Dallae, wild chives with small white bulbs, are around for only a short stretch of spring. The bulbs, sharper than the leaves, are minced fine, and the chives are added to the doenjang broth just one minute before the heat goes off. A few raw stalks set aside before cooking make a sharp garnish at the table.
Beef bones simmered for 6 to 8 hours with star anise, cinnamon, and fire-charred ginger and onion give this pho a broth that stays clear while carrying layers of spice and smoke. The long prep starts with soaking and blanching the bones, which keeps the stock from clouding over those hours. The star anise and cinnamon are toasted in a dry pan only until fragrant and pulled out at once, before they turn bitter. Fish sauce seasons the broth in portions at the end. Raw beef sliced thin is laid over the noodles and cooked right in the bowl by the boiling broth. At the table, bean sprouts, lime, and basil sit on the side so each person can tune the bowl's freshness and acidity.
Stir perilla seed powder into a clear radish soup and the broth turns milky and thick almost at once, with a nuttiness heavier and earthier than sesame.
With dry-pan charred onion and ginger as its only aromatics and no star anise or cinnamon, this northern-style broth tastes cleaner and lighter than spice-heavy pho. Brisket simmered for 40 minutes makes the stock instead of long-boiled bones, and the same beef, sliced thin across the grain, becomes the topping. With so few ingredients, careful skimming of fat and foam shows directly in the bowl, and cilantro and lime add the final lift.
Half a chicken, cut into pieces, simmers until perilla seed powder loosened in water goes in where samgyetang would use glutinous rice and ginseng, giving a nutty, thick chicken soup for far less work.
Chicken thighs simmered gently for 40 minutes make both the broth and the topping: once they pull apart easily, the meat is shredded along the grain and laid over the noodles. A hard bubble would cloud the stock, so the heat stays low throughout, and fish sauce is added only at the very end to keep its aroma. Onion and ginger charred dark on the outside give the stock a sweet, toasty depth. In the Hanoi manner, scallions and bean sprouts top the bowl, and in Hanoi pho ga is a common breakfast. Lime is squeezed in only at the table to keep its scent bright.
Dried, then soaked and boiled again, the radish greens called siraegi have a chewy, fibrous bite that fresh greens lack. Here they are massaged with doenjang and garlic, simmered for more than twenty minutes, and turned milky white with perilla seed powder added in two batches.
Fish cake simmered right in the broth, a heap of dried seaweed flakes, and sliced scallions: this bowl recreates the udon sold at Korean street stalls, known as pojangmacha. The fish cake stays in for only about 5 minutes, since much longer leaves it soft and limp. The broth is a quick homemade dashi of kombu and bonito flakes, seasoned with both soup soy sauce and regular soy sauce for a balance of savoriness and color, plus a little sugar to round off the soy. The bonito flakes steep off the heat without stirring, which keeps the dashi clear. The soup stays clear because frozen udon is only blanched in a separate pot and placed in the bowl first, with the broth brought back to a rolling boil and poured over.
The point is the ox knee cartilage, cooked until it turns soft and chewy, so it is the texture of the pieces, not the color of the broth, that tells you when to stop. There are no marrow bones in the pot, so don't expect a milky broth. Butchers sometimes sell knee and tendon together, but they are different cuts.
Rice cakes, kimchi, eggs and a slice of cheese turn two packs of instant ramen into a loaded snack-bar style bowl. Kimchi and cheese both bring salt, so the seasoning packet tastes stronger than usual if it all goes in at once. The noodles tend to finish before the eggs set, and lifting them out early saves them from going soft.
Crosshatched purple eggplant skin looks like a turtle's shell, and ground sesame clouding the broth looks like mud, hence the name mud turtle soup. This summer soup from the Koto region of Shiga gets slight body from finely ground rice porridge, which also keeps the large amount of toasted sesame from sinking straight to the bottom.
The raw heads left over from live shrimp sashimi are simmered with one packet of spicy instant noodles. As the shells turn from gray to orange, the broth picks up the shrimp's sweetness and the aroma of the shells.
No stock is needed: the salty liquor from the dongjuk, a surf clam, makes the broth on its own. Radish adds a little sweetness, and a single cheongyang chili leaves just a hint of heat.
With a base of tomato, garlic, onion and olive oil and a finish of grated Parmesan, this lands somewhere between a light tomato pasta and Korean knife-cut noodle soup. There is no anchovy stock or soy sauce, which leaves the tart tomato flavor in charge. That also means the tomatoes have to be crushed and cooked down until thick before any water is added, or the broth tastes flat. The garlic stays pale, cooked gently only until the onion turns translucent. Added once the noodles are nearly done and seasoned with just a pinch of salt, the shrimp stay tender and the broth does not turn salty.
Frozen pollock gets just ten minutes in the red, gochugaru-spiked broth. Any longer and the flesh falls apart while the bones leach a bitter, fishy taste. Tofu, green onion and cheongyang chilies join for the final five minutes.
One pot of spicy anchovy broth carries three rounds: thin beef and vegetables first, then kalguksu noodles, then fried rice scraped from the bottom. Beef slices go in one at a time, since a clump stays red in the middle. Each round leaves more flavor in the broth for the next. Stop the rice once a thin crust starts to form, before it scorches.
Donko, a Miyagi name for ezo isoaine and chigo cod, firms up and develops a rich liver from autumn into winter, and this soup uses the whole fish: flesh, head, bones and liver. The fish's wide mouth and tapering tail made it a lucky symbol, money flowing in and not slipping out, so around Kesennuma families hung donko at the household altar for Ebisu observances before turning it into soup. It is still served to warm winter guests.
Chicken stock and a separately cooked clam broth, seasoned with nothing but salt, give this Hakodate-style ramen a pale golden soup that tastes clean and briny. Shio ramen traces back to Hakodate in southern Hokkaido, and with no soy or miso to hide behind, every flaw in the stock shows, which makes careful blanching and scrubbing of the bones worth the effort. Toppings stay simple: sliced chashu and blanched spinach.
Acorn jelly tastes of little beyond a faint astringency, and the flavor of this bowl comes from the sweet-sour chilled broth and chopped kimchi. The jelly is cut into sturdy sticks, topped with cucumber strips, and brought to the table the moment the cold broth is poured over.
Butter melts slowly into a clear chicken and soy broth, leaving a rich, toasty aroma floating on top. Sweet corn and crunchy bean sprouts keep the salty broth from feeling heavy. The noodles boil in their own pot so their starch never clouds the soup, and the broth itself stays at a gentle simmer because hard boiling reduces it and pushes the salt up.
Radish and shiitake simmer first, and the broth is seasoned only with soup soy sauce, so it stays clear and mild with no chili at all. Scoop the tofu in with a spoon instead of cutting it, and the rough edges soak up more of the broth.
Bonito flakes steeped off the heat in a chicken and kombu stock add a layer of smoky fish aroma on top of the chicken. For a clear stock, the bones are blanched and scrubbed first, and the pot is kept below a hard boil with frequent skimming. Seasoning comes from a tare of soy sauce and mirin warmed only until it bubbles at the edges, spooned into each bowl before the hot stock is poured in. Narutomaki with its pink swirl, menma, and a soft-boiled egg sit over noodles cooked slightly under the package time so they hold their firmness in the soup.
Napa cabbage lines the bottom of a wide hot pot, and tofu, shiitake and marinated beef are laid in a ring around the edge, giving the pot its finished look before it ever heats. The kelp broth, seasoned with soup soy sauce and no chili, stays clear, and the pot is served bubbling for everyone to ladle from.
Dried radish greens, called siraegi, bring an earthy, faintly bitter note to an anchovy and kelp broth seasoned with doenjang, Korean fermented soybean paste. Rinsing the precooked greens again and squeezing them hard keeps any stale smell out of the pot. Tough stems are sorted out and simmered 2 to 3 minutes ahead of the rest so they are tender by the time the noodles are done. The paste is pressed free of lumps with a spoon so the broth is not muddy or salty in spots, and since brands differ in saltiness, soup soy sauce makes the final adjustment. Onion and zucchini soften the paste's saltiness as they cook, and perilla seed powder stirred in at the end gives the soup more weight.