1421 recipes. Page 50 of 60
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Songhwa mushrooms get a thin coat of perilla oil and soy sauce, then a sprinkle of ground perilla seed just before the heat goes off, layering the same nutty aroma twice. Their caps are thick, and generous slices hold together in the pan.
The abalone guts are fried with the radish in a little sesame oil before anything else, and they are why this otherwise clear soup turns faintly green and smells strongly of the sea.
Dried only partway in the sea wind on Korea's east coast, kodari pollock keeps some moisture in its flesh. Braised, it turns chewy without the dry, fibrous texture of fully dried hwangtae or bugeo. Radish under the fish keeps it off the hot pot bottom while a spicy-sweet sauce of gochujang, gochugaru, soy sauce and sugar cooks into it over about half an hour. It tastes even better after a night in the fridge, and leftover sauce makes a good bibimbap seasoning.
Soybean sprouts pick up the beefy richness of thin-sliced brisket (chadolbaegi), because the fat the brisket renders is the only oil used for the chili sauce. Brisket this thin browns in a minute or two and the sprouts should stay crunchy, which makes the whole cook brief and fast. Blot off only the excess fat; wiping the pan dry leaves nothing to fry the paste in.
Sliced sora, a Korean sea snail, stays chewy, with the gochujang sauce cooked right down onto it and no liquid left in the pan. A weak flame lets water pool and turns it into a stir-fry, so the pan goes on high. Trim off the tough innard end while slicing.
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.
Spicy pork and bean sprouts, usually a stir-fry, are steamed in this version, which uses no oil and lets the gochujang and gochugaru seasoning come through more directly. As the sprouts wilt under the lid they release water that turns into a light broth and carries the seasoning into the pork shoulder, while their remaining crunch eases the heat. Spreading the meat thin and low over the sprouts lets it cook at the same pace throughout. The dish is served as soon as it is done, before the sprouts give off too much water and turn limp. Rice or thin somyeon noodles stirred into the leftover broth finish the pot.
Biting into a Sichuan peppercorn leaves the tongue tingling, and in kung pao chicken that numbness matters as much as the heat. Dried chilies and peppercorns are fried in the oil first so the chicken is coated in that flavored oil, and the roasted peanuts go in at the very end to stay crunchy.
Big chunks of pork belly and neck are fixed on a long metal spit and turned for hours over charcoal. A marinade of orange juice, coriander seed, oregano and rosemary gives the pork a citrus and herb aroma. It needs an outdoor rotisserie grill and a spit with securing forks; small wooden skewers in a pan do not reproduce it. Wind, the amount of charcoal and the size of the chunks can push the cook past three hours, and the fire should be lit with plenty of time in hand.
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.
Tender raw soybean leaves are stacked two or three at a time with a thin spread of soy and chili seasoning between them, steamed briefly, then peeled off one by one to wrap around a bite of rice. Steaming softens the coarse veins, and green plum syrup rounds off the saltiness of the soy so the grassy taste of the leaves still comes through behind the garlic and chili. It works warm or cooled as a side dish; the seasoning stays put between the layers.
In this Peruvian beef stir-fry, French fries get tossed right into the pan and rice sits on the side of the plate. Soy sauce and red wine vinegar bring salt and sourness together, and only half a teaspoon of ají amarillo, a yellow chili paste, goes in. Plate it as soon as the fries have taken on a little sauce, before they go limp.
Chicken thigh pieces cook skin side down under a lid until the fat runs and the edges darken. Shallow cuts in the thick parts, no deeper than half the thickness, let the marinade in without the meat splitting open.
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.
With only 80 ml of water in the pot, the sprouts cook in trapped steam under the chili-soy seasoning rather than being blanched first and dressed afterward. That small amount of liquid is why the sprouts are drained but not shaken bone dry: a little surface water tops up that steaming liquid.
Mala xiangguo takes the numbing, spicy flavors of Sichuan hot pot and puts them into a dry stir-fry: beef, lotus root, shiitake, and bok choy get only a thin coat of mala sauce, with no broth at all. Everything is patted or shaken dry first: with nothing simmering, any water left on the ingredients just pools in the pan.
Bellflower root soaks in salt water for ten minutes and blanches for just one, enough to soften its bitterness while keeping its firm crunch. Coated in gochujang, it grills in a pan or over an open flame, and the open flame gives a stronger smoky note.
Blue crabs in spring are packed with meat and taste noticeably sweet. Here they are halved and simmered in their shells with chili flakes and Cheongyang peppers, and the closer to live the crabs are when they go in, the more of that sweetness comes through.
With only half a tablespoon of gochujang against soy sauce and oyster sauce, this braise leans salty and savory rather than red and fiery. That small spoonful of chili paste has to dissolve fully into the soy and oyster sauce, or the pork and scapes end up unevenly seasoned. Lean pork tenderloin, sliced across the grain about 1 cm thick, stays tender through a short simmer while its juices enrich the sauce. Adding the garlic scapes only after the liquid has dropped by half lets them soak up that sauce and still keep their crunch and mild, sharp bite. Left too long they turn stringy, which is why the pan comes off the heat with a spoonful of glossy sauce left for the rice.
Take the garlic scapes off the heat while they are still bright green and they stay crisp to the core; longer than that, the color dulls and they turn tough. For anyone who eats less heat, hold back some of the gochujang sauce and add it bit by bit, tasting as you go.
Ground beef and pork are combined two to one and worked in one direction for more than three minutes, until the mix sticks to the hands and turns smooth; that stickiness gives the thick patties their firm bite. The onion is minced fine and pressed lightly, leaving it a little moist rather than wrung dry.
Soybean pulp (kongbiji, the solids left from making soy milk or tofu) drinks up the anchovy stock as it cooks, and with the pre-fried ground pork and sour kimchi mixed through it, the pot ends up thick enough that a spoon leaves a hollow behind.
The small anchovies are toasted in a dry pan and set aside, while the garlic scapes cook first in the soy glaze; the fish only returns for the last couple of minutes so it stays crisp-chewy instead of hard. Scapes are never blanched, which keeps them bright green with a snap at the center.
Bacon cooked slowly over low heat gives up smoky fat, and that fat becomes the base for stir-frying the garlic scapes, with little or no extra oil needed. Since bacon is already salty, the soy sauce is scaled back to taste, and a spoonful of syrup leaves a thin glossy coat that balances the salt with sweetness.