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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My column ran today in The Orange County Register print edition today. It’s not available online, so I’ve posted it here. Thanks for reading!
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Every year, we look forward to the annual holiday eating rituals: A golden, grand dame of a turkey, savory sides and a sweet finale with pumpkin pie front and center. (And if you’re household is like mine, the obligatory post-feast nap follows soon after.)

Though there’s nothing wrong with these traditions, why not mix it up a bit? This year, you may want to surprise your guests by serving pumpkin pie at the beginning of the meal instead of at dessert. How? By turning it into a soup. The transformation can be made even easier by using canned pumpkin instead of fresh, yielding fantastic results.

Canned food often gets a bad rap for being, well, canned. And rightly so; fresh ingredients are almost always better in recipes. But there are few exceptions to this rule, and canned pumpkin is one of them. For one, the canned variety is way easier to use. When you’ve got your hands full with roasting a bird and preparing sides to go with it, chopping, boiling and mashing fresh pumpkin isn’t making the best use of your time. Tip: When buying canned pumpkin, make sure you’re getting “pumpkin puree” instead of “pumpkin pie mix,” which is offered in similar-sized cans with almost identical labels.

This recipe yields a spicy soup that’s just reminiscent enough of a pumpkin pie to seem like a before-dinner treat, but packs enough savory ingredients to warrant it a place as a starter or first course. And with the welcome addition of bacon, cream and butter (necessary ingredients for happiness, in my opinion), everyone’s a winner.

The following long list of ingredients may look intimidating, but I promise the procedures are quite simple: You simply cook everything in one pot. If you have a formal party and want an elegant soup, you can puree it for a soft, velvety texture. But it’s just as good when left as a hearty, rustic soup.

When I make this soup, I like to serve it with pie crust “crackers” on the side. Take some ready-made pie dough (or homemade, if you have it), roll it out and use cookie cutters to cut rounds from the dough. Bake rounds on a baking sheet according to package directions.

Another fun way to serve this soup is in shot glasses. If there are appetizers before dinner, you can easily slide a tray of these onto any table, and guests can help themselves to pumpkin soup shooters. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

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Beware, fellow foodies, of the population that boasts membership to our brotherhood but who are actually in a different class all to themselves. They’re called “food snobs.” And they’re very, very dangerous.

Foodies are always looking for what we call “authentic” cuisine, but we know that the term is a loose one and can mean any number of things, depending on the individual foodie. But for food snobs, the word “authentic” is rigidly defined.

Examples: Food snobs wanting Italian will only go to a place owned by a Scarface mob boss twirling his moustache and plotting your off if you make a face like his Nonna’s spaghetti has too much salt. For a bowl of pho, food snobs will only walk into the shoebox-of-a-restaurant with a lucky dollar on the wall and an English-translated menu that you want to edit with a thick, red Sharpie.

Foodies also frequent these places (which are actually quite good), but unlike food snobs, we are willing to try that Italian place owned by Koreans or the Vietnamese place out in the middle of Kansas. Food snobs will not.

Food snobs also think “authentic” means “extreme.” $50 for cassoulet at a French bistro? Authentique. 50 cents for a street taco? Muy autentico. Foodies love these places too, but we also frequent places where cassoulet doesn’t cost an arm and a leg and tacos cost $5. Food snobs will not.

Foodies know that cuisine can be authentic as long as it’s made with good intentions. Which means we think stellar of that pizza place owned by the blond with the beer gut. Which means we heart Rick Bayless. In the eyes of a foodie, the people who produce authentic food are the people who produce dishes enthusiastically, with passion. People like you and me.

So what else does authenticity mean to foodies? It means that you can make chicken tikka masala without a drop of Indian blood coursing through your veins. And it means that I, a Viet/Irish/Italian hybrid, can make a decent bowl of pho. My recipe may not be authentic by food-snob definition, but you can be sure that its intentions are good.

(CLICK ON LINK BELOW FOR RECIPE)

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