The Beauty of Braised Bok Choy

And while any cooking method can put its features to good use, the brassica’s stature and hardiness make it particularly fine for braising.

Unlike a quick toss in a hot wok or skillet, which smooths the stems’ raw edge while allowing them to retain juicy crunch, braising shows off bok choy’s softer side. The stiff stalks turn silky and supple without losing their shape, so your teeth sink into the vegetable rather than snap it apart.

Plus, the braising liquid can double as a flavor conduit: Even briefly simmering the stems in a covered pan encourages them to absorb its seasonings—which can be traditional Chinese flavors such as soy sauce and scallions or any combination of herbs, aromatics, citrus, or other flavorful liquids that enliven the vegetable’s mellow profile.   

There’s just some quick knife work to do first.

Start by separating the leaves from the stems (easy to do, since the two components are so clearly distinguished from one another) and cutting them into bite-size pieces; that way, you can add them to the pan toward the end of cooking and preserve their verdant color and freshness.

Then, slice the stalks at a 45-degree angle into 1-inch-thick pieces. The thin pieces cook through quickly and evenly, and cutting them on the bias maximizes the surface on which the flavorful braising liquid can settle and exposes as much of the vegetable’s capillary structure as possible (think: cutting fresh flower stems on a bias to increase water uptake) so that it soaks up the saucy liquid.

Adding butter to the braising liquid would accentuate the stems’ luscious texture and delicate minerality, so I melted a few tablespoons in a skillet and threw in a clove of sliced garlic.

Then I added the sliced bok choy stems, half a cup of water, and some salt and lemon juice to brighten up the liquid; brought the pan to a simmer; slid on a cover; and let it bubble away for about 8 minutes. At that point, the stems were nearly tender and the braising liquid was still quite runny, so I finished the cooking uncovered.

Five or so minutes later, the stems were silky and lightly glazed in the glossy reduction. 

There was just enough of that makeshift butter sauce to wilt the greens, which grabbed the satiny liquid in their vibrant folds. Off the heat, I seasoned the pan with salt and pepper and finished it with some chopped fresh dill (chives and parsley work equally well). It was clean, lush, and fresh, the perfect sidekick to any protein—and that buttery glaze made it a real treat to spoon over rice.