286 recipes. Page 2 of 12
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Drained canned tuna and perilla leaves give these fritters more heft than a vegetable jeon but less than a fish one. The egg in the batter binds the tuna and gives a smooth surface, and the fritters hold up well cold in a lunchbox.
Bone-in chicken, chunky potato, carrot and onion braise in soy sauce and sugar, with no glass noodles. The glossy sauce forms only in the last few minutes, after the potatoes are tender and the lid comes off. Uncover too early and the liquid runs out before the potatoes cook; keep it covered to the end and the sauce stays thin.
Bok choy makes a lighter, crunchier kimchi than napa cabbage, ready to eat within a day. The salt goes mainly on the thick stems, and 20 minutes is the limit before the stems toughen. The halves drain thoroughly in a sieve after rinsing, because leftover water thins the paste until it slides off the leaves. Blending the salted shrimp and fish sauce into the sweet rice paste first makes the seasoning easy to spread thinly between leaves. Julienned carrot and scallions add color and a varied bite. After 4 hours at room temperature it moves to the fridge.
Shiitake carries the chew in this meatless japchae, cut into long thin strips alongside the onion and carrot. The seasoning is split: half dresses the sauteed vegetables, and the rest is stir-fried with the boiled noodles so they take on flavor of their own.
Duck legs braise on the bone for 90 minutes and are then pulled into shreds, which gives a coarser, meatier texture than a ground-meat ragu. The flavor starts with the sear: left alone in the pan rather than nudged around, the skin turns deep brown, and the red wine later dissolves that browned layer into the sauce. Wide pappardelle is the right shape to hold those strands. The ragu tastes deeper after a night in the fridge, which makes it easy to cook a day ahead and boil only the pasta on the day you serve it.
Finely cut romaine and red cabbage, with carrot and bell pepper in small dice, let one forkful pick up all five vegetables at once. Size is most of the work: if the carrot pieces run large, they take longer to chew and the bite falls apart into separate flavors. With only olive oil, lemon juice and salt for dressing, the slight bitterness of red cabbage and the sweetness of corn come through plainly. Leaves need drying well, since any water left on them thins that light dressing fast. None of the vegetables goes limp quickly, and the dressed salad keeps its crunch in the fridge as a make-ahead meal.
Nothing in this French stew is browned except the mushrooms: the veal is blanched, rinsed and simmered gently with carrot and onion, which keeps both meat and sauce pale and mild. Cream, egg yolks and a little lemon juice finish the sauce, giving it a soft, velvety body with a light tang. The veal needs a long, quiet simmer until a fork slides in easily.
No water or dashi goes into this pot: chicken, gizzards, pork and vegetables cook in sake and whatever moisture the vegetables release. The dish comes from Saijo in Higashihiroshima, Hiroshima Prefecture, where sake brewery workers ate it during breaks in brewing. With so little liquid, each ingredient keeps its own flavor, and diners season their portion with salt and pepper. Cooking it in two rounds, half the ingredients at a time, keeps the napa cabbage and garlic chives from going limp.
The sautéed carrot that goes into bibimbap and gimbap, served as a side dish of its own. Cut into fine matchsticks and cooked only briefly, it stays bright orange with a little crunch left.
From the mountainous Iya area of Tokushima, this zosui uses buckwheat neither as flour nor as noodles but as hulled whole groats, called sobagome. Local tradition ties it to the Heike, who are said to have planted fast-growing buckwheat on land where rice would not grow well. Chicken, chikuwa, konjac and carrot share the broth with the grains.
A mild soy and garlic glaze, browned onto chicken, carrot, and onion, makes a stir-fry with no chili that sits well over rice. Breast or thigh both work, but cut the pieces to an even thickness so the thin ones do not dry out before the thick ones cook through. An opaque surface says little about the center, but cutting into the thickest piece before the pan comes off the heat shows whether it is done.
The vegetable and egg mixture is poured wide in the pan, and once the edges set it gets folded twice into a thick square. That goes with ham between slices of butter-toasted bread, along with ketchup, sugar and mayonnaise.
Botan means peony, and the name comes from the way thin slices of wild boar are fanned out on the platter like petals. The meat cooks with burdock and taro in a broth of mixed red and white miso, and the sansho pepper stays out of the pot, sprinkled over each bowl instead.
Shredded sweet potato, carrot, and onion bound in a thin tempura batter fry into one large round with crisp edges and sweet strands inside. Tossing the vegetables in the dry flour before any water is added is what makes the batter cling instead of sliding off.
There is no chili in this braise, just soy sauce, sugar and garlic, and the juices from the boneless thighs soak into the potato and carrot so nothing else needs seasoning. If the fat feels like too much, trim off some of the chicken skin before cooking.
Carrot brings its own sweetness to this soy and vinegar pickle, so each bite reads as three clear notes: sweet, salty and sour. Cutting the sticks to an even 0.5 cm keeps every piece pickling at the same speed, which is what gives the jar a uniform crunch. Onion, whole garlic and a halved Cheongyang chili (a hot Korean green pepper) season the brine. The jar is ready after about 24 hours in the fridge and works as a sharp, crunchy foil to fatty grilled meat.
With only gochujang, vinegar and sugar in the dressing, this bunsik-shop noodle dish lives on the texture of the noodles. A thorough cold rinse is what makes sweet potato glass noodles springy, because any warmth left after draining keeps them softening until they stick into a clump. The dressing keeps in the fridge, but the noodles should meet it only just before eating, or they soak it up and turn soft.
The soy sauce and pear marinade of galbijjim, Korea's braised short ribs, goes into a thick ragu made from short rib meat cut into small dice instead of being braised on the bone. Between the layers, béchamel and mozzarella soften the sweet and salty soy flavor, and the Parmesan on top browns in the oven. It rests for 10 minutes before cutting, because slices taken straight from the oven slump before the layers set.
Shredded under 0.2 cm and chilled for at least 30 minutes, the cabbage and carrot soften just slightly and soak up a mayonnaise dressing. Cider vinegar and Dijon mustard lighten the mayo, and the sugar is kept to a teaspoon so sweetness never takes over. This is the side that goes next to barbecue, fried chicken or a pulled pork sandwich, where its cold crunch cuts the grease. A little red onion adds color and some pungency.
Simmered slowly with pork shoulder and sausage, the white beans start to break down and thicken the broth on their own, without any roux. The work starts the day before, with the beans soaking for at least 8 hours.
Rice paper rather than a wheat wrapper sets these southern Vietnamese rolls apart: it fries into a thin, blistered shell that shatters more sharply than a Chinese egg roll. Rolling tension matters, since a loose roll bursts in the oil and an overly tight one squeezes the pork and glass noodle filling into a hard core. In the south, families gather around Tet to roll them by the hundreds.
Slice this Korean omelette roll and you get yellow rings flecked with carrot and scallion, built from thin sheets of egg rolled up one over another, which leaves the layers soft. It sits in lunchboxes and on the everyday rice table, and a splash of milk keeps it tender even after it cools. Most failures come from the pan: too hot and the outside browns, too cool and the layers refuse to stick together.
The oil from the tuna can goes straight into the pan and the onion and carrot fry in it, so the tuna flavor gets into the vegetables and rice. Each bowl is topped with its own fried egg.
Pressed dry and broken up by hand into a mix of large curds and fine crumbs, the tofu is cooked over high heat with only occasional turning until the edges turn lightly golden and the crumbles are loose and fluffy. Seasoned simply with soy sauce and sesame oil, it works spooned over rice or packed in a lunch box, since there is no sauce to leak.