167 recipes. Page 5 of 7
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The broth is reduced until there is just enough to mix into rice or spoon onto a lettuce wrap. With so little liquid, it is hard to fix once it turns salty, which is why only 80 percent of the doenjang goes in at first and the rest is used to adjust at the end. While the pastes fry for 30 seconds, keep the heat low and keep stirring.
Because this soup goes on the table for ancestral memorial rites, even the way it is cut matters. Brisket, radish and tofu are sliced into neat squares of the same thickness, and the fat that rises is skimmed off to keep the broth clear.
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.
Miso is spread thickly around the inside rim of the pot like a bank of earth, and it gets scraped into the broth a little at a time as the pot simmers. Oysters release salty juices of their own, which is why the miso never goes in all at once.
A local dish of Taean in South Chungcheong: blue crab and aged kimchi in one pot, seasoned with salted shrimp. The broth gets its flavor from the kimchi, and it has to be well-fermented mukeunji. The crabs have the top shell removed and the leg tips trimmed, and the bodies are cut in half before they go in.
The ingredients are nearly those of kimchi stew, but with more water, so it becomes a soup for pouring over hot rice. How it tastes depends on how sour the kimchi is; if yours is still young, a little vinegar fills the gap.
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.
Thin bulgogi-cut beef and ripe kimchi are fried in sesame oil until red oil starts to gather in the pot, and that is when the water goes in. The tofu is added late but still gets ten more minutes, enough to soak up the kimchi broth all the way through.
Two tablespoons of gochujang set the base, and half a tablespoon of chili flakes adjusts the heat. Pork shoulder is first cooked with a little of the water, then the seasoning is fried onto it for a minute, which keeps the gochujang from floating separately in the broth. It suits being ladled generously over cold rice.
The flavor of this broth comes from the innards packed in the crab's top shell. That is why the shells go into the pot with the radish before the bodies, so the innards can be stirred loose into the gochujang broth. It sits on a tabletop burner, and as it cooks down, a little water goes in so everyone can keep eating to the bottom.
Half a tablespoon of doenjang goes into the gochujang seasoning, smoothing the sharp edge gochujang has on its own into something more savory. The pastes are fried in the pork fat over low heat for just a minute.
Cod and pollock are soft-fleshed fish, so once the pieces are in the pot they are never turned; the spicy broth is just spooned over them. That is how the pieces stay whole all the way to the table. Swap in clams or shrimp and it becomes a seafood maeuntang.
The young leaves of the Korean thistle, a plant in the daisy family, are what goes by the name gondeure. No chili here, and only 1.5 tablespoons of doenjang, keeping the bitter, nutty scent of the greens in front. Once the gondeure is in, the heat comes down to a gentle simmer.
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.
Made with plump winter oysters, it smells of the sea from the first spoonful. With lots of tofu and a chili-red broth, it sits closer to a hearty, spicy stew for rice than to a clear oyster soup.
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.
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.
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.
Clams and shrimp give this doenjang stew the smell of the sea. The clams bring salt of their own, so start with a little less paste than usual.
White miso makes a mild, slightly sweet soup and red miso a darker, saltier one. Either way, once the miso is in, the pot does not boil again: the heat is turned off, and only then are the wakame and green onion added.
Blue crab, clams, squid and shrimp share one pot that keeps simmering on a low flame at the table. The seafood gets fished out first as it's ready; the tofu and zucchini stay in the red broth a while longer.
No meat and no stock, just plain water. Seaweed fried in sesame oil and doenjang (Korean soybean paste) give the broth its flavor, and tofu takes the place the beef would usually hold. It is lighter than beef seaweed soup, and the doenjang leaves the broth slightly thick.
Clam juice forms the base, with gochugaru and gochujang turning the pot deep red and spicy. Thick slices of tofu and zucchini soak up the seafood broth all the way through. Served straight from the pot, it stays bubbling until the last spoonful.
Fat from pork small intestine melts into a soy-and-mirin chicken broth and turns it cloudy and rich in this hot pot from Hakata, Fukuoka. Cabbage torn into big pieces soaks up that broth and goes soft and sweet. Once the solids are gone, noodles or rice are added to the remaining broth.