cookbook Archives - BitterSweet

Hail, Caesar!

Applying heat to lettuce goes against everything I’ve ever been taught about the proper treatment of delicate leafy greens. Scared off by visions of slimy, wilted iceberg, the mere concept of tossing a few defenseless heads of romaine onto a roaring grill sounds like some nauseating joke. Heat and its transformative properties have the last laugh though; screaming-hot grates merely char the surface, imparting a bold new world of flavor in their wake while leaving the refreshingly crisp heart intact.

Bringing the Heat

In mere minutes, the outer leaves begin to blister and char around the edges, picking up a heady smokiness that no bottled dressing could ever imitate. Still, the center remains impossibly cool and crunchy, creating a study in contrasts with every bite: warm and cold, tender and crisp, bitter and sweet vegetal freshness. Drenched in a bold, punchy garlic dressing, heightened with lemon, briny capers, and enough umami to make your taste buds sing, it plays the classic tune in a new key.

Side or Centerpiece

Effortlessly elegant as a side dish, it’s equally happy stealing the spotlight for dinner. You’ve got beans in the dressing for your protein, after all, if you’re worried about nutritional balance. In that case, I’d say this recipe serves one, so plan to double up or don’t plan to share. This recipe was originally printed in my best-selling cookbook, Real Food, Really Fast! and is still a regular guest at my table to this day.

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September 4, 2026September 4, 2026

Hannah (BitterSweet)4 Comments

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.

August 14, 2026August 15, 2026

Hannah (BitterSweet)13 Comments

Cook This Book: Tamu

I know remarkably little about African cuisine, but what I do know, unfortunately, is that I’m not alone in that. We consider ourselves a global society, immutably interconnected from here on out, and yet outside of Africa, which is the second largest continent on Earth, the food is largely lost in translation.

Even in the most diverse, metropolitan cities in America, where so many other cultures are celebrated, finding a restaurant specializing in any African food is like striking gold. I mean that both in the sense that the chances of it happening are exceedingly rare, and if you do happen to luck out, you’ll be truly rich.

That’s why I was so quite frankly thunderstruck by the depth and breadth of culinary knowledge contained within the pages of Tamu: A Journey Through Africa’s Plant-Based Cuisine by Jane Nshuti.

Right out of the gate, this is different from the average cookbook. Written with a distinct perspective and zero pretense, Ms. Nshuti manages to bridge the divide between instruction and inspiration seamlessly. She stays true to her heritage, writing from only her perspective and experiences to share a genuine, personal account of a life lived through food.

Ingredients are explained, not dumbed down, refusing to pander to the lowest common denominator. If you’re hungry to learn, all the tools and information you need are right here, at your disposal. Ravenous to expand my own palate, it was a revelation to read about so many ingredients and dishes that have never even been my radar before.

First off, Africa is not a monolith. Elegantly illustrating this point, recipe chapters are divided by country of origin, each one part of Ms. Nshuti’s personal path. Debunking the misconceptions that African food is “too starchy, too heavy, and too meaty” with every turn of the page, the fact that the whole book is vegan wouldn’t even register if not overtly stated. Having grown up with limited means herself, it feels like a wildly affordable luxury every time I sat down with a new dish in front of me. Abundance is implied; joy is inherent.

Green Banana Curry (page 96) from Tanzania provided my first real introduction to matoke, which are confusingly referred to as simply “green bananas” in most cases. No, they’re not unripe Cavendish bananas nor plantains, matoke are small, starchy, and vaguely reminiscent of white sweet potatoes when cooked. Stewed with coconut milk, spices, and vibrant fresh vegetables, the dish is positively dazzling. It’s an easy entry point towards appreciating the understated magnificence of this misunderstood staple.

Egusi Soup (page 164) from Nigeria had been on my wish list for a very long time. Egusi seeds, derived a melon distantly related to the watermelon, are ground into a coarse paste to form the rich foundation of this stew. Eggplant, mushrooms and soy strips take the place of animal protein, though you could easily adapt that to anything you have on hand. Spiked by the heat of habanero, dawadawa seeds (fermented locust beans) add an irreplaceable complexity that’s utterly crave-worthy. Perhaps it’s an unorthodox addition, but I thought that a dollop of shito makes it even better.

My only critique is that while the photo shows some sort of greens cooked down into the mix, there’s no mention of anything of the sort in the recipe or accompanying text. Further research tells me that ugwu (fluted pumpkin leaf), uziza leaf (pepper leaf), bitter leaf, or waterleaf are traditional inclusions, while spinach, kale, or collard greens are common alternatives outside of Africa.

Banfora Cakes (page 206) from Burkina Faso are often described as pineapple Welsh cakes, which fall somewhere between scones and pancakes, cooked on a hot griddle. I’d like to further confuse the uninitiated by saying that they remind me of sweet biscuits, crispy around the edges and fluffy on the inside, perfectly at home on the dinner table if not for the finishing sprinkle of cinnamon sugar on top. They strike me as the ideal solution to urgent cravings, since they use basic staples and come together in roughly 30 minutes from start to finish.

Umureti Wa Okara (page 19) is just one example of how the author maintains her distinct perspective in honoring traditional African foods while also using their inspiration to create her own unique dishes. A simple chickpea flour omelette gets a new lease on life with the addition of pan-fried okra and fresh cilantro. It blurs the boundaries between nations, speaking fluently in the universal language of a good meal. That said, my omelette quickly turned into a scramble, failing twice to hold together as intended. Purportedly just a single serving, it easily turned into two, or even three if served with a side.

Some chapters are necessarily shorter than others. Relaying memories alongside recipes flowing naturally from storytelling to suppertime, each page is a reflection of the Ms. Nshuti’s life; nothing more, nothing less. For places that made a bigger impact on her passion for cooking, there are naturally more recipes inspired by those experiences. There’s no breathless hyperbole pushing the reader along. Instead, we’re only asked to follow, if we’re hungry and curious enough, to learn more.

“Tamu” can be translated as sweet, pleasant, nice, or tasty, depending on who you ask. All seem like fine explanations for the contents of this cookbook, though I’d argue it deserves greater praise than that.

July 24, 2026July 25, 2026

Hannah (BitterSweet)6 Comments