99 recipes. Page 3 of 5
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At Sri Lankan street stalls, kottu is made by chopping roti on a griddle with two metal blades, clattering away; at home a knife and a single pan do the job. The bread soaks up curry powder and soy sauce among cabbage, carrot and egg, and only its edges turn a little crisp.
Leaving out cheese keeps this street toast lighter and less greasy, with just a vegetable omelet and seared ham between butter-toasted slices. The ham gets only a short sear on each side and comes out as soon as the edges brown, before it dries.
Stale baguette soaks up the bean and vegetable broth until this is less a soup than something close to a porridge. The name means reboiled, and true to it, the soup tastes deeper when reheated the next day.
Shredded cabbage and drained tuna are bound with an egg batter and fried as several small, thin rounds instead of one large pancake. Small rounds lose moisture quickly: the rims crisp fast, and they are easier to turn.
Spread across a very hot pan and left alone for a moment, the noodles pick up crisp, browned patches while the centers stay chewy, and that contrast defines chow mein. It depends on dry ingredients: noodles boiled just short of tender and cooled, bean sprouts shaken free of water, and vegetables pulled before they weep. A thin coat of sesame oil on the drained noodles stops them from fusing into a clump as they cool. High heat from start to finish keeps liquid from pooling in the pan, where it would steam the noodles instead of frying them. Oyster sauce and soy give the strands a glossy, salty coating.
Shredded chicken breast and cabbage cut thinner than 2mm are tossed in a sweet-sour dressing of fish sauce, lime juice and sugar. The thick cabbage core is cut out before slicing because it stays tough in the salad. Fish sauce brings salt and savoriness to the lean chicken, lime brings sharpness, and raw cabbage and carrot do the crunching. Poached chicken needs to cool completely before it is pulled apart along the grain. Shredding it hot squeezes out the juices and leaves it dry. Cilantro and roasted peanuts scattered over the top add fragrance and a nutty crunch.
The cabbage mixed into the ground pork gives off its water, keeping the filling juicy inside the fluffy steamed dough. The filling is seasoned with ginger, soy sauce, and sesame oil, and a little sugar makes the dough faintly sweet.
Breaded pork cutlet, boiled potato, and softened cabbage share the plate, all under a single coconut milk curry sauce. Singapore's Hainanese curry rice usually comes with braised pork and several gravies; this home version drops those and keeps one sauce. The cutlet is a fully cooked store-bought one that only needs reheating, so there is no frying involved. Pour the sauce over just before eating, or the crust turns soggy.
A shallow crosshatch scored on the inside of the squid body opens up as it cooks, curling each piece and letting the gochujang sauce work into the cuts. Score too deep and the body tears apart; the knife should only graze the surface.
Think of the black sauce on jjajangmyeon noodles, clinging to rice cakes instead. Chunjang, the black bean paste, is fried first in the fat left by ground pork, onion, and cabbage, which takes away its raw, chalky edge. There is no gochujang, so nothing here is spicy. A pile of cucumber matchsticks on top adds crunch against the thick sauce.
Half a spoonful of doenjang in the chili paste keeps the heat from turning sharp. The sundae sits on cabbage and onion and simmers at the table; the broth grows stronger as it reduces, and the flame comes down as you eat, with the perilla leaves added last.
Think of a pan of dakgalbi with udon added. Gochujang-marinated chicken thigh, cabbage and thin slices of sweet potato cook first, and the thick udon then takes on a heavy coat of that sauce.
Smoked duck brings fat and smoke, and this salad answers with a sharp soy-vinegar dressing spiked with chili oil plus thin slices of Korean pear that burst with juice. The duck gets only 3 minutes over medium heat, skin side down, to render its fat without drying out the meat. Gosari, the bracken fern Koreans usually eat as a seasoned side dish, is blanched for just 1 minute so it loses any off flavor but keeps its chewy bite. The pear is tossed with a little dressing as soon as it is sliced, which slows browning, and meets the greens only at serving time. Red chard and finely shredded cabbage give the plate a crisp base.
The name suggests a cold soup, but Yonezawa's hiyashiru is really ohitashi: blanched vegetables steeped in plenty of chilled soy-seasoned stock and eaten with their liquid. The stock comes from the water used to soak dried scallop, while porous freeze-dried konnyaku and dried shiitake soak it up. Spinach, cabbage, soybean sprouts, and carrot share the bowl with yukina, a local winter green given only a quick dip in boiling water to keep its snap. An hour to a night in the fridge lets everything take on the broth.
Rice goes into a single cup and gochujang-glazed pork shoulder is piled over it, the way Korean snack bars (bunsik) serve it. The trick is spreading the rice out first to let the steam escape: spooned into the cup straight from the pot, it turns soggy in its own vapor.
A generous amount of finely shredded ginger gives mild chicken breast a sharp, warming smell. The cabbage and bell pepper are not cooked for long, so they still crunch.
Daegu's flat mandu hold less than a spoonful of filling each, so wrapper and filling press into one thin sheet. With only glass noodles, garlic chives, and cabbage inside, they taste light until dipped in soy sauce sharpened with vinegar and chili flakes.
Deodeok, a bittersweet mountain root sometimes called bonnet bellflower, gets pounded with a rolling pin and torn into shreds before it joins chewy jjolmyeon noodles. Tearing instead of slicing keeps its fibrous grain, so it brings a slightly woody chew and an herbal fragrance to the sweet-sour gochujang dressing. Cabbage, carrot, and cucumber are soaked in cold water for crunch, and everything is tossed together only right before eating so the vegetables stay crisp.
All the fillings of a kimbap roll, yellow pickled radish, spinach, carrot and thin egg ribbons, are spread over shredded cabbage instead of rice and mixed together to eat. The dressing is just soy sauce and sesame oil, so the salty-tangy pickled radish does much of the seasoning.
Ground pork plus onion, zucchini and cabbage all cut to the same 1 cm dice means every spoonful picks up a bit of everything once the sauce is mixed into the rice. The chunjang (black bean paste) is fried in oil for a minute first to take away its harsh edge, lifted out, and returned only after the vegetables have cooked.
A tablespoon of doenjang and some chili flakes are loosened in 30 ml of water ahead of time and poured around the rim once the cabbage edges turn glossy. Because doenjang varies in saltiness from brand to brand, the amount stays modest at first and the cabbage is tasted just before it is done.
As cabbage and onion wilt over high heat, the moisture they release loosens the gochujang sauce so it coats every slice of sundae, Korean blood sausage. Add rice cakes and it becomes tteoksuni; some finish it with cheese on top.
Thick udon wears a coat of red gochujang dressing in this cold cup, with raw shredded cabbage and carrot adding crunch against the soft noodles. Oligosaccharide syrup gives the sauce enough body to cling to slippery udon, and vinegar keeps the heat bright rather than heavy. The frozen udon is blanched for just 1 minute so the thick strands keep their spring. Cabbage and carrot are pressed dry with a paper towel first to keep their water from thinning the dressing. Portioned into cups, it is easy to carry and eat by hand, though it tastes best served cold right away before the noodles swell.
Fermented tea leaves, bitter and deeply savory, anchor this Burmese salad, while shredded cabbage and chopped tomato lighten their weight. Roasted peanuts and fried garlic chips add a salty crunch to every bite. Dressing the leaves first with lime juice, sesame oil and chili flakes, then letting them sit for 5 minutes, softens the bitterness before the vegetables join. In Myanmar it is eaten as a snack as well as part of a meal.