Mallow leaves give this doenjang soup a slightly thick, silky broth, so it feels different in the mouth from a spinach or radish version. Koreans have grown mallow in home gardens and made this soup since the Joseon era, and fresh mallow is at its most tender in early summer.
Pork stock thickened lightly with tapioca starch carries crab meat, thick chewy banh canh noodles, and soft curds of egg in this southern Vietnamese soup. The broth should just coat the back of a spoon, and it keeps thickening after the heat is off, so a splash of hot stock at the end loosens it.
In Emilia-Romagna, small stuffed pasta served in a clear meat broth is closely tied to Christmas and holiday meals. This version keeps it quick with store-bought tortellini and chicken broth: finely diced carrot, celery, and onion simmer for 10 minutes just to perfume the liquid, and the broth stays at a gentle bubble so it remains clear. Grated parmesan finishes each bowl.
Brisket and thin slices of radish are stir-fried in sesame oil before any water is added, which lays a nutty base under the chili-red broth of this market-style beef soup. Blanched outer cabbage leaves (ugeoji) soak up the broth and turn silky over the long simmer.
Rice and chicken breast cook in the stock first, then eggs beaten with lemon juice turn the broth thick and tart. Hot stock is whisked into the eggs a ladle at a time to warm them, and once they are in the pot the soup never comes back to a boil.
Halved onion and ginger, charred black in a dry pan, lose their raw bite and lend a caramel sweetness to an otherwise clear broth. Thin slices of Korean chadolbaegi brisket go into the bowl raw and cook only from the boiling broth poured over them, staying soft and juicy. The thinner the slices, the better that brief heat reaches the middle. The marbled brisket fat adds more body than standard pho, landing somewhere between Korean gomtang and Vietnamese pho. Bean sprouts, cilantro, and lime on the side let each person tune aroma and acidity, with the cilantro added just before eating so its scent stays fresh.
Slippery strips of acorn jelly (dotorimuk, a firm, mild starch jelly) sit over rice in an ice-cold broth of kimchi juice and water, with chopped kimchi in the middle for crunch. Sesame oil tossed through the rice and a scattering of seaweed flakes give a nutty, toasty note that cold broth would otherwise lack. Apart from the rice, nothing needs cooking, which makes it a summer bowl.
Sweetened azuki beans and red-and-white rice dumplings sit in a lightly salted clear broth, putting sweet and savory in the same bowl. Itokoni from Yamaguchi Prefecture changes from area to area in its broth and ingredients, and this recipe follows the clear-soup style of Hagi. Setting dumplings tinted red beside white ones comes from the colors used at celebrations.
Five minutes in soy-and-mirin-seasoned bonito dashi is enough for shiitake and oyster mushrooms to spread their savory, woodsy flavor through the whole broth. Tearing the oyster mushrooms along the grain, instead of slicing them, lets them soak up more liquid. The soba cooks in a separate pot and gets rinsed in cold water, washing off surface starch that would cloud the broth and leave the noodles limp. A pinch of grated yuzu zest at the end floats a sharp citrus note over the earthy broth so the bowl finishes light, and sliced chives add color.
Bean sprouts simmer uncovered in anchovy stock for just 5 to 6 minutes, long enough to drive off their raw, grassy smell but short enough to keep them crunchy. This is the Jeonju style of kongnamul gukbap, a sprout soup poured over rice. An egg is slipped in whole rather than beaten, and it is ready when the white has set around a still-soft yolk. Seaweed flakes and a pinch of chili flakes go on top, and in Korea it is a common hangover meal.
Perilla seed powder turns the broth a pale cream color and brings a grassy, nutty smell unlike sesame oil or sesame seeds. The base is doenjang dissolved in rice-rinsing water rather than a fish stock. It belongs with the Korean perilla soups made from dried radish greens or mushrooms, and it comes to the table with white rice once autumn starts to turn cold.
The broth gets its heat from dried chilies and smells of lemongrass, with a salty depth from fermented shrimp, and the noodles are bún, thick rice noodles that are round in cross-section. Bean sprouts and lime go on the side, and a few slices of cooked pork blood sausage bring the bowl closer to how it is served in Hue.
Pyongyang once ate this chicken and rice soup for breakfast. With no doenjang or gochujang and salt as the only seasoning, any cloudiness in the broth shows up in the taste. The chicken, scallion and garlic are kept at a bare simmer for 45 minutes. Rice goes into the bowl first, then the broth with its shiitake, and the shredded chicken on top.
Everything in this napa cabbage doenjang soup is easy to find, and half a spoonful of gochujang gives the broth a reddish tint and a mild heat. Doenjang brands differ a lot in saltiness. The paste goes in light at first, and the pot is adjusted with more doenjang or water at the end.
Soft crab balls rise through a red, tomato-sour broth in this Vietnamese noodle soup. In northern Vietnam the traditional version pounds whole paddy crabs and strains the liquid, which sets into a custard-like layer as it heats, while this recipe mixes crabmeat, ground pork and egg into a sticky paste instead. Everything rides on the balls holding together: the paste goes by the spoonful into broth that is barely moving and stays unstirred until the pieces firm up. Shrimp paste goes in a little at a time because it is strongly salty.
Boneless mackerel means you can pour the doenjang broth straight over rice without picking out bones. Siraegi (dried radish greens) simmered until the stems are tender makes the broth deep and earthy, and the chili-seasoned fish gives it a little bite.
Midwinter napa cabbage grows sweeter the more cold it weathers, and simmered from cold water with radish it sweetens the broth with no separate stock. The oysters go in last for a minute or two, and since they bring plenty of salt, the soy sauce stays light.
Only the foam gets skimmed from this doenjang broth, and the brisket fat left in gives the soybean-paste soup a rich, beefy body. Onion, zucchini, and oyster mushrooms simmer before the meat goes in, and their sweetness softens the salty, fermented edge of the paste. The final adjustment comes from soup soy sauce rather than more paste, since doenjang brands differ in saltiness. The thick knife-cut noodles cook right in the pot rather than separately, thickening the broth with their starch and giving it a heavier, almost creamy feel. If the soup reduces until it turns too cloudy or salty, 100 ml of water and one more boil set it right.
Beef head meat simmers with radish, scallion and garlic for two and a half hours until the broth turns milky. The meat is then lifted out, pulled along the grain or sliced thin, and returned to the strained broth with salt and black pepper. Before all that, it is soaked in cold water and blanched for five minutes, and that first water is thrown away.
No anchovy or kelp stock here, just the liquor from the clams and the sweetness of napa cabbage, so the soup tastes clean and gentle. That also means any leftover grit has nowhere to hide, which is why the clams need a thorough soak beforehand.
A clear, gently beefy broth carries thin somyeon, slices of brisket, and a handful of minari, the Korean water parsley whose sharp, grassy smell rises first from the bowl. Seasoning stays minimal, just soup soy sauce, garlic, salt, and pepper, and with the floating fat skimmed off, the brisket adds savoriness without making the soup greasy.
What arrives looks like a clear soup of tofu cubes and sliced shiitake; the rice only appears when a spoon reaches the bottom of the bowl. That hidden portion is kept small so the soup and tofu can cover it completely. The broth comes from kombu and fresh shiitake and is skimmed during simmering to stay clear, and the firm tofu cubes are cooked gently so they hold their edges. Scallion, minced mandarin peel, grated ginger, and crushed sesame go on at the table, each diner adding as much as they like.
In this clam soup the radish is eaten as eagerly as the clams. It simmers for about seven minutes before the white clams and a spoonful of cheongju (clear rice wine) go in, then softens as it soaks up their broth. Salt is added only in pinches, after tasting.
Chogye guksu gets its broth from the same pot that poaches the chicken: the stock is chilled, then sharpened with vinegar and Korean hot mustard until it tastes tart, icy, and slightly nose-tingling. The mustard waits until the stock is fully cold, because warm liquid drives off its volatile aroma. The chicken breast is shredded only after it cools completely, since tearing it hot lets the juices run out and leaves dry strands. Thin matchsticks of cucumber and radish add crunch, and cut to the same width they twirl up evenly with the noodles. It is a summer dish for days when appetite runs low.