Korean Beef and Mushroom Pancake
Four shiitake, finely chopped, go into the ground beef, and the mushroom's grain turns up in every mouthful of meat.
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Four shiitake, finely chopped, go into the ground beef, and the mushroom's grain turns up in every mouthful of meat.
Kimchi goes down first, then Spam, sausages, tofu and rice cakes are laid over it in neat rows by type, with the seasoning paste piled in the middle. The water is poured in around the edge rather than the center to keep those rows in place.
Thick rounds of zucchini are hollowed into little cups and filled with beef, tofu and shiitake before steaming. Soft zucchini and dense filling come in the same bite, with thin strips of egg crepe on top.
Without any meat, the filling leans on firm tofu, cabbage, garlic chives, and short-cut Korean sweet potato glass noodles, which give each bite an even, springy chew while the chives stand in for green onion. Pan-frying sets a thin golden crust on the bottom while the top of the wrapper stays soft.
Shiitake and oyster mushrooms simmer first until the broth turns light brown, then tofu, enoki and lengthwise-halved bok choy are arranged neatly on top. Ground perilla seed is stirred in a little at a time two minutes before serving, and there is no meat in the pot.
Finely mashed tofu worked into the ground beef keeps these bite-size patties from turning dry. They belong on ancestral rite and holiday tables, and because they taste and feel much the same once cold, they also pack well in a lunch box.
Little rounds of brisket fat float on top, and the stew tastes nuttier and heavier than a vegetable-only doenjang jjigae. The sliced cheongyang chili is there because of that fat.
Tofu and shishito peppers carry this meatless braise, and the salty, mildly spicy sauce that remains is meant to be mixed into rice. The tofu is basted with a spoon rather than flipped, so the slices stay neat and square to the end. Onion cut on the thick side keeps its shape through the braise and adds a bit of bite. Patting the tofu dry one more time just before it hits the pan cuts down on spattering oil.
Rice-rinsing water gives this doenjang broth a faint starchy body and takes the edge off the paste's saltiness. Spring cabbage (bomdong) supplies the sweetness at the center of the bowl. Its stems should keep a little bite, while the leaves only need to wilt.
The brisket is seared first to render its fat, and the gochujang and chili flakes are fried in that fat to build the base of the broth. The minari, cut into 5 cm lengths, waits on the side until just before the heat goes off, then goes in only long enough to wilt.
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.
Beaten egg is poured in a circle from the edge of the pot and left unstirred for thirty seconds, so it sets into soft ribbons in the barely moving broth. Because the soup never comes to a hard boil, the even 1.5 cm tofu cubes keep their corners too.
The whole can of tuna, oil included, is tipped into the pot with water. No stock is made separately, and that oil is what the broth builds on. Some add ramen noodles to stretch it into a full meal.
Ground perilla seeds (deulkkae-garu) thicken the soy braising liquid into a creamy, nutty sauce, a world away from the red, spicy versions of Korean braised tofu. Searing the tofu on both sides first firms the surface so the sauce coats it thickly and the slices hold their shape. Green onion and a few drops of sesame oil at the very end lift the earthy perilla flavor. Perilla powder is sold at Korean grocers and is not the same thing as sesame.
After soaking, the dried pollack strips are picked over for thick bones, torn by hand, and toasted in sesame oil until their edges curl before any water goes in. Tofu and egg poured in a circle keep the broth clear and mild, and in Korea it is a common pot the morning after a night of drinking.
A can of tuna and some sour kimchi, no meat to brown, and the stew is ready fast; most of the flavor comes from the kimchi's sourness. Pour in a little of the oil from the can and the broth gets noticeably deeper.
Pan-fried tofu and thick-cut king oyster mushrooms share the same spicy soy and gochujang sauce but feel completely different to bite: one soft, the other springy. Browning the tofu slowly over low heat until the edges firm up gives the sauce a surface to cling to.
Tuna from the can is tipped in along with all its oil, giving the broth a savory richness. The kimchi brine is held back at the start and used at the end, after tasting, to make up whatever salt and sourness the pot still needs.
Turn on the range hood before the cheonggukjang goes in. The smell as it boils is strong, but the broth itself tastes deep and nutty, and because the soybeans are only briefly fermented, they keep a sticky, stringy texture. It is eaten hot, ladled over rice and mixed in.
Chamnamul (Korean pimpinella greens) brings a sharp, grassy fragrance that cuts through mild tofu and anchovy-kelp stock. The tofu gets four minutes on its own to absorb the broth, while the greens stay in only long enough to wilt. Draining the cubes briefly in a sieve makes them easier to slide in without breaking.
Two cheongyang chilies go into the water whole, uncut, and simmer for eight minutes to make a spicy stock. Before that, the anchovies are toasted for about a minute in a dry pot; the water has to go in as soon as they smell nutty, or bitterness creeps into the broth. Seeding the chilies first takes the heat down.
Cheonggak, a green seaweed that grows in many-forked branches, is sold packed in salt. A cold-water soak takes the salt out, and a short simmer keeps it crunchy even in hot broth. It cooks with tofu, seasoned with tuna extract and Korean soup soy sauce.
Chonggak kimchi, made from small whole radishes with their greens, replaces the usual napa cabbage kimchi, so the stew has chunks of radish with real bite instead of soft leaves. Keeping the pot at a gentle bubble stops the radish from turning mushy.
Cheonggukjang smells far stronger than doenjang, and once it is stirred into the stock its earthy, heavy aroma takes over the whole pot. Leaving the soup covered off the heat for a few minutes before serving softens that smell noticeably.