When I was a kid, coming home from school to the aromas of cinnamon, star anise and ginger meant that we would have pho for dinner. Score! I’d throw my backpack on the couch and run to the kitchen to watch my grandfather char onions halves and ginger over the open flame of a burner until they turned black. He’d let me add them into the pot when they had cooled a bit.

When I got older and moved out of the house, I took those scents along with me. Nowadays, it seems I can’t make a stock or broth without using those ingredients to flavor them. There’s always a little Vietnamese inspiration in even the most American soups I serve, like split pea or even this chicken and rice soup. It’s good for any occasion, even an elegant one, if you know how to plate it. I’ll explain.

Say you’ve made this soup and you’re eating it out of a mug, only later you realize that you need something more elegant. In other words, something to help you apologize to your boyfriend after you’ve had a fight. Well, you can turn this soup from homey to handsome with just a few tricks. Pack the rice into a small ramekin to mold it into a circular shape, then overturn the ramekin onto a shallow bowl. You’ll have a neat little rice mound where you can artfully arrange the shredded chicken and parsley. And here’s the kicker: If you’re really in the doghouse with your boyfriend, you pour the hot chicken broth into the bowls at tableside. Now that’s service that says “I’m sorry.”

(Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.”)

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I know we’re truly in the thick of winter when I bust out the papillote recipes left and right. The season and the dish remind me of each other: both bursting with warmth and comfort on the inside, like what I would imagine a family home with central heating and a fireplace would feel like. Since my apartment doesn’t have either of those, I cook en papillote to give me that same feeling of perceived warmth, and for the most part, it’s achieved, albeit on a much smaller scale. My toes are still frozen and I’m a blanket mummy, but my stomach is a happy camper, as warm as can be.

Papillote is a one-shot dish in which you place raw ingredients on a sheet of parchment paper, wrap them up like a parcel and cook the whole thing in the oven. The parchment essentially steams everything into a vibrantly flavored meal, trapping in all the aromas and juices that would have otherwise escaped in baking or sauteeing.

And perhaps what I love most about the cooking method is that it’s almost wrong how good the dish is, considering that it doesn’t adhere to the age-old notion of “the tougher the job, the greater the reward.” It’s quite the opposite — the result is exponentially greater than the minimal effort going into it. Conclusion? George Allen has probably never had the pleasure of cooking en papillote.

Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for two papillote recipes.

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