1880 Korean recipes. Page 62 of 79. Compare ingredients and cooking times. Grilled Chicken Heart Skewers.
Chicken hearts turn chewy and springy on the skewer, and their flavor builds the longer you chew. Halving each heart and clearing out blood clots and the thin membrane is what keeps the taste clean rather than gamey. A thin glaze of soy sauce, oligosaccharide syrup, and mirin brushed on both sides adds a sweet-salty shine, finished with sesame oil and black pepper.
Only coarse salt and black pepper season the duck itself; the flavor partners come at the table, where slices are wrapped in perilla leaves with ssamjang, a fermented soybean and chili paste. Cooked from a cold pan in its own fat, the skin turns hard and crackly.
The ingredients are nearly those of kimchi stew, but with more water, so it becomes a soup for pouring over hot rice. How it tastes depends on how sour the kimchi is; if yours is still young, a little vinegar fills the gap.
Ground pork fried with chili flakes in sesame oil makes the red oil that sets the flavor, and clams add a clean, briny note. Brought to the table in its earthenware pot (ttukbaegi), it keeps bubbling for a good while.
Rolled around in a soy, sugar and mirin braise, the small quail eggs brown evenly and take on salt almost to the yolk. Added once the liquid has reduced by about half, the shishito peppers soften without bursting and keep their green, slightly grassy taste. A couple of toothpick holes in each pepper let the sauce inside and keep the skins from splitting. The braise should end with a little syrupy liquid still in the pot rather than a dry pan, giving each egg a shiny coat. Refrigerated, it keeps for three to four days as a ready side dish.
Nothing but tiny jeot shrimp and salt goes into the crock, and the shrimp are left until they break down completely, ready to season kimchi. Unlike dishes that coat plump prawns in sauce, this relies on the thin-shelled shrimp slowly dissolving into a salty, savory paste. When shopping, tell apart ready-aged saeujeot from raw shrimp meant for salting at home. The crock needs shade, temperatures kept under 25°C, and at least two weeks, so it is not something to eat right away. The salty brine it produces counts toward the kimchi's salt too.
Thin instant noodles and thick, chewy tteokbokki rice cakes cook in one pot, so the spicy broth carries two very different bites. Both keep drinking the broth after the heat goes off, and a bowl left sitting ends up with little soup and soft noodles. The egg is cracked in whole and either basted with broth for a soft yolk or boiled 1 minute more to set firm.
Young rapeseed greens, a spring vegetable in Korea, keep a crisp stalk and a faint sweetness after blanching. They're dressed with doenjang (Korean soybean paste), worked in over a few rounds once the squeezed greens have been pulled apart.
Five minutes in a hot pan turns sour, wet kimchi into something sweeter and more savory, as the moisture cooks off and the edges darken. The pan has to be hot enough that the kimchi sizzles on contact; otherwise it steams in its own liquid.
Kongbul, short for kongnamul bulgogi, piles soybean sprouts onto spicy gochujang pork so every bite of meat comes with a crunch. The sprouts only get about a minute over high heat, so the pork sauce has to be reduced to a thick glaze before they go in, or the water they release leaves everything soupy. It is served spooned over rice.
Squid and pork belly share one gochujang marinade, but only the pork goes into the pan at first. After five or six minutes it has given up its fat and the sauce has turned glossy; the squid follows and cooks in three or four, soaking up pork-enriched sauce as it goes.
Thin bulgogi-cut beef and ripe kimchi are fried in sesame oil until red oil starts to gather in the pot, and that is when the water goes in. The tofu is added late but still gets ten more minutes, enough to soak up the kimchi broth all the way through.
Turnip turns translucent as it cooks and gives the kelp stock a quiet sweetness. There is no meat or anchovy; oyster mushrooms and tofu fill out the pot. Once the perilla seed powder is stirred in, it gets about two minutes over low heat.
Squid and shishito peppers end up coated in a spicy glaze of soy sauce, gochujang and gochugaru, with just enough sauce left in the pan to spoon over rice. The squid gets only a short, hot reduction, since it turns rubbery the longer it simmers; once the edges curl and turn white, it is nearly there. Residual heat keeps cooking it, which is the reason to stir in the sesame oil off the heat and plate right away.
Lettuce wilts within minutes of meeting salt, which caps the salting at 10 minutes, and the kimchi is mixed right before the meal, while the leaf edges still hold a little crunch and a gentle bitterness. Leaves left wet after salting dilute the seasoning until it tastes flat, and patting them dry, never wringing, prevents that. Fermented sand lance sauce (kkanari aekjeot) adds savory depth to the mild leaves, vinegar brightens the finish, and sesame seeds give small toasty bites. The leaves slump and release liquid as it sits, so it goes to the table at once. A spoonful of ssamjang, a soybean dipping paste, stirred in makes it earthier.
Without any meat, japchae leans entirely on its vegetables: spinach, carrot, shiitake, bell pepper, and onion each keep their own color and sweetness because they are stir-fried one at a time. The spinach only needs to wilt over high heat and is spread out to cool at once, or it dulls in color and turns tough. The glass noodles soak up soy sauce, sugar, and sesame oil before anything else joins them and come out glossy, chewy, and seasoned through. Tossing them with vegetables straight from a hot pan makes the noodles slump and clump, the usual way this dish goes wrong. It works as an everyday side dish or on a holiday table.
Ground pork and chopped kimchi are fried in sesame oil until the oil turns red before the rice is added, which gives this porridge a meatier backbone than kimchi alone. Over a 30-minute simmer the chili's sharp edge fades and the fermented tang spreads evenly through the pot. Chop the kimchi smaller than bite size, since big leaves stay stringy in soft porridge. Cubes of tofu stirred in make a soft, filling addition.
The ingredients match the usual boiled-and-dressed soybean sprout side dish, but here the sprouts go straight into an oiled pan and pick up a faint smoky note. The lid never goes on. Covering the pan traps steam, which turns the cooking into steaming and keeps the raw, beany smell in.
A sauce of yuja cheong (Korean citron marmalade) and soy sauce, brushed into the gills of fresh shiitake caps and left for ten minutes, seeps between the folds and stays on after grilling as a sour-salty glaze.
Doenjang, not gochujang, seasons this crab stew, so it tastes nutty and savory before it tastes hot, with the chili flakes and Cheongyang pepper staying in the background.
Ripe tomato, roughly chopped, goes into an otherwise familiar beef short rib stew and turns the broth tangy and thick. It melts into the gochujang sauce, leaving hardly a trace except a deeper red.
Tofu and shishito peppers carry this meatless braise, and the salty, mildly spicy sauce that remains is meant to be mixed into rice. The tofu is basted with a spoon rather than flipped, so the slices stay neat and square to the end. Onion cut on the thick side keeps its shape through the braise and adds a bit of bite. Patting the tofu dry one more time just before it hits the pan cuts down on spattering oil.
Big chunks of radish and plenty of cool, tangy brine make seokbakji a natural partner for rich bone broth soups like seolleongtang. Salted shrimp does more than season the chili paste; it lays down a fermented, savory base. A day at room temperature followed by two days in the fridge turns the water drawn from the radish into a refreshing, lightly sour brine. The salted radish is drained but not rinsed, so the salt it holds seasons the kimchi from inside.
Young radish kimchi, yeolmu, and some of its brine are mixed into a tangy gochujang dressing for cold somyeon, letting the kimchi flavor lead rather than plain chili sweetness. Only half the kimchi is tossed with the noodles, and the rest sits on top so the stems stay crisp. Noodles that are not drained well leave the sauce pooling like water at the bottom of the bowl.