how to cook pork riblets on the stove

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In the late 1980s, when I was an undergrad at the University of Southern California, I met Teresa C., a Hong Kong–born food lover and daughter of a Monterey Park Chinese restaurant manager. (Monterey Park, east of Los Angeles, is renowned for its vast array of Chinese eating options.) We hit it off in finance and statistics, and hung out a lot at her favorite restaurants where I gobbled up foods like Chinese-Islamic sesame bread with stir-fried lamb with green onions.

I'd become an adventurous eater but also wanted to become an adventurous cook. I needed a gateway recipe.

One day, I asked Teresa what her family liked to make—something easy. Her immediate response was: 1-2-3-4-5 beef, a shank simmered with rice wine, vinegar, sugar, soy sauce, and water. The "1-2-3-4-5" corresponded to a Chinese soup spoon ratio of ingredients in the order that she'd rattled off.

I memorized Teresa's formula and tried out the recipe. It was tangy and umami-laden, unctuous and beefy. Its doability lifted the veil of mystery that I'd placed upon Chinese cuisine. I regularly threw it together and worked up the confidence to try more complicated foods like pot stickers and steamed bao from scratch. Eventually, I relegated the 1-2-3-4-5 recipe to my freshman-level cooking experiments and forgot about it.

A Classic Reminder

Earlier this year another Chinese-American friend, Jim Kuo, suggested that I make his mother's 1-2-3-4-5 Spare Ribs. Jim is the son of legendary restaurateur and cookbook author Irene Kuo, whose tome The Key to Chinese Cooking is considered a classic. A mutual friend who knew that I'd adored the cookbook connected me to Jim a few years back.

An articulate man, Jim uncharacteristically described his mother's recipe as a "dump dish." As it turns out, like me, he had also been looking for an easy Chinese dish.

"Many years ago, I recall asking my mother for an easy party dish that required little preparation and even easier cooking technique, and without hesitation, she suggested these ribs," Jim noted. "Later, she demonstrated the recipe and I coined the term 'dump dish,' as she explained the technique of measuring the ingredients directly over the chopped ribs in a pan. She agreed in concept with the term 'dump,' but I think she was uncomfortable using such a colloquial expression herself."

The recipe's headnote does not include any clues about its origin, but Jim thinks it was something his mother grew up eating in Shanghai.

Insider Family Tips

The recipe from The Key to Chinese Cooking was dead simple except for the part about chopping the spare ribs through the bone into small pieces. Jim pointed out that Irene always used a heavy knife to prep whole chicken and small-boned cuts of meats. But what happens to lingering bone bits?

Her tip to her son was this: Wipe away bone fragments with a cloth or paper towel, and as needed, snip off sharp edges where bones have splintered.

Knowing my cleaver limits and wanting to avoid disasters, I headed to my local butcher, picked out a rack of St. Louis–style ribs and had him saw it through the bone into narrow strips. Then it was just a matter of cutting the rib strips into individual riblets and adding everything to a saucepan. I chose a low 2 1/2–quart pan that would allow the riblets to evenly cook in one layer.

The sherry, soy sauce, cider vinegar, and sugar lent an incredible combination of flavors: bitter, salty, sour, and sweet. The water facilitated initial cooking, but at the end of the line, the pork released its fat to gently fry the flesh and concentrate the seasonings around the dark-and-handsome riblets.

It was transformative to say the least—minimal-ingredient cooking at its best.

Bulletproof & Versatile

The genius of this recipe lies in its elasticity. For example, if you forget to have the butcher cut the ribs, they'll be harder to stir in the pan. The meat shrinks up so much around the bone that they'll resemble high-water pants. But even with an oversight like that, the ribs will still taste fine.

For the dry sherry, use a Fino or Amontillado style. You can also use Shaoxing rice wine, which wasn't well known in America in 1977, when Irene's cookbook was published.

Chinese dark soy sauce has a touch of molasses to impart a rich mahogany color to dishes. Pearl River Bridge is my go-to brand. When it's not available, substitute a 2:1 ratio of full-sodium soy sauce (such as Kikkoman) to molasses.

Want a little heat? Add two or three dried red chiles or one sliced jalapeno to the seasonings, Jim suggested.

The sherry, soy sauce, cider vinegar, and sugar lent an incredible combination of flavors: bitter, salty, sour, and sweet. It was transformative to say the least—minimal-ingredient cooking at its best.

Cook the liquid down as needed: Keep it saucy when enjoying it over rice or let it concentrate and become glazy when you're looking for the ultimate Chinese-style pupu-platter-ish spare rib nibble. A cucumber salad like this one by Naomi Duguid and Jeffrey Alford is a refreshing contrast to the rich riblets.

It's hard to go wrong with these spare ribs, whether you're a beginner or an advanced cook. It's a keeper formula that I won't forget ever again.

Ingredients

1 ¹/₂

pounds meaty spare ribs (ask the butcher to slice them into individual ribs and cut each rib crosswise into 3 pieces)

tablespoon dry sherry

tablespoons dark soy sauce

tablespoons cider vinegar

tablespoons sugar

tablespoons water