Vietnamese food

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Ethnic food tastes worth acquiring: Arroz con calamares en su tinta

Photo by Boca Dorada/Flickr (Creative Commons)

Mmm, inky. Arroz con calamares, February 2007.

Today marks the launch of a week’s worth of posts about food. Not just any food, but those dishes in every ethnic cuisine that may not seem appetizing to those who didn’t grow up with them, or require more than one taste to fall in love with, but are delicious to those in the know.

I’ll be compiling a list throughout the week of tastes worth acquiring, and suggestions are welcome. The idea is to spread the culinary wealth. Those who grew up drinking Vietnamese-style avocado milkshakes may never have tried Oaxacan-style huitlacoche empanadas, and vice versa. Big town, lots of food to try.

Most of my own food tastes are acquired, courtesy of Los Angeles, but I’ll kick off the list with a dish from my upbringing: Arroz con calamares en su tinta, or rice with squid in its own ink. This is not to be confused with the more mildly flavored squid-ink risotto or black pasta that foodies order at upscale Italian eateries order when feeling adventurous. This is the brawny, briny, fishy peasant version from the Caribbean, best eaten locally in one of L.A.’s traditional Cuban joints.

The dish originated in Spain, was imported to the colonies and is still eaten in several Latin American countries. (It’s also known as arroz negro, or black rice, and black paella.) I’m accustomed to the Cuban version, improved on with sofrito, the standard cooking base of onions, garlic and bell peppers. It’s pretty straightforward: Squid in its own blue-black ink (likely canned, since milking ink from a fresh squid is an icky task) cooked with rice and flavored with sofrito. The end product has a slightly purplish-gray cast, including the squishy bits of squid scattered through the rice.

It looks, frankly, disgusting. The first bite tastes fishy, which doesn’t help. But the second tastes better, and the third is seriously addicting. It’s a riot of salt and brine, and it grows on you.

If you know of a dish along the same lines that you’d like to suggest – and where around town to find it – please post a comment below. Photos are welcome, too.

RIP Le Van Ba, the Vietnamese sandwich king

Photo by Leslie Berestein Rojas/KPCC

The storefront of a Lee's Sandwiches in Westminster, August 2010

If there is anything good that came out of French colonialism in Indochina, it’s the bánh mì, otherwise known as the Vietnamese sandwich. And the man who helped popularize it in California was Le Van Ba.

Le, the founder of the widespread Lee’s Sandwiches chain, died last week at 79. The headline of his obituary in the San Jose Mercury News, his hometown paper, called him “the Ray Kroc of Vietnamese sandwiches.”

Which is appropriate. A successful sugar planter in his native Vietnam, Le began the sandwich business with his family after starting over as an immigrant in San Jose. According to the Mercury-News story, the business really took off in the last decade after Le took the advice of his U.S.-born grandson, who suggested he adopt American fast food-style business principles. The chain expanded to where there are now close to 40 of the sandwich shops in five states, most of them in California.

Photo by Leslie Berestein Rojas/KPCC

Without Lee’s Sandwiches, many Californians might never have discovered the wonder that is the Vietnamese sandwich, a mashup of crusty European-style bread with sweet, salty, spicy Asian-style fillings. The neatly-wrapped sandwich pictured at left (inside: thinly sliced barbecued pork, fresh carrots, cilantro, chiles) was my lunch a couple of months ago at one of the Lee’s shops in Westminster.

Thank you, Mr. Le.

Bao, empanadas, and the Pillsbury Doughboy

Photo by danaspencer/Flickr (Creative Commons)

Char siu bao, March 2009

Over the weekend I saw a couple of amusing tweets from @jenny8lee, aka journalist Jennifer 8. Lee, the former New York Times reporter turned author of The Fortune Cookie Chronicles and a general food fan. The first, on Saturday:

Was my mom the only Chinese mom to use Pillsbury dough for the oustide of steamed bao buns?

The second, on Sunday:

My mom, who apparently reads my twitter feed, said she learned the pillsbury dough as bao outside trick from Chinese newspaper.

Photo by Joe Wu/Flickr (Creative Commons)

Aside from making me chuckle, the tweets provoked an immediate reaction of “Wow, so it’s used for more than empanadas?”

The plump, doughy meat-filled buns, popular in Chinese and Vietnamese cuisines, and the savory turnovers eaten throughout Latin America are probably just a few of the alternative uses that immigrant cooks, as pressed for time as anyone else, have devised for the ubiquitous refrigerated biscuit dough over the years.

A quick search around the Pillsbury website led me to the history of the Pillsbury Bake-Off contest, and with it, this paragraph describing the contest’s evolution during the 1990s:

Ethnic Fusion Reigns

By the 1990s, recipes entered in the Pillsbury Bake-Off® Contest reflected a fusion of ethnic flavors with traditional American cooking. Tastes had grown more international, and formerly unusual ethnic and “gourmet” ingredients and flavors had entered the mainstream.

Hmm. The contest recipes weren’t posted on the page, which is okay, since “gourmet” might not be the ideal descriptor in every case. But for anyone who wants to try this at home, there are plenty of homegrown recipes out there, like these for pork picadillo empanadas and “cheater’s baos” made with the canned buttermilk biscuit dough. Who would have thought?

Three turkeys, three cultures

Photo by cobalt123/Flickr (Creative Commons)

Okay, so there are four turkeys here and not three, whatever. November 2005

It’s two days to Thanksgiving and a turkey dinner prepared with…mole? Fish sauce? Heck yeah.

This morning I came across two posts on two different ways to prepare turkey, and they have nothing to do with basting it with butter or Mrs. Cubbison’s.

Tasting Table Los Angeles featured a post on the secrets of Oaxacan-style turkey cooking as practiced by Guelaguetza restaurant chef Maria de Jesus Monterrubio, one of which involves a bird seasoned with chile paste, spices and chocolate and served with rich, chocolatey Oaxacan mole. KCRW’s Good Food blog had a recipe for Vietnamese-style turkey seasoned with coriander, ginger and fish sauce.

Mmmm. Of course, Thanksgiving turkey made the immigrant way is about the only way I’ve ever eaten it at home. In my family, the bird is soaked overnight in mojo criollo, the garlicky marinade made with sour oranges that Cubans typically reserve for roasted pork. My parents must have decided that if they were going to assimilate and eat turkey instead of pork, they were going to do it on their terms.

The result has always been delicious. The same goes, I’m sure, for the tasty-sounding birds mentioned above. Enjoy the holiday preparations, folks.