59 recipes. Page 2 of 3
As an Amazon Associate, we may earn from qualifying purchases.
The tough, bark-like base of each dureup (aralia shoot) is trimmed off, and thick stems are split lengthwise or scored with a cross at the bottom. That way three or four minutes in the pot cooks them through while they stay crisp. Gochujang goes in at a third of the amount of doenjang, just enough for a low heat.
Potatoes and ground perilla seed cook in anchovy broth until it turns an opaque ivory. There is no doenjang and no seaweed, and no oil either; the body comes from potato starch and the perilla itself. It rarely appears on restaurant menus and belongs to winter meals at home.
Gangwon style means 300 g of potatoes, which make the broth thick and filling. The oyster mushrooms are torn along the grain and stay chewy even after a long boil. Zucchini, onion and tofu fill out the pot as well.
Swiss chard has more chew than spinach and a slight bitterness in the leaf, which sits well in a nutty doenjang broth. Korean families make it most in spring and autumn when chard is around; out of season, frozen chard gives much the same broth.
A whole blue crab, scrubbed and split, simmers in a doenjang and anchovy broth, and the shell and meat release a briny sweetness that layers onto the earthy paste. Removing the apron and halving the body lets the broth reach the meat inside.
Soybean pulp (kongbiji, the solids left from making soy milk or tofu) drinks up the anchovy stock as it cooks, and with the pre-fried ground pork and sour kimchi mixed through it, the pot ends up thick enough that a spoon leaves a hollow behind.
Canned whelks need almost no prep: drain them and halve the large pieces. The meat is already cooked, and it goes in only after the cabbage and onion are tender, just to heat through for three minutes at most.
Maesaengi, a winter seaweed, grows in strands as fine as thread, and once it is loosened with chopsticks in anchovy stock the whole pot turns deep green within minutes. Its aroma fades with long cooking, so three to four minutes is all it gets.
The nutty smell of sour kimchi fried in perilla oil meets the briny smell of fresh oysters in one pot. It is a winter stew, made when the kimchi has gone properly sour and the oysters are plump.
Napa cabbage lines the bottom of the pot, and kimchi, blanched beef, tofu, enoki and frozen dumplings are arranged around it in separate blocks of color before anchovy stock with gochujang is poured over. A drop of perilla oil goes on just before it reaches the table.
A handful of crown daisy goes into the broth once the oysters and tofu are cooked, and the heat goes off as soon as it starts to wilt. The seasoning is soup soy sauce, which keeps the broth from turning dark.
Butterbur stems, peeled of their stringy outer skin, simmer in doenjang broth until they bend limply under a chopstick. Their sharp, acrid taste is the main hurdle: unless the stems are blanched and soaked in cold water first, that harshness spreads through the whole pot.
Each spoonful brings up chewy webfoot octopus (jjukkumi) together with tofu that has soaked up the red broth. The octopus turns rubbery if it boils long, so the vegetable broth is finished first and the octopus gets only a few minutes in it.
Tofu and water dropwort (minari) are nearly all there is in the bowl, so the anchovy broth stays clear and light. The minari is pulled off the heat while its stems are still crisp and bright, and the soup goes straight into bowls.
Eight frozen kimchi dumplings go in side by side and are left unstirred for the first two minutes, since nudging them while they thaw tears the wrappers. The kimchi inside meets the sour kimchi in the broth, and the stew tastes of kimchi twice over. The dumplings come seasoned, which is why only half the soup soy sauce goes in before tasting.
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.
Ribbons of perilla leaf sit on a broth made from stir-fried bulgogi beef, and their fresh, faintly minty smell comes through clearly over the meat. It is seasoned with soup soy sauce, which keeps the taste clean.
Add beef and this becomes beef radish soup; add dried pollack and it becomes pollack radish soup. This is the plain version underneath both, and the one thing that takes care is cutting the radish a little thicker than usual so it does not fall apart in the long simmer. Winter radish makes a noticeably sweeter broth, and the radish is softer still when the soup is reheated the next day.
Gochugaru and soup soy sauce are used lightly here, and twelve sliced perilla leaves go in right before the heat is cut, letting the herb come through ahead of the chili. For a richer broth, add a teaspoon of perilla seed powder.
The roots of shepherd's purse carry an earthy, mineral smell and the leaves a mild bitterness. Cutting both and mixing them evenly before cooking spreads each flavor through the pot. Pressing the doenjang through a sieve keeps the anchovy stock clear while still giving it fermented depth.
Bite into a sea squirt and the little sac bursts, releasing a salty, briny juice. To keep that, the radish and zucchini are cooked through first and the sea squirts get only three or four minutes over high heat at the very end. In April and May, when they are in season and full of juice, the broth itself tastes different.
Green laver needs only 30 seconds to a minute in the pot; any longer and both its sea aroma and its bright green fade. That is why the anchovy stock and tofu are fully heated first and the laver goes in at the very end.
A whole pollack roe sac (myeongnan) sits in the pot intact, so the outside firms up while the eggs inside stay separate and pop when you bite them. The heat drops to low as soon as the broth returns to a boil; a hard boil breaks the roe apart and dulls that texture. Since the roe is already salty, the stew often needs nothing more, and the broth with pieces of roe is good spooned over rice.
Spinach brings a faint bitterness to the doenjang broth, and the wilted leaves leave it tinged a pale green.