Asian Persuasion

Anything, be it a restaurant, dish, or book, labeled as “Asian” gives me pause. It feels like a reductive, overly simplistic term to encompass a staggering number of cultures. Even with a fair amount of overlap with shared ingredients and techniques, it’s less descriptive than the term “European,” which I daresay no food writer would attempt today.

For all my misgivings, The Vegan Asian Kitchen: 100+ Plant-Based Recipes Inspired by Malaysia, China, Thailand, and Beyond by WoonHeng Chia manages to steer clear of the obvious pitfalls to shine a light on a range of unique, distinctive dishes from the region, proving that a title never tells the full story.

Having grown up in Kuala Lumpur, Ms. Chia’s approach to cooking reflects a lifetime spent navigating the intersections of diverse foodways and traditions. Rather than flattening those influences into a bland, marketable caricature, she embraces their specificity, offering recipes rooted in personal experience while acknowledging the broader tapestry of regional specialties that have shaped her palate.

I began with the Thai Basil Zhua Bing (Flaky Layered Pancakes), page 337, drawn in by the promise of flaky, crisp dough layered with herbs. Being a visual learner, I found the written instructions for shaping the dough difficult to picture at first, and I had to read them more than once before committing to the process. A quick visit to WoonHeng’s blog, however, provided the clarity I needed in the form of step-by-step photographs that made quick work of the procedure. Once pan-seared, the results justified the means entirely. Exteriors blistered into delicate, golden layers that shattered slightly at the edges while remaining tender within, they were fragrant, slightly chewy, and deeply satisfying in a way that needed no accoutrements.

The Sweet and Sour “Fish,” page 117, immediately grabbed my attention, having only ever encountered a version of it at one of my favorite local food trucks, Bodhi Viet Vegan. Here, WoonHeng builds the fish facsimile from a base of blended tofu and oyster mushrooms, wrapped in nori and rice paper, which is then seared, sliced, and seared again before being lacquered in a glossy sweet-and-sour sauce.

Truth be told, I felt like a complete novice as I stumbled through my first attempt. I likely wrapped the rolls too tightly, and during the first sear, the rice paper split in several places. Forget about making clean slices out of that mess. Fortunately, I was able to reshape most of the pieces into reasonably acceptable medallion shapes, which held together better after a light dusting of cornstarch and a final flash in the pan. Finishing the dish with fresh cucumber and tomato added the perfect contrast to the sharp sauce and soft protein. Though not as polished as I’d prefer, I’m still impressed that it’s possible to recreate such a rare delicacy right at home, rather than resorting to a store-bought option.

Loaded with colorful vegetables, chewy glass noodles, and tofu, the Pad Woon Sen (Stir Fried Glass Noodles), page 241, feels instantly familiar, even if you’ve never tried it before. An essential staple on any Thai menu, it’s a case study in balance and simplicity. Savory, salty, spicy, sour, and subtly sweet, I think it would be impossible for even the pickiest of eaters to find fault in the complete package. My only moment of hesitation came when I noticed the recipe called for cubing the tofu while the photo showed short batons, which seemed better suited to intertwining around the glossy, slippery noodles. It’s a tiny detail, though, and one that was quickly forgotten once I took my first bite.

It doesn’t take a trained eye to notice the author’s clear affinity for mushrooms in these pages. Used liberally as everything from a seasoning to meat-replacement, the fittingly named king oyster mushrooms are most commonly tapped for grand centerpieces. I couldn’t resist the idea of dressing up the most humble of fungus, the common white button mushroom, as Kung Pao Button Mushrooms, page 123. Unmistakably bold, sharp with the heat of both acid and spice, each lightly fried little morsel is a whole mouthful. If you’re craving an assertive, umami snack to serve with cold beer, you can’t do much better than this.

Dim sum has always captivated me, especially considering how few restaurants nearby cater to vegan clientele. Lo Bak Gou (Turnip or Radish Cakes), page 163, was one particular small plate I had been circling for quite sometime, always intending to make at home but never quite working up the nerve to try. Cut into neat slabs and crisp edges, gilded with a golden sear, I was certain they were more the work of a professional chef, not a home cook. This recipe proved the opposite. Straightforward, almost disarmingly so, and far more affordable than a comparatively meager order, my fears evaporated along with the steam escaping from the sautéed daikon. I took a small shortcut and crisped the pieces in the air fryer instead of shallow-frying, delivering delicate crusts giving way to creamy interiors, using a fraction of the oil.

Part of what makes The Vegan Asian Kitchen so valuable is its refusal to compromise. Ms. Chia introduces readers to ingredients, techniques, and dishes that remain underrepresented in most English-language vegan cookbooks. By the same token, that commitment can present challenges for those who lack access to well-stocked Asian markets.

The book also contains a wide range of complexity. Many recipes are approachable enough for weeknight cooking, while others demand considerable time, preparation, or technical skill. Rather than viewing this as a flaw, it may be more accurate to see the latter as aspirational, inviting adventurous foodies to expand their repertoires and try something new.

This is definitely a case where you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, unless you’re referring to the mouthwatering photography that hints of more to come. While “Asian” may be an imperfect descriptor, it can still serve as a doorway to stories, techniques, and flavors that deserve a closer look.

Sweet Beans: All About Adzuki

Drawn in by the scent of sweet pancakes sizzling between two iron plates, much like the nostalgic aroma of waffle cones in the ice cream parlors of my youth, I had no idea that this would be my first encounter with adzuki beans. I was in Japan for the first time, bearing more sweet teeth than a shark, and all I knew was that this captivating treat needed to be mine. Emerging from the hot press shaped like a rotund fish, everything about this indescribable flavor was a mystery. It wasn’t until long afterward that I discovered the leguminous truth. Given my impossibly picky nature at that time, it’s probably for the best.

Adzuki beans, often referred to as sweet red beans, aren’t called that for nothing. Though they’re traditionally boiled in a sugar syrup to enhance that aspect, wagashi (Japanese sweets) would be nothing without them. As one of the most ancient of legumes, they’ve played a crucial role in the development of society itself. We’re just so lucky that at this point in history, we can simply indulge in both the sweet and savory results.

A Bean With a Dream: A Brief History of Adzuki

The earliest ancestors of adzuki beans may have originated some 50,000 years ago in the foothills of the Himalayas, though they certainly didn’t look like the legume we know and love today. Domesticated adzuki beans can trace their lineage back over 10,000 years, first cultivated in Japan, eventually taking root across all of East Asia. They were one of the first crops subjected to selective breeding, long before the term GMO was bandied about, naturally favoring longer pods with fewer seeds and more consistent coloring.

Aside from their obvious culinary prowess as a foundational ingredient in macrobiotic cookery and modern pantries, they were revered as having magical powers. In both Korean and Japanese folklore, adzuki beans were believed to ward off evil spirits. Their vibrant red color symbolized protection and vitality. For centuries, they’ve been used not only in celebratory sweets like mochi, yokan, and dorayaki (more on that later), but also in temple offerings and new year dishes. Most notably, sekihan, a sticky rice steamed with adzuki, is a traditional harbinger of good luck.

Their name tells a story of accuracy, if not creativity. “Adzuki” comes from a Romanized spelling of the Japanese “azuki” (小豆), which roughly translates to “small bean.” In Chinese, they’re known as “hong dou” (红豆), AKA “red bean” Then, in Vietnamese, they’re called “đậu đỏ;” you guessed it, “red bean.”

What Do Adzuki Beans Taste Like?

Imagine the nutty, creamy softness of chestnuts, the mild sweetness of cooked oats, and the subtly tannic depth of black tea. Adzuki beans have a gentle, earthy flavor, with a surprising natural sweetness that lends itself to desserts. In fact, it wasn’t until my late teens that I even considered using them in any savory preparations.

Texturally, they’re supple but structured. They hold their shape, when a whole bean is desired, while just as easily blending into a silky-smooth puree. You can often find red bean paste (anko) canned with added sugar, which is either completely smooth or left slightly chunky, for making traditional sweets.

Anko

Nutrition For Days

Don’t let their diminutive size fool you; adzuki beans are compact nutritional powerhouses. Exceptionally high in protein and fiber, they’re low fat and high complex carbs, ideal for sustained energy. They’re rich in magnesium, potassium, iron, and zinc, along with proanthocyanidins, which are the same antioxidants found in red wine and berries. Because they’re smaller and less starchy than other beans, many find adzuki easier to digest.

In traditional Chinese medicine, they’re even used as a tonic for the kidneys and bladder, believed to balance yin energy and support circulation.

Macrobiotic principles, which draw from Buddhist philosophy and traditional Eastern medicine, consider adzuki beans to be uniquely balanced. Gentle, grounding, and nourishing, they’re considered the most warming of all beans, and thus, ideal for healing and gaining strength.

Unlike other beans, which can be heavy, gassy, or overly yin (cold and expansive), adzuki are seen as the most energetically balanced legume.

Zenzai

How to Cook Adzuki Beans

Though rarely sold in cans as whole, unsweetened beans, dry adzuki beans are remarkably cooperative. They’re one of the only beans that don’t require pre-soaking no matter the cooking method.

Always start by picking through to remove any stones or shriveled beans. Rinse and drain thoroughly. Use 1 part beans to 4 parts water, and save the salt until after they’re cooked. Macrobiotic cookery suggests adding kombu to the pot, much as you would bay leaves, to improve digestibility, add umami, and minerals like iodine, calcium, and magnesium.

  • Stove Top Method: In a large pot over medium heat, bring to a boil, reduce to low, and simmer uncovered for 40 – 60 minutes.
  • Pressure Cooker: Seal and cook over high pressure for 20 minutes. Allow for a natural release.

They’re done when soft but not split. Drain well and salt to taste.

  • Adzuki beans are also a wonderful candidate for sprouting! Soak for 8 – 12 hours, rinse twice daily, and in 3–4 days, you’ll have crisp, fresh sprouts with a sweet crunch, perfect for grain bowls, wraps, or salads.

IMG_1693 どら焼き dorayaki (wiggle 3D, look at the original size)

How to Use Adzuki Beans

Adzuki beans walk seamlessly between all worlds. Sweet, savory, rustic, refined; there’s a place for them at every table. Given how deeply rooted they are in many time-honored foodways, it’s difficult to compile every possible serving suggestion, or even hone it down to the best hits.

That said, I feel its my duty to at least try.

Japanese Dishes

  • Daifuku (Mochi): Perhaps the most iconic of all, these chewy pounded rice cakes are filled with sweetened adzuki paste (anko.)
  • Dorayaki: Two fluffy pancakes sandwich anko filling in the middle.
  • Yokan: Elegant, sliceable jellied anko made with agar. Firm, refined, and best served chilled with green tea.
  • Zenzai / Oshiruko: Warm red bean soup with mochi dumplings (dango). Soft, sweet, and soul-soothing on cold days.
  • Anmitsu / Mitsumame: Colorful agar cubes, fruits, and anko drizzled with kuromitsu (black sugar syrup), sometimes topped with ice cream for a summertime treat.
  • Taiyaki: Fish-shaped cakes filled with anko. Perfect for a portable treat, they’re closely associated with festivals and street fairs.

  • Manju: Dense steamed or baked buns filled with anko. They can simply be round or shaped like animals, such as birds, leaves, rabbits, and even Totoro!
  • Sekihan: Sticky glutinous rice steamed with adzuki beans, lightly salted. A celebratory dish for birthdays, weddings, and milestones, it symbolizes happiness and good fortune.
  • Amanatto: Candied beans that are lightly dried and coated in sugar, meant for snacking.

Chinese Dishes

  • Hong Dou Tang (紅豆湯): A classic dessert soup made with adzuki beans, often simmered with dried tangerine peel, lotus seeds, or barley. Served warm in the winter or chilled in the summer, it’s comforting, cleansing, and deeply nostalgic.
  • Red Bean Baozi (豆沙包): Soft, pillowy steamed buns filled with sweetened red bean paste. Commonly eaten for breakfast or dim sum, these are pure comfort food—lightly sweet, tender, and portable.
  • Mooncakes: In Mid-Autumn Festival, mooncakes come in many flavors. Sweet red bean paste is a common option, sometimes enriched with lotus seeds or jujubes for added complexity.
  • Red Bean Rice Cake (年糕): Similar to baked mochi, these glutinous rice cakes are studded with whole red beans and are a popular New Year treat, symbolizing luck and prosperity.
  • Red Bean Tangyuan: Chewy glutinous rice dumplings filled with sweet bean paste, served in a clear ginger syrup. Eaten during the Lantern Festival, these symbolize reunion and warmth.

[VIDEO] CÁCH LÀM CHÈ BA MÀU (CHÈ THẬP CẨM) – THREE-COLOR DESSERT

Vietnamese Dishes

  • Chè Đậu Đỏ / Chè Đậu Đen: Adzuki beans simmered with coconut milk and sugar, often served over crushed ice in the summer or warm with sticky rice in the winter.
  • Bánh Rán / Bánh Cam: Crisp, golden sesame-coated rice balls that have been deep-fried, sometimes smothered in a sticky sugar syrup, and filled with smooth red bean paste. Slightly chewy, deeply satisfying, and often found at street stalls.
  • Chè Ba Màu: Often described as “three layer pudding,” these colorful parfaits stack up adzuki bean and mung bean pastes, pandan jelly, and sweet coconut sauce. They’re served icy cold and are extremely popular when it’s hot out.

Modern & Fusion Dishes

  • Red Bean Ice Cream: Popular across Asia and beyond, adzuki bean ice cream has a creamy base with soft bean bits—earthy, sweet, and beautifully unexpected.
  • Adzuki Bean Mousse: Both elegant and earthy, adzuki bean mousse blends the creamy richness of a classic chocolate or vanilla mousse with the subtle sweetness and grounded depth of adzuki beans. It can be the main attraction, or part of a more complex dessert.
  • Smoothies & Lattes: Cooked adzuki beans can instantly pump up the protein and satiating factor for blended drinks.
  • Adzuki Brownies: Forget black bean brownies. Mashed adzuki beans mix seamlessly into batters, adding a nutty depth that plays surprisingly well with chocolate, while creating an uncanny fudge-like texture.
  • Meatless Burgers: Swap in adzuki for any of your favorite bean-based burger patties.
  • Wontons or Dumplings: Especially well-suited as filling for gyoza, AKA pot stickers, whole, mashed, or chopped beans are right at home wrapped up in dumpling skin.
  • Adzuki Hummus and Bean Dip: Anything chickpeas can do, adzuki can, too. It’s especially fun to play with the flavor palate to lean into its Asian origin by incorporating sesame oil, tamari, or a hint of ginger.
  • Spread on Toast: Anko makes a nutritious and tasty substitute for sugary fruit jams. For that matter, it’s just as satisfying in peanut butter sandwiches, or spread on bananas for a quick snack.
  • Soups, Stews, Curry, and Chili: Since adzuki beans hold up so well under pressure, they’re ideal for any simmered savory dish where you want your beans to stay intact.

Adzuki Beans: Past, Present, and Forever

It’s easy to overlook something as small and quiet as an adzuki bean. They’ve been around for thousands of years, unbothered by passing trends. They’ve touched countless lives, found themselves boiled, mashed, candied, fermented, steamed, and simmered, showing up in ceremonial meals and weekday soups. They’ve crossed borders and cultures, changed shape and form, and still managed to stay distinctive, true to form.

In a world where ingredients are constantly being rebranded and revitalized, adzuki beans are steady. They adapt, but they don’t ask for attention. When you cook with them, you’re not just following a recipe. You’re continuing something that began long before you, and will likely continue long after. Everyone should be so fortunate to have adzuki beans in their pantry.