239 recipes. Page 5 of 10
Noodle recipes from Korean to pasta
Instead of ladling sauce over a bowl of noodles, platter jjajang tosses the cooked noodles right into the pan with the black bean sauce and serves everything on one large plate to share. Squid and shrimp join the pork and cook only until the squid turns opaque and the shrimp curl pink.
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.
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.
Japaguri, known abroad as ram-don since a film introduced it to international audiences, cooks a black bean sauce instant noodle and a spicy one together so the roasted-bean sweetness runs straight into chili heat. Onion and green onion fried in oil first lay down a sweet, savory base. Only half the spicy seasoning is added, enough heat without burying the jjajang flavor, and that packet is also the dial for anyone who wants more fire. Once the noodles are about 80 percent cooked, all but roughly 120 ml of the water is poured off: leave more and the sauce tastes thin, leave less and it turns stiff. The pot comes off the heat when the sauce clings glossily to every strand.
The noodles, beef, spinach, carrot and onion are each cooked on their own and only combined at the end. There is a single batch of soy sauce, sugar and sesame oil: a little goes on the beef as a marinade, and whatever is left seasons the noodles.
Blended with cold water, pine nuts release their fat into a milky, dairy-free broth with a quiet sweetness. Salt is the only seasoning, leaving the nuttiness uncovered, while cucumber and thin slices of Korean pear bring crunch and fruit against the richness. A smooth blend and a pass through a strainer before chilling prevent the oily film and gritty feel of under-blended broth.
Hot gochujang-marinated pork goes straight onto cold rinsed somen (thin wheat noodles), putting warm meat and chilled noodles in the same bite. The pork shoulder sits in gochujang and chili flakes with soy sauce and sugar, which lay a savory sweetness under the heat. A short, fierce stir-fry keeps water from pooling in the pan and lets the edges caramelize while the inside stays moist. Cabbage and onion cook in the same pan, adding sweetness under the chili heat. A rinse in ice water makes the boiled noodles chewier. The two are combined only right before serving, since thin noodles mixed too early soak up moisture and swell.
Jinju's version of cold noodles mixes anchovy-kelp stock with beef brisket stock, two parts to one, giving the broth both seafood savor and meaty weight. The signature topping is a heap of pan-fried beef jeon cut into strips, cooled first so it does not warm the broth, then piled over cucumber and Asian pear.
Thick black-bean sauce made from chunjang (Korean fermented black bean paste) coats chewy wheat noodles, with diced pork, onion, potato and zucchini giving it body. Simmering until the potato turns half translucent lets the vegetables sweeten the salty paste. In Korea it is the go-to delivery meal on moving day or after a graduation, and it tastes best mixed the moment the hot sauce lands on the noodles.
Small cubes of potato and zucchini sit in a thick black bean sauce that clings heavily to the noodles, the way it does at Korean bunsik snack shops. Some of the potato breaks down as it simmers and thickens the sauce on its own before the starch slurry is added. Frying the chunjang in oil first takes the edge off its raw bitterness, leaving the slow-cooked onion's sweetness to round it out.
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.
Thick, springy jjolmyeon noodles get tossed in a sweet, sour and spicy dressing of gochujang, vinegar and sugar. Cabbage and cucumber soaked in cold water stay crisp against the heat, while a halved boiled egg rounds things out. The noodle is said to have started in the 1970s as a production mistake at a noodle factory in Incheon.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Curry roux dissolved into dashi instead of water gives this bowl a savory, brothy depth that curry rice does not have. The roux turns the stock into a thick gravy that clings to fat udon strands and comes up with every lift of the noodles.
Poached white fish gets mashed fine and stirred into a red curry and coconut milk sauce, where the fish disappears into the gravy instead of sitting in chunks. Its poaching water, scented with lemongrass and kaffir lime leaves, returns to the pot as the stock and keeps a herbal note under the richness of the coconut. Fish sauce and palm sugar set the salty-sweet balance. The rice noodles stay plain: they are boiled, rinsed, and simply drowned in hot sauce. All the seasoning has to come from the curry, which should be loose enough to run between the strands. In Thailand the plate comes with raw bean sprouts, morning glory, green chili, and lime for each diner to mix in. The dish began at royal banquets, yet today it is ordinary market-stall food.
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.
Tangy kimchi and sweet soy-marinated beef cling to thick udon in a saucy, soup-free stir-fry. Searing the beef undisturbed over high heat builds flavor. Frying the kimchi until red oil pools in the pan, before any sauce goes in, keeps the seasoning concentrated. The fat, round noodles hold the sauce well, making a filling one-plate meal.
With butter mellowing kimchi's sourness and adding a rich, nutty aroma, a splash of soy sauce is all the udon needs. The sharp tang softens once the kimchi, spread out in the pan, cooks down its juices until the edges darken. A soft-boiled egg on top breaks into a creamy sauce, with crumbled seaweed and chives for fragrance, and the whole dish comes together in about 12 minutes.
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.
Well-fermented kimchi gives this glass noodle stir-fry a sour, spicy edge that plain japchae lacks. Squeeze the kimchi hard: leftover juice turns to water in the pan, swelling the noodles and diluting the seasoning. Pork goes in first so its fat flavors the kimchi and onion, and sesame oil is stirred in off the heat to keep its aroma.
Sour kimchi, first fried in sesame oil, flavors the chicken stock, and miso with soy sauce lays a savory, salty layer on top. Frying the kimchi softens its sharp tang so it sits comfortably beside the miso.