1421 recipes. Page 48 of 60
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King oyster mushrooms stay firm and chewy even when cooked, enough to stand in for meat on the plate. A shallow crosshatch on the long cut faces gives the butter soy sauce somewhere to cling as it thickens. Wipe the mushrooms with a damp paper towel instead of washing them.
A whole chicken simmers for over an hour, until the broth turns milky, before the abalone, small octopus and shrimp go in. Adding the abalone guts makes the broth deeper still; whether to include them is up to the cook.
Burdock, which stays firm, and potato, which crumbles at the edges, share the pot, but the potato goes in only after the burdock has had seven minutes on its own. Added together, the potatoes would be mush by the time the burdock softened. Oyster mushrooms join them and there is no meat; the broth is anchovy-kelp stock with perilla seed powder stirred in.
Canned saury comes with bones already softened, so draining and rinsing it cuts the cooking time roughly in half, while fresh saury takes longer to cook through. Either way the oily flesh holds its own against a sauce of gochujang and gochugaru, and the radish underneath turns into a sweet, sauce-soaked braise of its own.
Perilla oil and shredded perilla leaves make this smell much stronger than the usual potato stir-fry. The soy sauce is poured into an empty spot in the hot pan and allowed to bubble before it is stirred through, and in that moment it picks up a faintly scorched, toasty smell that carries over to the potatoes.
King oyster mushrooms sliced 0.7 cm thick lengthwise are laid in butter in a single layer and browned on both sides, and only then does the soy glaze go in around the edge of the pan to reduce for about a minute. Finished with green onion and sesame, the salty butter-soy flavor works next to rice or with drinks.
Cut into 0.7 cm half-moons and cooked only briefly, the zucchini keeps its shape in the clear broth and a little firmness at the center. The shrimp, added first, flavor the broth; dried shrimp make it deeper.
A can of tuna stands in for meat and gives the doenjang broth its savory depth, with plenty of ugeoji, blanched outer napa cabbage leaves. Use only half the oil from the can; all of it makes the broth greasy.
Well-fermented kimchi, sour and soft, meets the oil from canned Pacific saury and cooks down into a tangy, concentrated sauce. With no fish to clean, the work is mostly waiting: about twenty minutes of simmering, partly uncovered, until the kimchi turns tender and the liquid thickens. Sliced cheongyang chili goes in near the end to keep its sharp heat. The fish only needs heating through and stays in large pieces as long as nobody stirs it.
Smoked duck comes already seasoned, so the soy sauce is kept light, and no oil is added because the duck's own fat is enough to cook the onion and sauce. The sauce is gochujang with maesil-cheong (green plum syrup), and two cheongyang chilies go in with the onion.
Doenjang, Korean fermented soybean paste, is stirred into melted unsalted butter with garlic and lemon juice, brushed over large shrimp and grilled in a very hot grill pan. The paste already brings plenty of salt, which is why the butter is unsalted and any extra salt waits until the cooked shrimp have been tasted.
Hair-fine strands of maesaengi seaweed spread green through the whole broth, with pieces of mussel to chew on in between. Both are winter ingredients from Korea's south coast, at their best from November to February. Oysters can take the mussels' place.
As it simmers, the tough stems of the ugeoji (blanched outer napa cabbage leaves) loosen and soak up the doenjang. A little gochujang tints the broth reddish, and rice-rinse water gives it more body than plain water would.
Collagen from the oxtail joints melts into the pot over a long simmer, thickening the sauce to a glossy, sticky finish while the meat slips off the bone. The tails first simmer for 90 minutes with just green onion and ginger, so the meat is tender before the soy sauce and sugar are added. Radish and carrot join for the last stretch, sweetening the sauce and soaking it up. Chilled, the sauce sets like jelly and melts again on reheating, and lifting off the fat that hardens on top makes the braise taste cleaner. The dish is a fixture of Korean holiday tables.
Twenty perilla leaves go in, but they never actually cook over the flame. The soy-marinated beef is stir-fried, the heat is turned off, and only then are the leaves folded in for twenty seconds of residual heat; any longer and they blacken.
The heads and part of the shells stay on these medium shrimp. Tossed for ten minutes with olive oil, rosemary, thyme and garlic, they cook for two minutes a side on a thin layer of coarse salt in a very hot pan, and the shells that were left on turn crisp.
Mussels simmered in their shells give off a briny, sweet liquor that becomes the soup. At the drinking table the broth is sipped between glasses, and the mussels are fished out and dipped in chogochujang, a sweet-sour chili sauce. Plump winter mussels make the sweetest broth.
Brisket browned in perilla oil, then doenjang and chili flakes fried in the same fat, give this stew a savory, toasty base before any water goes in. The blanched cabbage leaves spend about 25 minutes in the pot, soaking the beef broth deep into their fibers, while the thinly sliced brisket cooks until it pulls apart along the grain. With only greens and beef in the pot, the flavor is simple and hearty.
Steaming a whole blue crab keeps more of its sweet juices inside the shell than boiling does, and the meat comes out briny and moist. In spring and autumn the crabs are full of roe and tomalley, which adds plenty to eat beyond the white meat. A simple dip of soy sauce sharpened with vinegar brings the sweetness forward. Eating it is hands-on work, cracking each leg joint and pulling the meat out piece by piece.
Perilla sprouts are far more tender than perilla leaves and smell only faintly of perilla, and here they are tossed with browned tofu in thinned doenjang (Korean soybean paste). Thickly shredded perilla leaves can stand in when sprouts are hard to find, though the scent gets noticeably stronger and the bite tougher.
Chuck flap is so well marbled that coarse salt, pepper and a quick, hard sear are all it takes, and it stays juicy. While the steak rests, asparagus goes into the same pan and picks up the beef fat and butter left behind.
A whole chicken simmers with dried astragalus root (hwanggi), jujubes and garlic until the meat falls from the bone, and the clear amber broth smells earthy and herbal. Unlike samgyetang, the bird is not stuffed with sticky rice.
Thin-sliced woosamgyeop, fatty beef brisket, is fried with garlic until its fat runs, and the chili flakes and soup soy sauce are toasted in that fat before any anchovy stock goes in. That is where the red, slick broth comes from. Two cheongyang chilies make it properly hot, and the bean sprouts go in last and come out still crunchy.
The potatoes finish with a sweet-salty soy glaze clinging to the outside and a floury interior. Because their wrinkled skins catch the sauce quickly, the shishito peppers wait until the potatoes are about halfway done and still keep a bit of crunch. The heat is mild enough for children, and once the glaze sets the dish holds its flavor at room temperature in a lunchbox.