1880 Korean recipes. Page 12 of 79. Compare ingredients and cooking times. Korean Soy Bulgogi with Mushrooms.
The beef sits in a pear juice and soy marinade for 10 minutes, then shiitake, king oyster mushrooms and onion are tossed into the same bowl before anything hits the heat. With everything going in at once, a small pan is better worked in two batches. Apple juice can stand in for the pear juice if the sugar is cut back a little.
The sweetness here comes from onion cooked slowly in butter, not from sugar, and cream and milk go in after it for the rice cakes to simmer in. With no gochujang or chili flakes at all, it tastes closer to a cream pasta than to red tteokbokki, and the parmesan stirred in at the end does the salting. The sauce thickens quickly as it cools.
A spoon slips cleanly through this black sesame pudding. The sesame powder is whisked into warm milk and cream and set with gelatin, and the milk comes off the heat as soon as small bubbles appear at the edge. If it boils, the milk fat separates and the smoothness is gone.
The jujubes simmer until soft and are pressed through a sieve so only their pulp goes back into the tea, which makes it thick rather than clear. Once the pulp is in, it catches on the bottom of the pot quickly and needs constant stirring over low heat. There is a little ginger in it, and each cup gets a few pine nuts on top.
Only the white part of the green onion is used, since the green tops burn before the inside cooks. Grilled hard, the outside chars deep brown and the inside softens until a chopstick slides in easily, turning sweet. Once plated, the onions get a little sesame oil, sesame seeds and lemon zest.
Soy-marinated bulgogi beef releases its sweet seasoning into the broth as it cooks, flavoring the shiitake, enoki and glass noodles around it. Because the pot stays on low heat at the table, the noodles go in while still slightly firm so they hold up instead of turning mushy as the meal goes on. Onion laid across the bottom adds its own sweetness to the broth.
The pollock jeon on Korean holiday tables is usually made from frozen fillets. Thawed pollock gives off more water than you would expect, and pressing it well with paper towels is what lets the egg coating stick.
The whole can of tuna, oil included, is tipped into the pot with water. No stock is made separately, and that oil is what the broth builds on. Some add ramen noodles to stretch it into a full meal.
Pork shoulder has fat running evenly through it, so it braises tender and pulls apart along the grain without drying out. The garlic chives on top are only just wilted and get picked up with each bite of soy-braised pork.
Crisp stems and tender florets sit side by side in this soy pickle, a contrast that depends on keeping the blanch to 40 seconds and moving the broccoli straight into ice water. Unlike many hot-brine pickles, this one waits until the brine is completely cool, because warm liquid softens the florets. Red bell pepper and onion add sweetness and a flash of red against the green. The crunch is best in the first two days, while the seasoning reaches all the way through after 3 to 4 days. It packs easily into a lunch box and keeps for up to 2 weeks in the fridge.
Two slices of cheese melt over spicy instant ramen into a thin, stretchy film that wraps the noodles, and the heat comes down a notch. Turn the heat off while the noodles are still slightly firm; they finish cooking in the hot broth as the cheese melts.
Kkaennip, the Korean perilla leaf, smells nothing like basil or mint, and its grassy herb note is what sets this mushroom cream sauce apart from other cream pastas. Its aroma fades with long simmering, so only part of the shredded leaves cooks in the sauce and the rest is scattered raw on top, layering the scent twice. Thick-sliced button mushrooms are cooked until their water is gone, so their flavor holds up against the cream. Parmesan brings salt to the sauce, and the pinched folds of farfalle trap it. If the sauce tightens, a tablespoon of pasta water at a time loosens it again.
Poached at a bare simmer and torn along the grain by hand, the chicken breast comes out in moist strands that mix easily with romaine and thin strips of bell pepper. A hard boil would dry it out; instead the heat goes off and the lid stays on so the meat finishes gently through the center. Plain yogurt with mustard and a little honey makes a creamy dressing without any oily sauce, while corn and boiled egg add sweetness and richness. Toppings go on in separate sections and get tossed only at the table. The dressing is kept on the side because poured on early it draws water from the romaine and pepper and leaves them limp.
Despite the name, there is no separate crumble mixture. The batter, heavy with roasted soybean powder, is left rough on top and dusted with more powder, and those craggy peaks bake up crisp. Inside, small mochi cubes, cut and separated before going in, give pockets of chew.
Bok choy usually ends up in stir-fries, but blanched and dressed with doenjang (Korean soybean paste) it becomes a namul with crisp stalks and an earthy, salty seasoning. Rub the dressing right into the hollow of each stalk with your fingers.
Dig in and the melted mozzarella stretches away to reveal chicken breast fried rice turned red with buldak sauce, the fiery Korean chicken sauce. The sauce goes onto the chicken and onion before the rice.
Canned saury goes into a soy-seasoned stir-fry of oyster mushrooms and cabbage, and a teaspoon of lemon juice just before the heat goes off takes down the fishy smell. The fish is already cooked, so it waits until the vegetables have dried out again and is folded in gently to keep the pieces large.
Frozen dumplings go into the pan straight from the freezer. Once the water and lid go on, the browned bottoms soften for a while, and they crisp up again when the lid comes off and the water cooks away. Serve with soy sauce mixed with vinegar and chili flakes.
Grated ginger is squeezed through cloth, and only the juice is boiled with honey and sugar to 150 degrees, so the candy sets clear as glass with no fibers inside. The pot is never stirred while it boils; stirring forms sugar crystals that cloud the candy.
Equal parts instant coffee, sugar and hot water are whipped into a caramel-colored foam that sits thickly on iced milk. The mixture is ready once it has gone from dark brown to pale and glossy and holds a peak; if it is still runny, the fix is another minute of whipping, not more water or sugar. Cocoa powder is dusted over the top, and the layers get stirred together just before drinking.
With fat running between the muscles, chicken neck meat never turns dry the way breast does; it chews springy and savory. It gets a short toss in soy sauce, mirin and garlic, a hot sear until a brown crust forms, and green onion stirred in for the last 30 seconds.
Oyster mushrooms are torn along the grain, shiitake sliced thin and king oyster mushrooms cut on the bias, and each of the three has its own chew in the bowl. The base is an onion stock, yet perilla seed powder and tofu make it filling, and two minutes of rest off the heat lets the thick broth settle.
Firm tofu is sliced about 1 cm thick, pressed under a weight for at least 15 minutes, then seasoned with salt and pepper. Soy sauce stays on the side for dipping instead of being poured over. Hot from the pan the egg coating is lightly crisp, and it softens as it cools.
A can of tuna and some sour kimchi, no meat to brown, and the stew is ready fast; most of the flavor comes from the kimchi's sourness. Pour in a little of the oil from the can and the broth gets noticeably deeper.