This dish has been popularized by young people all over Vietnam. It hasn’t quite hit the mainstream in America yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see it explode on a social media platform anytime now.
This street snack is often referred to as Vietnamese pizza, but if anything, I think of it more like a quesadilla. You can top the rice paper with any kind of salty processed meat and cheese you want . . . hot dogs and Laughing Cow (yes, the foil-wrapped triangles!) are common, followed by squiggles of mayo and sriracha. And I wouldn’t be against topping the whole thing with a layer of Flamin’ Hot Cheeto dust.
I have often said you can laab anything. And in “anything” I include bits of leftover meats and vegetables. Tart, spicy, and fresh, this treatment is guaranteed to “fix” any dry Thanksgiving turkey, or the ends of roast beef. I’ve even laab-ed roasted squash and cut-up pieces of omelet. Laab is usually served with sticky rice, but you can serve it with jasmine rice, wrap it in lettuce, or serve it with fresh cucumber. Note: I have provided a small base recipe here because it’s meant for using up bits and bobs in the fridge; scale up to whatever quantity of leftovers you have.
My mom made us these epic German meat roll-ups, called rouladen, for holidays and special occasions when we were growing up. After I moved away, whenever I’d come home, she’d ask what I’d like her to cook for me, and my answer was always the same: ROULADEN. Poor Mutti probably got a li’l sick of making them—one year, she branched out and cooked us an interesting Mexican-inspired Christmas feast. It was “creative,” and the whole family was very “appreciative” . . . but we all politely asked her if, next year, she wouldn’t mind going back to rouladen. The older I get, the more I crave the comfort of the classic dishes of my childhood.
I love to eat this with spaetzle, a German, noodle-like dumpling. You can buy it from the store, find a recipe online, or call my mom and ask for her recipe.
What the Turks don’t know about making kebabs just isn’t worth knowing. Tepsi is the Turkish word for “tray,” which is what this recipe is traditionally cooked in, and kebap is the Turkish word for “kebab.” I visited a butcher’s shop attached to a restaurant in Antakya in Turkey and was roped into hand-mincing the ingredients for this recipe using a giant machete-like knife. The mixture was then pressed into a baking pan and baked in a wood-fired oven. The results were spectacular, and the flavor so memorable I came back home and created a version in a shallow casserole dish. If any one recipe changes the way you cook, this may just be it. The meat is juicy, tender, and charred on top, and the ease of pressing the meat into the dish makes this a super-simple way to cook a kebab.
I found this recipe written in pencil on a 3 x 5 card tucked inside my Grandmother Schwyhart's old, worn cookbook. The apples are particularly nice in this dish; they puff up as they cook, and they really soak up the other flavors.
Who doesn’t like slow-cooked, soft pork belly? And if, to something this scrumptious, you add the Mojo Dulce sauce that hundreds of customers in my tapas bars have asked me to bottle and sell, then I think we have a winner.
This popular southwestern dish boasts rich bites of pork in a sauce dominated by green chiles. For our version, we used a combination of Anaheim and jalapeño peppers.
The usual go-to cut of pork for backyard barbecue is the pork shoulder, but in certain corners of South Carolina, many pitmasters swear by fresh ham. Fresh ham, cut from the hindquarters of the hog and sold unsmoked and unseasoned, is leaner than traditional barbecue cuts like shoulder. Rubbing salt over the entire surface and letting it sit overnight helped season it throughout and kept the meat moist. A double-pronged cooking approach did the trick: We smoked the meat on a grill for 2 hours before transferring it to a 300-degree oven to cook until it reached an internal temperature of 200 degrees. We then cranked the oven temperature up to 400 degrees and roasted the skin on a baking sheet until it was brown and crispy. This gave us plenty of crispy skin to mix in with the shredded ham. A vinegary mustard sauce, a hallmark of South Carolina barbecue, was just the contrast the sandwich needed. Plan ahead: The ham must be salted at least 18 hours before cooking. You’ll have about 2 1/2 cups of mustard sauce.
For flavorful ribs from the slow cooker, we cut the St. Louis-style ribs in half crosswise, coated each half liberally in a spice rub (a mix of paprika, brown sugar, salt, pepper, onion powder, and granulated garlic), arranged them on end (exposed rib side down) around the rim of the cooking insert, and let them slowly cook until tender. To get that signature shiny, sticky finish, we made an easy barbecue sauce that we brushed onto to the ribs before broiling them.
Steak turned sweet and caramelized from the honey, sharp from the lime, and with a sting from the chiles. This is a simple-to-make recipe with a profoundly complex taste.