1421 recipes. Page 26 of 60
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Japanese-style cream pasta uses mentaiko, salted pollock roe, in two ways: two thirds melts into the butter and cream sauce, and the rest goes on top raw with crumbled roasted seaweed. A teaspoon of lemon juice at the end lightens the cream. The roe is stirred in with the burner off or barely on. Over strong heat it turns fishy.
Thick veal shanks braise in tomato, white wine and chicken stock until the meat separates under a fork, with the marrow still sitting in the middle of each bone. That marrow is the best part, so the shanks are turned and lifted gently with tongs rather than jolted. A light, well-shaken coat of flour on the shanks browns in the oil instead of scorching. Onion, carrot and celery soften in the same oil until sweet, and white wine lifts the browned bits from the bottom to start the sauce. The shanks braise covered in the oven with their tops just showing above the liquid. Gremolata, a mix of lemon zest, parsley and garlic, is scattered on just before serving to brighten the long-cooked sauce.
Three Cup Chicken, as the Taiwanese name goes, comes from equal measures of soy sauce, sesame oil, and rice wine; here each is 3 tablespoons rather than a cup. Thai basil goes in just before the heat goes off, and its fresh scent rising over the dark soy turns it into something quite different from plain soy-braised chicken.
Swiss chard leaves are thicker and tougher than spinach, so they don't go limp even after sitting in their dressing for a while. The dressing is doenjang (Korean soybean paste), finished with ground perilla seed and perilla oil for a thick, nutty coating.
Daegu's junghwa bibimbap, a Chinese-Korean rice bowl, piles pork, squid, shrimp, and cabbage, stir-fried over high heat until no loose liquid is left, onto rice and tops it with a runny-yolked fried egg. Once the burner is on high there is no time to stop, and the chili powder, oyster sauce, soy sauce, and garlic are measured out beforehand.
A small amount of curry powder in the gochujang marinade is the Chuncheon touch. No water goes into the pan; the cabbage, torn into large pieces, releases enough to turn the marinade into a sauce. When the chicken is gone, rice is fried in whatever sauce is left.
As halved blue crab grills, the innards in the top shell thicken into a rich paste that serves as a dipping sauce for the meat. That is why the crab is split carefully, without letting them run out. Whatever innards and glaze are left, spooned over rice and mixed in, make a meal on their own.
Whole loach are boiled, ground fine and pushed through a sieve to leave the bones and skin behind, and that broth simmers with siraegi (dried radish greens) until perilla seed powder thickens it. A pinch of sansho pepper at the table leaves a light tingle on the tongue.
Eggplant cut into wide bias slices drinks up the gochujang broth and releases a mouthful of spicy liquid with each bite. The chili paste and flakes need only about 30 seconds over low heat and scorch if left longer.
A well-made dubu jorim has three layers in one bite: a dark, slightly chewy glazed surface, a seasoned middle, and a soft white center. That outer layer forms in the frying pan, where the tofu browns on both sides before the sauce is added. Blotting off surface water first keeps the oil from spitting.
Two fermented fish products go into this southern Korean kimchi, anchovy fish sauce and salted yellow croaker, layered for a saltier, deeper flavor than most napa kimchi. Finely chopped sea staghorn, a branching seaweed, adds a cool, briny savoriness that grows as the kimchi ripens. The chili flakes soak in glutinous rice paste first, which brightens the color and helps the paste cling to each leaf. The seasoning goes in generously, as is typical of Jeolla kimchi, and the heads are pressed down hard in the container because air contact gives fermenting kimchi a stale smell.
No stock goes into the pot: 500 g of mussels and some radish make the whole broth. The mussels give up a concentrated sea flavor, the radish adds a clean sweetness, and soup soy sauce with cooking wine smooths out the salt the shellfish bring. Each mussel is lifted out as soon as its shell opens and the meat waits on the side until the bowls are filled, which keeps it from toughening. Any that stay shut after cooking are thrown away rather than forced open. Straining slowly through a fine sieve removes sand and shell bits so the broth poured over the noodles stays clear, and garlic with green onion clears away what fishiness remains.
Minari, a Korean water dropwort, takes the place of basil, blended with walnuts and Parmesan into a pesto that tastes green, cool and faintly bitter. Lemon juice keeps the oil-rich sauce from feeling heavy, and browned chicken thigh makes it a full meal. Crown daisy (ssukgat) can stand in when minari is hard to find, though the aroma shifts.
Each oyster bakes in its own half shell under a spinach, sour cream and Parmesan topping, with a little Pernod and garlic mixed in. Frozen spinach thaws in the refrigerator the day before and is squeezed hard, otherwise the topping slides off the shells. Melted cheese and curled edges say little about the oyster underneath, which needs to turn opaque all the way through.
Eggs poach right in a thick, spiced tomato sauce, a pan dish cooked across the Middle East and North Africa. Cumin, smoked paprika, and peperoncino are fried in olive oil with onion and pepper before the tomatoes go in, so their aroma runs through the whole pan. The sauce is reduced until it can hold a hollow for each egg, and the whites set while the yolks stay loose. Tear bread, break a yolk, and drag it through the sauce.
Lightly toasted gim is torn into big pieces and tossed with a soy and sesame oil dressing and thinly sliced scallion. Big pieces matter, because some of the edges stay crisp even after the dressing goes on. The seaweed drinks up liquid within minutes, and only what will be eaten right away gets mixed.
Pork leg braised until it pulls apart with chopsticks is sliced over jasmine rice and spooned with a glossy soy glaze. Palm sugar caramel and dark soy sauce set the sweet-salty base, with star anise and cinnamon underneath. It is a staple of Thai night markets, Bangkok's included.
Young spring mugwort is mild, with little bitterness, and lean chicken breast leaves its grassy scent clear. The seasoning is kept light with soup soy sauce and cooking wine, and the mugwort, tough stems picked out, goes in last and comes off the heat while still bright green.
Cuttlefish is thicker and denser than ordinary squid, so the inside of the body gets a deep crosshatch before it hits the pan, and the garlic butter seeps into those cuts as it cooks. A little chopped cheongyang chili, a hot Korean green pepper, leaves a faint kick at the end of the butter.
The stew is credited to San Francisco wharf fishermen who pooled their leftover seafood in one pot. The tomato and white wine broth simmers on its own first; mussels, white fish and shrimp follow at the end, one after another, for a short cook. Any mussels still shut after cooking are picked out before serving.
Boiled bracken goes in first and the hairtail pieces are laid over it without overlapping. The fish is never turned; spooning broth over it keeps the flesh from breaking. Only a shallow layer of broth is left at the end.
The longer the kimchi has sat in the fridge and the sourer it has become, the better it suits this braise. Simmered with soy sauce and gochugaru (Korean chili flakes), its sharp acidity softens, and the tofu, laid in raw without frying, soaks up the red liquid to the middle.
Instead of salt, this Jeolla version seasons the scallions with thick fermented anchovy sauce, myeolchi jinjeot, which gives them a funky, deep saltiness. The sauce goes only on the white stalks at first, since they are thick and need a head start, and whatever drains off is stirred back into the chili paste rather than thrown away. Pear juice sweetens the paste in place of sugar for a cleaner finish. The green tops get only a light swipe of seasoning, because squeezing them makes the kimchi taste grassy.
From the Cambodian immigrant communities of Phnom Penh, this clear rice noodle soup crossed into southern Vietnam and settled into Saigon's street food. Fish sauce and a little sugar give the pork broth its savory-sweet southern balance, and this recipe starts from ready-made pork bone stock rather than simmering bones. Once seasoned, the broth drops to low heat so it stays clear and fragrant. Ground pork fried with garlic until dry and crumbly sits on top as a contrast to the silky broth. The shrimp spend only about a minute in boiling water and come out as soon as they turn pink, which keeps them tender.