1421 recipes. Page 16 of 60
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Bite into a plump, jade-green stonecrop leaf and a grassy, faintly tart juice bursts out. Heat ruins the leaves, and so does sitting in the dressing too long, which is why they are never blanched and get tossed only just before eating.
The short ribs marinate for over an hour in soy sauce with grated Asian pear and onion, then braise over low heat for another hour or more. When the meat slides off the bone at a touch of the chopsticks and the sauce has turned glossy, it all goes over rice. It is a long cook, but the pot does most of the work.
Smoked duck goes into the pan first, and the fat it gives off is what the onion and oyster mushrooms cook in, and the vegetables pick up the smoke too. If there is more fat than needed, pour off all but a tablespoon. The gochujang and syrup sauce is sweet and hot, the kind of thing that goes with a drink.
Water and milk make the base, with gochujang stirred in, and the rice cakes and fish cake simmer in it. Milk tends to split over high heat, so the pot stays at medium-low the whole time, and the mozzarella goes in just before the heat goes off to melt on what is left.
Dakgalbi usually means chicken stir-fried with vegetables on an iron plate, but this Chuncheon-style version puts only the marinated chicken on a grill. The gochujang paste caramelizes at high heat, charring the edges dark and leaving a faint bitterness after the sweet heat.
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.
Tang usually signals soup, but there is little broth here: it cooks down until the red sauce clings, glossy, to the chicken and potatoes. The big potato chunks, still holding their shape, get spooned onto rice along with the sauce.
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.
Chili flakes stirred into the brine and never strained out leave flecks of red through the pale, cool broth of this clear spring water kimchi. Shredded Korean pear sweetens the liquid gently, and 8 to 12 hours at room temperature give it a light, refreshing tang. Sedum, a small succulent spring green, gets only a quick swish in cold water, since long washing makes it grassy. It joins the jar last and is folded rather than pressed so its tiny leaves stay crisp. Because the ferment is short, the broth and greens are best eaten cold within a day or two, ladled over rice.
With no meat in the pot, the broth takes its savory backbone from oyster and shiitake mushrooms sauteed in perilla oil before the kelp stock goes in. Ground perilla seed stirred in at the end turns it milky and smooth, and slippery rice noodles glide through the thickened soup. Torn oyster mushrooms and thick shiitake slices supply the chew.
Crumbled gamtae, a fine Korean seaweed, gives a butter and lemon sauce the smell of the sea. Scallops are seared hard one side at a time and set aside, then white wine lifts the browned bits they leave in the pan into the sauce. The scallops never simmer; they go back on top of the noodles at the end.
Oyster mushrooms seared in a dry pan lose their water, brown at the edges, and concentrate their savory flavor. They are tossed with baby greens and briefly blanched naengi (shepherd's purse), which keeps its earthy spring smell. The dressing loosens doenjang, Korean fermented soybean paste, with yuja marmalade and vinegar. The result tastes nutty, tangy, and lightly citrusy at once. Halved cherry tomatoes burst with juice that lightens the heavy fermented notes.
A teaspoon of vinegar in the soy marinade makes the salt less sharp and the chicken skin taste less greasy. The shine comes from using sugar and oligosaccharide syrup together, and the last coat of sauce brushed on near the end bubbles in the oven until it sets into a thin lacquer. The thickest wing, not the glossy skin, decides when the tray comes out, because the meat by the bone cooks last. Sesame oil and toasted seeds go on after baking, while the wings are still hot.
In the mountains of northern Miyazaki, especially Takachiho, bamboo is called kappo, and this dish fills a section of young green bamboo with chicken, burdock, shiitake, carrot, garlic chives, and garlic before setting it over charcoal. The ingredients steam in their own moisture and pick up the scent of the bamboo. It is an outdoor dish, made over glowing coals rather than tall flames, with sound, untreated bamboo meant for cooking.
In the five-color namul set for Chuseok and Seollal ancestral tables, bellflower root is the white one. The torn root is rubbed hard with salt to draw out its bitterness and rinsed until the cloudy water runs clear, then dressed with gochujang, vinegar, and sugar. Since it is never cooked, it stays crunchy long enough to be made ahead.
The beef is braised once as a whole piece, torn along the grain, then braised a second time with quail eggs. Over rice, it gets a heavy crumble of dried gamtae, a thin winter seaweed, added only at the last moment because the braising liquid softens it quickly.
The garlic chives are split into white stems and green leaves and go in separately. Shrimp cook in oil already scented with sliced garlic, the stems join with the soy and oyster sauce, and the leaves go in last and are done within a minute.
There is no meat in the filling, only king oyster mushroom, tofu and garlic chives. Both the mushroom and the tofu hold a lot of water, so the minced mushroom is dry-fried in a pan without oil first and the tofu is wrung out hard in a cloth.
Breast, thigh and wing each get their own seasoning here and end up side by side on one plate. Salt alone keeps the breast mild, gochujang gives the thigh heat and charred edges, and soy with garlic makes the wings savory. Because fat and muscle differ by cut, the breast comes off first while the other two stay on longer.
Beets sautéed separately in butter with a splash of vinegar hold their deep red color even after simmering with the rest of the soup. The base is a broth from slowly cooked beef shank, filled out with potato, carrot, onion, and cabbage, and a bowl eats more like a meal than a starter. Sour cream is spooned onto each bowl rather than into the soup, and stirring it in turns the broth pink, tangy, and smooth.
It also goes by dak bokkeumtang, and although the name ends in tang, meaning soup, it is reduced for about 25 minutes until the sauce clings to the chicken. The chicken pieces are blanched for three minutes and rinsed of bone fragments before they go into the pot. Sugar in the sauce makes the sweetness as clear as the heat.
The cartilage near the wing joints softens the longer it braises, which changes the chew when you tear the meat off the bone. The wings reduce uncovered and get turned two or three times so the glaze works into the joints. Eaten with the fingers, they often end up next to beer or soju.
As dongchimi ferments, the clear brine around chunks of radish turns cool, tangy and faintly fizzy, with a soft fruitiness from pear and a clean finish from ginger. The radish is cut large, 4 to 5 cm, because small pieces go soft once the kimchi ripens, and a firm, medium-sized radish holds up better than a small one. Keeping every piece under the brine stops stray microbes, and the jar moves to the fridge once small bubbles appear. In winter the chilled broth becomes a base for cold noodles or is ladled alongside rich, fatty meat. Strained, the ripe broth tastes cleaner, and it keeps refrigerated for 2 to 3 weeks.
Pushing the doenjang through a fine sieve before it meets the broth keeps lumps out, and lumps are where bitterness concentrates. Anchovy stock and fermented soybean paste reinforce each other, so the soup tastes complete without extra seasoning.