The mussels are added with a spoonful of rice wine and boiled uncovered for five minutes, letting the fishy steam escape while the taste of the sea stays in the broth. Any still closed by then are taken out and thrown away.
Wide flour noodles from Yamanashi simmer straight in miso broth with kabocha, potato, daikon, and napa cabbage, leaving the soup thick and slow to cool. In mountain areas poorly suited to rice, houtou long served as a staple, and its lasting warmth means it is eaten most often in winter. Unlike udon, the dough has no salt and the floured strips are never boiled on their own, which leaves their starch to thicken the pot.
Buckwheat dough rolled between the palms into thin strands shaped like little loach fish cooks gently in a dashi full of vegetables. Bound with egg and hot water, the dough should be as soft as an earlobe without sticking badly to the hands. Burdock, carrot, kabocha, napa cabbage, shiitake and chikuwa fish cake share the pot, which holds far more than a plain flour-dumpling soup.
From the Cambodian immigrant communities of Phnom Penh, this clear rice noodle soup crossed into southern Vietnam and settled into Saigon's street food. Fish sauce and a little sugar give the pork broth its savory-sweet southern balance, and this recipe starts from ready-made pork bone stock rather than simmering bones. Once seasoned, the broth drops to low heat so it stays clear and fragrant. Ground pork fried with garlic until dry and crumbly sits on top as a contrast to the silky broth. The shrimp spend only about a minute in boiling water and come out as soon as they turn pink, which keeps them tender.
There is no dough: buckwheat flour is scattered straight into simmering anchovy broth and cooks into small lumps that hold the liquid. Leftovers firm up as they cool, and cut small and browned in a dry pan they are good all over again.
Tiny freshwater corbicula clams, a specialty of Hadong along the Seomjin River in South Gyeongsang, give this noodle soup a broth that tastes strongly of shellfish yet stays light and clear. Restaurants along the river serve the clams in many forms and treat them as the defining local taste. Seasoning is kept to soup soy sauce and a little salt so the clams lead, while one cheongyang chili adds quiet background heat. Skipping the straining step leaves grit and an earthy taste that clouds that clean flavor. The somyeon is boiled separately and scrubbed hard in cold water, since leftover starch would cloud the strained broth all over again.
The dried pollock strips soak in cold water for only five minutes. Any longer and the savory flavor leaches out while the flesh goes soft. Toasted in sesame oil and simmered with bean sprouts for fifteen minutes, they turn the broth faintly milky, and a spoonful of doenjang makes a heavier version.
The name comes from the custom of serving noodles to guests at weddings, birthdays and first-birthday parties. Anchovy and kelp make the broth, and seasoning it with soup soy sauce alone keeps it transparent rather than cloudy. The toppings sit in separate colors: zucchini, carrot, yellow and white egg strips, and crumbled seaweed. Kelp comes out of the pot first, since left too long it turns the broth bitter.
After soaking, the dried pollack strips are picked over for thick bones, torn by hand, and toasted in sesame oil until their edges curl before any water goes in. Tofu and egg poured in a circle keep the broth clear and mild, and in Korea it is a common pot the morning after a night of drinking.
Gochujang and doenjang dissolved together into anchovy-kelp stock give this Gangwon-style knife-cut noodle soup its red, fiery broth. It comes from the province's mountainous interior, where it warmed workers through the cold seasons. The chili paste brings rounded sweetness and heat, the soybean paste an earthy depth, and an extra spoon of gochugaru sharpens the finish. Potato breaks down at the edges as it simmers, thickening the soup with no added starch, so the noodles end up in something closer to a stew than a clear broth. Fresh noodles need constant stirring for the first 30 seconds or their starch clumps, and after that a steady medium heat with the odd scrape of the bottom keeps the thick broth from catching or reducing too far.
Napa cabbage and onion line the bottom of the pot, beef goes on top, minari (Korean water parsley) rings the edge, and the octopus sits highest of all. When its legs curl up and turn bright red, the heat goes off at once and everything is ladled out with the broth.
Scallion-infused oil, a hot wok and a quick toss of chili flakes give this red seafood soup its smoky, spicy base. The flakes stay in the oil only briefly, since even a little scorching leaves the whole pot bitter. Chicken stock carries the broth while squid and mussels add their own savoriness, and soy sauce ties the seasoning together and darkens the soup to a reddish brown. Wilted cabbage and onion soften the heat with sweetness. Seafood toughens with long boiling, so once the broth comes up to a boil it is ladled straight over chewy wheat noodles cooked in a separate pot.
Caldo verde means green broth in Portuguese. The soup is thickened with nothing but blended potato, no cream, and carries kale cut fine as thread along with a few slices of smoked sausage.
It is just udon in a broth of bonito flakes and kombu, topped with a few slices of kamaboko fish cake and some scallion. Nearly all the work goes into seasoning that broth so it stays clear and light rather than salty.
Tuna from the can is tipped in along with all its oil, giving the broth a savory richness. The kimchi brine is held back at the start and used at the end, after tasting, to make up whatever salt and sourness the pot still needs.
Thin sheets of buckwheat dough, cut into triangles, simmer with daikon and tofu and are lifted out one at a time for dipping in garlic miso. Each piece has a soft, thin edge and a slightly springier center. The pungent garlic miso carries the flavor, since the buckwheat, tofu, and broth are all mild. The name is local dialect for a piece or edge, and one story ties the dish to scraps left over from soba making in southern Aomori.
Chamge is a freshwater crab, and the shells and the joints of the legs need a good scrub with a brush if the broth is to taste clean. Halved and simmered in a radish broth with a little doenjang (Korean soybean paste), the crabs give it a deep crab flavor, sharpened with chili flakes and cheongyang peppers.
Instead of being boiled apart, the hand-cut noodles go straight into the anchovy and kelp stock, and their surface flour thickens the broth slightly. Potato and onion cook first, giving the soup a mild sweetness under the savory anchovy. Expect a lightly cloudy, silky broth rather than a clear one.
Chamnamul (Korean pimpinella greens) brings a sharp, grassy fragrance that cuts through mild tofu and anchovy-kelp stock. The tofu gets four minutes on its own to absorb the broth, while the greens stay in only long enough to wilt. Draining the cubes briefly in a sieve makes them easier to slide in without breaking.
Torn dough flakes and knife-cut noodles share one bowl, so soft, silky sujebi alternates with springy noodles in every spoonful. To judge doneness, bite into a flake: once the raw-flour taste is gone and the noodles still have bounce, serve right away.
Sumo wrestlers ate this hot pot together in their stables, which explains how much goes into a single pot: chicken thigh, chicken meatballs, napa cabbage, mizuna, shiitake, soft tofu, fried tofu and kuzukiri noodles. The broth is chicken stock with grated garlic and ginger, and people help themselves to whatever is done while the rest keeps simmering.
Egg noodles show up twice in one bowl: boiled underneath and fried crisp on top, giving soft and crunchy textures in the same spoonful. This coconut curry noodle soup comes from Chiang Mai in northern Thailand, with chicken thighs simmered gently in red curry and coconut milk until the meat falls apart. Sliced shallot, lime and cilantro cut through the richness.
Cheonggak, a green seaweed that grows in many-forked branches, is sold packed in salt. A cold-water soak takes the salt out, and a short simmer keeps it crunchy even in hot broth. It cooks with tofu, seasoned with tuna extract and Korean soup soy sauce.
This bowl follows the shape of Chinese dan dan noodles but swaps in Korean flavors: doenjang (fermented soybean paste) and soy sauce season the pork, and unsweetened soy milk forms the broth. Frying the chopped kimchi with the browned pork tames its sourness so it blends into the nutty chili-oil broth instead of standing apart. If the doenjang starts sticking to the pan, lower the heat right away to keep bitterness out.