Which sweet potato you use changes the pot. Chestnut-type bam goguma cooks up dry and mild, while the moist hobak goguma comes out softer and sweeter. Either way, it is cut into 2 cm cubes and spread in a single layer over the rice, with only a pinch of salt.
Freshly cooked rice is pounded just until it holds together with some grains still whole, pressed thin onto a flat skewer, and ridged across the top with a fingertip. Those shallow ridges are what keep the sweet red miso sauce, ground with walnuts and sesame, from sliding off. In the mountains of central Japan, woodcutters and hunters made it the day before Yama no Ko, a gathering to pray for safety in mountain work; today it is a snack sold at sightseeing spots.
Open the lid and pieces of mackerel sit on a bed of gondre (Korean thistle greens), its oil and the greens' earthy aroma having soaked into the rice as it rested. The crust at the bottom gets a splash of water and is eaten as sungnyung, a toasted rice drink.
These rice balls were handed out to mikoshi carriers at the autumn Yawatanmachi festival in Tateyama, Chiba Prefecture, which is why they are big and shaped to hold in one hand. Inside is pork belly and fried tofu simmered sweet and salty with bonito flakes. The simmering liquid is cooked down until little remains, since it gets mixed into the rice too. One batch makes twenty.
The oysters go on only after the rice has absorbed nearly all its water, and they cook in the five-minute rest and nothing more. Added at the start, they would shrink and lose their sweetness. The rice itself is unseasoned; everyone stirs in their own soy, chili flake, scallion and sesame oil sauce.
Oysters go into the pot last, after the rice has broken down and the radish is soft, and they need only a few minutes to stay tender. Most of the work is the long simmer before that: rice and minced radish, first toasted in sesame oil, cook for over 30 minutes and like to stick to the bottom, so stir from the base often.
The rice has to hit the pan while the eggs are still soft and half set. Then each grain picks up a thin coat of egg, and what you get is evenly yellow fried rice rather than rice with lumps of scramble in it.
Rice, egg and sesame oil are nearly all there is, so the flavor is gentle. Seasoning stays light, just soup soy sauce and salt, so nothing covers the sesame oil, and the egg sits in the porridge as soft, thin ribbons.
Thin-sliced beef and onion simmer briefly in soy sauce, mirin, sugar and ginger and go over rice with their broth, and the ginger leaves a sharp edge at the end of all that sweetness.
The eggs are fried first, then the same pan goes up to high for the shrimp and squid, which come off the heat the moment they turn opaque. Whatever juices collect in the pan are poured over the rice along with the seafood.
Shrimp, squid and mussel meat hit the hot pan first, followed by carrot, egg and cold rice in turn. Soy sauce and oyster sauce are measured in teaspoons, enough to season without covering the seafood. Sesame oil goes in only after the heat is off, for its aroma.
As soon as the clams start giving up their liquid, the oyster sauce and soy go in, and thirty seconds later the cornstarch slurry. Cook it any longer and the squid toughens while the shrimp dry out. Thickened like this, the sauce sinks slowly into the rice instead of running straight to the bottom.
One pot does double duty: the water that poaches the chicken thighs becomes the cooking liquid for the rice. The heat stays low enough that only small bubbles rise at the edge, because a rolling boil splits and dries the meat.
Breaded pork cutlet, boiled potato, and softened cabbage share the plate, all under a single coconut milk curry sauce. Singapore's Hainanese curry rice usually comes with braised pork and several gravies; this home version drops those and keeps one sauce. The cutlet is a fully cooked store-bought one that only needs reheating, so there is no frying involved. Pour the sauce over just before eating, or the crust turns soggy.
Leftover rice pressed into a thin sheet and toasted slowly over low heat turns into crisp, nutty nurungji. Two tablespoons of water sprinkled over the rice act as glue, so the sheet holds together when you flip it. Once cooled and broken up, it is eaten as a snack or simmered in water into sungnyung, a toasty rice drink.
Most of the time goes into the onions, cooked in butter for eight minutes or more until the edges turn brown. Rush them and they only lose water without turning sweet, and the sauce ends up flat. The beef is cooked just until it changes color, then tomato paste, Worcestershire and flour turn the pan into a sauce that is spooned alongside the rice.
Toasted black sesame blended into a smooth liquid turns this rice porridge a deep charcoal gray and gives it a strong nutty aroma. The seeds are ground until completely smooth, since any remaining bits make the porridge feel sandy. Half a teaspoon of salt plus a teaspoon of sugar leaves it lightly sweet behind the sesame.
Black rice that has not soaked for at least an hour stays hard even once the white rice around it is cooked. The soaking water turns purple, and it goes into the pot as part of the cooking water, which deepens the color of the rice.
Toasted iriko (dried sardines), sesame and peanuts are pounded with miso, browned under the grill, then whisked into cold bonito stock until it is stronger than everyday miso soup. Torn tofu, cucumber, shiso, myoga and ginger float in it, and it is ladled over freshly cooked, hot barley rice. In Miyazaki it is said to have grown out of a farmhouse habit of putting raw miso and water on barley rice on hot days.
Sweet rice flour, not grains of rice, thickens this kabocha porridge, so it stays smooth all the way through. A teaspoon of ginger juice stirred in at the end leaves a warm, sharp note behind the squash and sugar.
Steamed kabocha is pureed and thickened with glutinous rice flour, so the porridge is completely smooth, with no grains of rice. Milk rounds out the sweetness, and a few pine nuts go on top.
The rice is spread out in the bowls and left to steam off for about three minutes before the cucumber, lettuce, perilla leaves and flounder go on. Straight onto hot rice, the fish would turn lukewarm. Half the cho-gochujang, a sweet-sour chili sauce, is drizzled on for the first mix, and the rest goes in to taste.
Instead of the usual cho-gochujang, this raw fish bowl is dressed with ssamjang loosened with vinegar and sesame oil, and the taste leans toward savory fermented soybean rather than sweet heat. The vegetables are not dressed ahead, and the bowl gets only two or three turns when it is mixed.
The mussels are boiled first, the meat set aside, and the strained cooking liquid becomes the water for the rice. That is why the grains themselves taste of mussel. The meat goes back on top of the finished rice, along with some minari, a Korean water dropwort.