Tomato

Here is the Vietnamese version of the familiar Chinese egg drop soup. At its heart is a base of onion and tomato, which is cooked down to concentrate flavors and impart a lovely color. The pork adds richness, and so do the eggs, which also contribute a creamy finish to round out the tangy notes. This soup was a weekly standard at our family dinner table, and my mom would sometimes substitute tofu cubes for the pork to vary the flavor. When I have extra time, I mince the pork by hand for an authentic touch. For instructions on how to do it, see page 69.

This stew is so popular that practically every Viet cook has his or her own version. I have read recipes that call for curry powder, annatto seeds, tomato paste, and beer. But this is how my mother learned to make bò kho decades ago. Although in Vietnam it is traditionally eaten for breakfast, here in the States it has become lunch or dinner fare in the Vietnamese American community. It may be served in shallow bowls with warm French bread for sopping up the flavorful sauce, or it may be spooned over rice or wide rice noodles (bánh pho). The addition of chopped Vietnamese coriander or Thai basil leaves is something that my parents picked up when we lived in Saigon. Also, despite the name, this is not a kho dish. Here, kho means “to simmer” or “to stew.” No caramel sauce is involved. Traditionalists like to use the boneless beef shank sold at Chinese and Viet markets for this dish, which they cook for hours to yield a chewy-tender result. Once in the States, my family switched to beef chuck, which is flavorful, suited to long cooking, and more readily available.

Seventy-five years of French domination left many influences in the Viet kitchen. Because I grew up eating these stuffed tomatoes on a regular basis, it never crossed my mind that they were adapted from a traditional French idea. It should have: farci means “stuffed” in French and tô-mát is a Vietnamese transliteration of the French tomate. My edition of Larousse Gastronomique offers nine recipes for stuffing tomatoes. Here’s a tenth, flavored with a shot of fish sauce, of course. As a hybrid dish, these savory, slightly tangy tomatoes can be enjoyed with chopsticks as part of a traditional Viet dinner or with knife and fork as part of a Western-style meal. For the best results, select firm, slightly underripe tomatoes that will hold their shape nicely after cooking.

Rich with contrasts, this soup is easy to like. The tamarind and pineapple provide a sweet-and-sour edge, while the okra, tomato, and bean sprouts offer spongy, soft, and crunchy textures. The catfish and cumin ground the dish with their pungent, earthy qualities. If rice paddy herb (rau om) is available, use it for a citrusy accent. Sour fish soups are eaten throughout Southeast Asia. The Viet version often includes sliced taro stems (bac ha), a flavorless ingredient known for its ability to absorb other flavors. I generally omit the stems because they don’t contribute much to the soup, and instead increase the amount of okra, which is added at the end. If you can’t find fresh okra, use frozen whole okra, thawing it and slicing it before you add it to the pan. When fresh or frozen pineapple isn’t around, don’t resort to canned. It is not the same. The soup will be a bit tangier but equally sensational without the pineapple.

When riêu is brought to the table, expect a full-bodied soup laced with rich-tasting seafood and tangy tomato. Viet cooks prepare a fish riêu like this one as an everyday canh, or the more extravagant crab and shrimp riêu noodle soup (page 215) for a special occasion. Carp is the fish typically used in this soup, but since it is not commonly available at regular markets, my family switched to salmon, which has the fattiness to pair perfectly with the tomato, dill, and garlic of a classic riêu. We used salmon steaks for years because the bones and skin enriched the broth. But steaks can be difficult to handle during cooking and later on in the bowl, so I now use salmon fillet. In the classic northern Vietnamese tradition, the fish is seared first to firm its flesh. The searing not only helps the fish hold its shape, but also provides a nice textural contrast in the finished soup.

This heady combination of seafood and tomato comes from the north, where it is traditionally made from small rice-field crabs called cua đong. To extract enough flavor, cooks use many crabs, removing their back shells and pounding their bodies. The crushed crab is combined with water, carefully filtered, and finally mixed with fermented shrimp sauce (mam tom) to create a broth base. When heated, the crab solids rise to the top, forming a rich, seafood-laden floater that is the signature of the soup. Sections of the floater are carefully spooned atop round rice noodles (bun) before the broth is ladled into each bowl. A garnish plate of raw vegetables, limes, and fresh herbs accompanies the soup. When I was a child, our family re-created this soup by using the tiny rock crabs foraged among the rocks at the local harbor. Nowadays, I make this more convenient and equally tasty version. Unlike many Vietnamese Americans (including my mom), I don’t use canned bún riêu cua soup base. Rather, I start with a live Dungeness crab and mix its meat and tomalley with ground shrimp and egg for the floater. Since Dungeness crab season (November through May) doesn’t coincide with tomato season, I use premium canned tomatoes instead of fresh ones. If you are substituting other types of crab, you will need enough to yield 6 ounces of meat.

Of all the Vietnamese tofu dishes, this recipe and the deep-fried tofu on page 191 are the ones I ate most often as a child. To this day, my mom still panfries double batches of stuffed tofu so that she and my dad can reheat individual servings in the toaster oven over the course of several days. For this recipe, use tofu sold in large, bricklike blocks, rather than smaller cakes, as it is easier to cut the big blocks to size. Regular tofu is a little difficult to stuff but produces a delicate, silky interior. The exterior doesn’t hold its crispiness but is delicious nonetheless. Medium-firm tofu is easier to stuff and holds its crispiness for a long time, but the interior is chewy and less delicate. Firm tofu is too hard and silken tofu is much too soft, When tomatoes are out of season, substitute a 14 1/2-ounce can of whole tomatoes, drained and chopped, and use 1/4 cup of the canning liquid in place of the water. Or, skip the tomato sauce altogether and instead dip the tofu in Simple Dipping Sauce (page 309) or a combination of soy sauce and fresh chiles.

Everyone loves shrimp, so the next time you make a batch of Gulf Shrimp and Grits (page 80) or Shrimp-Tomatillo Cocktail (page 75), save the shells and freeze them until you have enough for stock. However, you can also purchase prepared shrimp stock from your fishmonger or online (see Sources).

This Southwest-inspired house barbecue sauce is used on its own or as the base of many sauces at Bar Americain. It is slightly sweet from the molasses, honey, and brown sugar and slightly earthy from the dried red chiles. It is the perfect sauce slathered on smoked ribs (page 149), or spiced up and spooned onto grilled oysters on the half shell (page 72). Adding bourbon transports this sauce from Sante Fe to Kentucky in a matter of minutes.

This is an egg sandwich I could eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Tangy sourdough bread is grilled to crusty perfection and topped with a meaty slice of griddled country ham, blistered sweet tomatoes, and a perfectly fried egg. A lightly dressed mound of slightly bitter, feathery frisée crowns this fork-and-knife sandwich.

Ray Charles must have been in my head when I designed this dish, because it’s all about Georgia. The green tomato–peach relish is a natural, and not only because both ingredients are beloved by Georgians. The tartness of the green tomatoes is evenly matched by the honey sweetness of the peaches, and the resulting relish is fresh, incredibly flavorful, and totally balanced. Pork tenderloin is lean, has very little fat, and cooks quickly, so your kitchen stays cool while you eat well. This really is a wonderful summer dish.

The legendary Louisiana chef Paul Prudhomme started the blackening craze; the method calls for coating seafood or meat in a spice mixture before cooking it in a cast-iron pan. The quick cooking over high heat really seals in flavor as it creates a fantastically flavored blackened crust. Redfish is the traditional choice, but I like the juxtaposition of the spicy rub against the sweetness of scallops. Their meaty richness really holds up well to the aggressive blackening. A simple vinaigrette of green onions adds a vibrant freshness to the dish, as does the smoky tomato relish.

This fresh and satisfying salad gets its inspiration from two very different locales: the sweet and sour dressing is indebted to the Pennsylvania Dutch, while the fried green tomatoes come straight from the South. The brightly hued dressing is just the thing to enhance the interplay of tart green tomatoes; sweet, earthy beets; buttery fava beans; and tangy, creamy goat cheese. Green tomatoes and fava beans are two crops that I particularly look forward to seeing at the first farmers’ markets of spring, and this salad is a delicious way to celebrate the best of that season. If you can’t find fava beans, lima beans are a fair substitute.

Gumbo—it doesn’t get much more Louisiana style than that. Louisiana is a prototype for the melting pot of cultures that defines this country; this hearty dish alone can count the cuisines of West Africa, France, and Italy among its influences. Both the Creole and Cajun communities have laid claim to this spicy seafood stew, and I’ve appropriated a bit from each in this version: the Creole comes in with the tomatoes—that’s the Italian presence making itself known—and the Cajun of course is present in the spicy pork andouille sausage. Okra is a traditional gumbo component, and it’s usually cooked into the body of the soup. I like the flavor but find that the texture can be a bit slimy. Deep-fried cornmeal-crusted rings of okra solve that problem deliciously.

Given my love of grilling and barbecue, this drink was inevitable. Smoky paprika, savory tomato juice, and vodka with a spicy kick meet dry vermouth and tangy lime juice in this cocktail that’s perfect with burgers, steaks, fish tacos (page 107), and, well, almost anything barbecued.

The Bloody Mary is probably the most popular brunch cocktail in the United States and with good reason; spiced-up tomato juice and vodka garnished with a stalk of celery—the classic version—is a perfect weekend pick-me-up. There are many variations of the Bloody Mary that contain everything from beer to beef bouillon. My version has a southwestern theme, where roasted tomatillo sauce—spiked with vinegar and pickled horseradish—joins tomato juice to give the drink great body while adding a slightly tart, slightly smoky flavor.

Lou Lambert, another one of my chef friends who grew up on a ranch, now owns two Texas restaurants—Lamberts Downtown Barbecue in Austin, and Lambert’s steak house in Fort Worth. Lou got the idea for his seared chickpeas when he was a kid growing up on the family ranch near Odessa. “We had a camp cook who would make hominy loaded with chili powder and garlic. I adapted his dish with chickpeas. I originally put this on the menu at the first Lambert’s on South Congress, and it has been a mainstay at all the restaurants since.” I’ve been coveting this recipe ever since I first tasted it at Lou’s first restaurant. Now that I have it, I know it will become a mainstay for me, too, especially when I have some entertaining to do.