1880 Korean recipes. Page 69 of 79. Compare ingredients and cooking times. Korean Spicy Stir-Fried Anchovies, Korean Marinated Beef Short Ribs.
Medium anchovies are bigger and thicker than the tiny ones used in the sweet version, and their heads and dark guts, which would make the dish bitter, come off one by one. Gochujang brings a fermented heat, chili flakes deepen the red, and the amount of flakes is the dial for spiciness.
The soy marinade gets its sweetness from grated pear and onion juice as much as from sugar. With honey in there too, the ribs catch easily, so this is not something to walk away from while it cooks. The batch serves four, sized for a holiday table or guests.
In Korea this soup is served on birthdays and to new mothers, and on a birthday it also carries thanks to the mother who gave birth. Beef and soaked sea mustard are fried in sesame oil one after the other, then simmered in water for more than 20 minutes, until the seaweed is soft enough to lift easily with a spoon.
Hollowed cucumber sections are packed with a filling of ground chicken, tofu, and carrot, then steamed upright so each piece has a crisp green shell around a soft, juicy center. Seasoning stays minimal, just soy sauce, garlic, and sesame oil, and steaming without oil keeps much of the cucumber's fresh aroma. Seon is a style of stuffed, steamed dish from Korean court cooking, and a little mustard sauce or vinegared soy alongside adds a sharp note.
The seaweed and garlic are fried in sesame oil before the rice ever goes in. That step takes the fishy edge off the seaweed, and the nutty smell stays in the porridge through the long simmer. Soup soy sauce is used sparingly so it does not cover the seaweed.
Little salty grains of pollock roe are scattered through soft, creamy curds of egg. That even spread comes from scraping the roe out of its sac instead of slicing it. Half the butter goes in with the onion, and the other half melts in after the pan comes off the heat.
Onion rings cut 2 cm thick are pinned through the side with toothpicks, and the layers stay together when turned. Doenjang (fermented soybean paste), gochujang, perilla oil and garlic are loosened with two tablespoons of water into a brushable sauce, which goes on thinly from the first flip onward.
The only heat involved is a 20-second dip for the seaweed, which is rinsed in cold water right after so it stops cooking. The broth is never heated either; it is soup soy sauce, vinegar and sugar topped up with cold water.
Thick-cut onion and green onion line the pot so the squid sits above the bottom while a gochujang and chili-flake sauce steams it from the top. Gochujang gives a thick heat that clings to each piece, and the flakes add a sharper spiciness over it. Compared with stir-fried squid, there is no oil, and the moisture the vegetables release loosens the sauce enough to spoon over rice. Because squid toughens quickly, the whole cook stays around ten minutes, ending when the flesh turns opaque and the edges curl slightly. Cutting the vegetables thick and spreading the squid out without overlapping pieces is what lets both finish properly in that short window.
Julienned radish is laid on top of the rice, not mixed in, and as it cooks its water and sweetness work down into the grains, leaving them moister and sweeter than plain rice. The soy sauce dressing waits until just before eating; stirred in early, it turns the rice mushy. Winter radish makes it noticeably sweeter.
Myeongyeopchae, pollock floss, is finer and softer than ordinary dried pollock strips, and once stir-fried it sits between the two familiar dried-fish sides: softer than seasoned dried pollock, milder than the shredded squid stir-fry. Its cottony clumps are teased apart along the grain by hand before cooking. A spoonful of mayonnaise in the sauce rounds off the gochujang.
Chicken hearts take longer to prep than to cook. Each one is split open and cleared of vessels and clots, and after that the searing is over in about six minutes over high heat. Sliced scallion goes on top, and they are served as a drinking snack.
In Jeju, pork backbone and belly simmer for an hour and a half, and gulfweed goes into that broth along with buckwheat flour to thicken it. It keeps thickening as it cools, and the heat goes off while it still runs slowly off a spoon.
Radish and squid cook at very different speeds, so the radish half-moons simmer in soy broth until nearly tender before the squid rings go in for a brief final braise. Chili flakes and gochujang give a clean, peppery heat, while the radish softens it with its own sweetness. What's left in the pan is a small amount of thick, spicy sauce that tastes of both squid and radish, good spooned over rice.
The radish greens are stripped of their tough stems, blanched and chopped fine, while the shrimp are not minced but lightly crushed with the back of a knife. The oil for sauteing them is perilla oil, not sesame.
The shepherd's purse comes off the heat the moment it starts to wilt, so its bitter spring scent is still there. Perilla oil is used twice: half to brown the tofu, the rest drizzled on with sesame salt after the heat is off.
Doenjang mixed with honey and lemon juice coats the rich salmon in something salty, sweet and faintly tart. A third of the glaze is set aside before any of it touches the fish, then spread on thinly with a clean spoon once the fillets are turned.
Radish greens dried in autumn used to come out through the winter for soups like this one. Rubbed with doenjang first and then simmered with five spoonfuls of perilla seed powder, they end up in a broth thick enough to spoon over rice and mix in.
Squid bodies are packed with a filling of glass noodles, ground pork and the chopped tentacles, steamed, then left to cool a little before being cut into thick rounds. Each slice shows a white ring of squid around a dense mosaic of noodles, chives and carrot.
Cooked octopus is far springier than raw fish, and thick pieces fight the rice instead of sitting on it. Sliced thin and wide with the knife held almost flat, each piece drapes over the sides of the rice and bites through together with it.
It is called a stir-fry, but for the first few minutes the lid stays on. Bean sprouts laid on the bottom let out enough water to keep the gochujang from scorching, and a final blast of heat reduces that liquid into a thick sauce that coats the octopus.
Once the salmon is flipped, butter melts in the pan, and with the pan tilted it is spooned over the fillets again and again. The gochujang, soy and honey glaze gets a second thin coat in the final minute for shine.
There is no separate stock here. Seven hundred grams of mussels open in boiling water and their liquor becomes the broth, with doenjang seeping out of the radish greens that were rubbed with it beforehand. Between bites of plump mussel, the greens stay a little fibrous.
Thick slices of ojingeo sundae (squid stuffed with noodles and vegetables) are braised in a gochujang sauce until a thin, glossy red coat clings to each cut face. Rather than flipping the slices, spoon the sauce over them so the filling stays put; some cooks add tteokbokki rice cakes to the pan as well.