Canned whole tomatoes go in with their juice and are crushed with a spatula and fried first to drive off water. The cream gets only 3 minutes on the heat, and the soup keeps its bright tomato red.
In Kagoshima, tonjiru is made with barley miso, which is sweet and mellow. Pork, daikon, taro, konjac and atsuage (thick fried tofu) go in so generously that they nearly fill the bowl, and thin scallions and slivers of ginger go on top.
Taro comes into season around Chuseok, the Korean harvest holiday, and this soup often appears on the holiday table. Cooked taro has a finer grain than potato: it crumbles softly yet keeps a slight stickiness, and ground perilla seeds turn the broth milky and nutty. The taro is parboiled in its skin and then rubbed in salted water to wash off the slippery coating, which keeps the soup from turning cloudy or gluey.
Taro stems, the stalks of the taro plant, soak up broth like a sponge but keep a firm, springy chew. A generous amount of ground perilla seed, added in stages, makes the soup pale and thick, and when rice goes into the bowl the broth seeps between the grains.
Only two spoonfuls of ground perilla go in, and even with taro stems in the pot this stays close to a clear soup rather than a thick perilla stew. The stems are peeled of their tough outer fibers and the thick ones split by hand, so the chew never turns stringy.
Seven ingredients, all diced to the same 1.5cm, float in a clear soy-seasoned broth: chicken, shiitake, taro, chikuwa, konjac, carrot and grilled tofu. In the Hitoyoshi and Kuma area of Kumamoto, families keep the count odd, seven or nine, and serve the soup with red rice and nishime at occasions such as the Okunchi festival. It also grew out of thrift, since trimmings left from making nishime could become a complete dish. The tofu is added last so the cubes stay neat.
Adding dumplings to rice cake soup stretches one pot to feed more people, and starch from the wrappers thickens the bone broth slightly.
People in Korea still say that eating a bowl on New Year's Day adds a year to your age. In the hot broth the oval slices of rice cake loosen on the surface, giving the soup a little body, while the centers stay dense and chewy. This version simmers bite-sized beef straight in water instead of starting from bone stock, for a lighter broth.
Rice cake has no place in this New Year zoni from the Iya area of Tokushima; firm rock tofu and taro fill the bowl instead. Two long slabs of tofu are crossed on top of the taro, a shape silken tofu cannot hold, and heavily pressed extra-firm tofu is the fallback. The bowl gets just a small pour of hot broth, leaving the crossed tofu in view.
Flattened into flower-like discs, the soybeans cook faster than whole beans, take seasoning right to the center and release a nutty body into the broth. The method grew from storing winter protein in snowy northern Shiga, and the soup is often served as oko-jiru at Buddhist Hoonko gatherings.
Stir-frying the beef and burdock in sesame oil before any water goes in gives the broth a toasted aroma and a light brown tint. Even after a long simmer the burdock never goes fully soft and keeps some chew. A short soak in cold water after slicing limits browning and astringency.
Doenjang stirred into rice-rinsing water gives this soup a softer, rounder broth. The tough outer napa leaves (ugeoji) simmer until they hang limp from a spoon, and a little cheongyang chili at the end leaves a sharp kick.
Napa outer leaves (ugeoji) tossed with doenjang go into the broth from boiled beef brisket along with soybean sprouts, and the brisket itself is torn along the grain and returned to the pot. A little chili flake brings mild heat over the doenjang, and the heat goes off while the sprouts still crunch.
The broth is a ruddy brown, nutty from doenjang and spicy from chili flakes. The outer cabbage leaves (ugeoji) soak it up the longer they simmer, so each soft spoonful of greens comes up full of seasoned broth.
Three and a half hours over low heat turn the skin and tendons of beef trotters springy and gelatinous, and the broth comes out milky white. Salt is the seasoning, and some people dip each bite in a little salted shrimp or hot mustard.
Simmering the whole rockfish, bones and all, gives the broth a body that fillets alone cannot. Its many fine bones call for care at the table, but they are also where the broth gets its flavor.
Because this soup is served cold, it gets seasoned a little more heavily than usual while still warm. Chilling dulls the taste of salt. Only the leek whites go in, cooked gently in butter without browning, and the soup stays a pale cream color.
Onion and celery are sauteed, simmered in stock and blended, then smooth peanut butter and cream are stirred in. Chunky peanut butter would spoil that smooth texture, and the only crunch comes from chopped roasted peanuts scattered on top.
Meatballs of ground beef and tofu simmer in anchovy broth, and when they fail, it is usually the mixture's fault. Tofu that still holds water, or a ball with a cracked surface, tends to fall apart in the pot. The tofu gets squeezed hard, and each ball is pressed smooth wherever it splits.
Part of the white beans is mashed with a fork and stirred back in, thickening the broth without flour, while the rest stay whole. The chicken is already cooked and simply shredded, and the heat level is built around mild canned green chiles.
Dongara refers to the head and bony trimmings of the cod. In the Shonai area of Yamagata, spawning cod goes into one pot from flesh to liver to milt or roe, and the liver melts into the miso broth, making it rich and savory. At home it is made from a cod hot-pot set cleaned by a fishmonger, with the gallbladder, gills and intestines already removed.
Buckwheat flour kneaded with crumbled firm tofu is pressed into willow-leaf shapes, pointed at both ends and slightly plump in the middle, which keeps a springy buckwheat bite. This miso soup from northern Iwate takes less work than cutting fine soba noodles yet still tastes clearly of buckwheat. Anyone with a buckwheat allergy should not be served it.
Chewy beef tripe, soft blood curd and soybean sprouts share a doenjang-seasoned bone broth, and the bowl is heavy with them. The green onion and chili oil wait until after the 20-minute simmer, leaving the red oil floating on top.
No stock is made for this soup. Sliced Korean radish simmers in plain water for six minutes, then the clams go in, and the salty juice they release as their shells open is what flavors the broth. The young radish greens (yeolmu) get only the last three minutes and reach the bowl with their stems still crisp.