286 recipes. Page 4 of 12
As an Amazon Associate, we may earn from qualifying purchases.
Glass noodles seasoned with soy sauce and sesame oil go into seaweed with stir-fried vegetables, rolled tight and fried. Rolling while the filling is still hot wets the seaweed and tears it, so the filling is spread out to cool first. They also get dipped in tteokbokki sauce.
There is no dough: buckwheat flour is scattered straight into simmering anchovy broth and cooks into small lumps that hold the liquid. Leftovers firm up as they cool, and cut small and browned in a dry pan they are good all over again.
Chopped shiitake, crumbled tofu, carrot and scallion go into one batter, which is spooned into small, flat rounds. Chopping the mushrooms a little coarser gives them more chew. A sauce of soy, vinegar and sesame seeds goes on the side.
Each block of firm tofu gets a shallow well scooped out with a spoon, and none of the scooped tofu is wasted: it returns to the filling with ground beef, shiitake and carrot. Dubu-seon comes from the Korean royal court table; this version skips the older crumble-and-shape method and steams the stuffed blocks directly, with the filling mounded slightly above the rim. A thin glaze of soy sauce and water keeps the finish light and lets the mild tofu lead.
Crunchy dried daikon, chewy toasted squid and nutty roasted soybeans all soak in the same sweet soy and vinegar dressing. The pickle comes from Miyazaki, a major dried-daikon region where winter wind and strong southern sun turn fresh strips into a pantry staple. Its name is said to echo impatient calls asking whether it is ready yet. Toasting the squid and dry-roasting the beans before mixing gives the jar a roasted aroma that a raw-vegetable pickle lacks, while kombu and ginger add their own savor and bite. It is served chilled after resting overnight under refrigeration.
At midday the alleys of Hanoi's Old Quarter fill with smoke from pork grilling over charcoal, and the grilled meat goes into a bowl of sweet, sour fish sauce, eaten with rice vermicelli and herbs. That sauce is thinner than a dip, closer to a light broth sipped between bites. This version grills both small ground-pork patties and pieces of pork neck, and soaks thin slices of carrot in the sauce.
Lentils simmered for about 30 minutes in tomato and vegetable stock stand in for ground meat, giving the ragu a similar small, chewy grain without any meat at all. Finely chopped onion, carrot and celery are sweated rather than browned, and the kimchi only joins in the final minutes so its sour bite stays distinct. Broad tagliatelle carries the thick sauce.
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.
Some of the potatoes break down into the broth as it simmers, giving the stew body without any flour. Large pieces of lamb shoulder brown best when left alone until they release from the pot on their own. With just lamb, onion, carrot, potato, and thyme, the result depends on gentle heat: a hard boil toughens the lamb, so keep the lid ajar and only small bubbles at the edge of the pot. Once the lamb pulls apart with a fork and some potato has crumbled, it is time to season. Made a day ahead, it tastes even better.
The lotus root, burdock and carrot go into the fat left from browning the chicken before any broth is added, so even after braising the vegetables taste of chicken. It is cooked down until only a little liquid is left in the bottom of the pot, and it reheats fine the next day.
Like Japanese home curry, this one gets its body from a block of curry roux, with chicken thighs as the meat and enough in one pot for four plates. Only the potato is cut a little larger than the other vegetables, so it still has its shape after simmering.
Salt is the only seasoning. The heat goes off when a strand of potato bends without snapping, which leaves a little crunch in the middle.
The word gungjung, royal court, points back to the food of the Joseon palace. Soy sauce and sesame oil do the seasoning, so there is no heat, and bulgogi-cut beef and shiitake go in with the rice cakes. The beef is seared only on the outside and set aside, returning to the pan after the rice cakes have softened.
Sumo wrestlers ate this hot pot together in their stables, which explains how much goes into a single pot: chicken thigh, chicken meatballs, napa cabbage, mizuna, shiitake, soft tofu, fried tofu and kuzukiri noodles. The broth is chicken stock with grated garlic and ginger, and people help themselves to whatever is done while the rest keeps simmering.
The ribs spend half an hour in cold water and get a quick blanch and rinse before they ever meet the soy braising liquid. It is an extra step, but it keeps the foam and impurities out of the pot, and the finished sauce tastes clean rather than murky.
Finely cut seisai, a Yamagata mustard green, is mixed with daikon, carrot, sunchoke, salted shiso seeds and yellow edible chrysanthemum petals into a colorful, finely chopped relish. It comes from the Murayama, Mogami and Okitama areas of Yamagata. The green liquid released during the overnight pre-salting is poured off and the vegetables squeezed hard, which keeps the soy, mirin and zarame sugar marinade from being diluted. Mildly salted and soy-seasoned, it is spooned over rice or mixed into rice balls, ochazuke or fried rice. That low salt also means it stays refrigerated and is eaten within about two weeks.
Pork marinated in fish sauce, sugar, and garlic and seared over high heat develops a caramelized brown edge while the inside stays juicy. In this southern Vietnamese bowl it goes, still warm, over chilled rice vermicelli and raw greens, and that hot-cold contrast is much of the pleasure. A sweet-sour dressing of lime juice and fish sauce ties meat, noodles, and vegetables together with no broth at all.
Korean diners of the 1970s and 80s served this sweet mayo macaroni next to pork cutlet and hamburg steak. Sugar and sweet corn take the place of mustard or herbs, and the macaroni is cooked softer than al dente so the mayonnaise clings in one creamy mass.
Thin slices of lotus stem stay crunchy, while shrimp split lengthwise open up a wider surface for the fish sauce dressing to soak into. The vinegar soak at the start removes the astringent aftertaste of the stem; skip it and no amount of dressing hides it. Leave the stems in much past 10 minutes, though, and their own aroma fades as well. Salty, sour and sweet hit together, with cilantro on top, in the style of a Vietnamese goi salad. Resting the tossed salad for 5 minutes or more lets the dressing reach into the shredded carrot and the shrimp.
Lamb rather than beef sits under the mashed potato, and the filling is reduced with red wine, beef stock and Worcestershire until moist but no longer runny. A loose filling lets the mash sink, and the two layers blur together on the plate. The wine gets a minute or two of hard boiling first so its sharp alcohol edge is gone. Potatoes mashed while hot with butter and milk spread without dry lumps, and sealing them right to the edges of the dish keeps the sauce underneath as it bubbles in the oven. Fork ridges across the top give the heat raised peaks to brown.
There are no noodles in this high-heat stir-fry of chicken breast, bok choy, carrot, mushrooms, and bean sprouts; it sits beside rice, with a light brown sauce that coats rather than pools. The carrot is cut thinner than the softer vegetables so everything finishes at once while the bok choy stems keep their crunch.
Curry powder turns the rice golden, lighter than a curry-over-rice plate but more aromatic than ordinary fried rice. Chicken breast, onion, carrot and green pepper are all chopped small.
This has been a fixture of Korean school lunches and staff cafeterias for decades. The potato is cut into thin, even matchsticks; when the widths vary, the thin strips break while the thick ones stay underdone.
Egg mixed with finely minced carrot, garlic chives and onion is poured in several rounds and rolled up, then cut into bite-size pieces for skewers, each face showing a vegetable-flecked spiral. Coarse vegetables thicken the layers and the roll loses its shape, which is why they are chopped as fine as possible.