become fragrant.

2. Mix in sugar and cinnamon and continue to stir until sugar is well incorporated and dissolved, about a minute or two. 

3. Combine cornstarch and water in a bowl, which will create a thickener. Pour that into the apple mixture and incorporate until it becomes gooey and thick. Set aside. 

4. Beat the egg with a fork. Set aside.

5. Preheat oven to 400 F. 

6. Prepare the puff pastry sheet (most boxes will come with two sheets) by unfolding it on a gently floured surface. I used a pizza slicer to cut each sheet of dough into four squares, making eight squares in total.  

7. Spoon about one tablespoon of the mixture into the center of each pastry square. 

8. Fold the square over so that it forms a triangle. Seal the sides together by firmly pressing down. 

9. Use a brush and gently coat both sides of the turnover with the beaten egg. This is crucial! 

10. Place in oven and bake for about 25 minutes, or until golden brown.

EAT

Enjoy!