1421 recipes. Page 51 of 60
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Udae galbi, thick plate-shaped beef ribs on the bone, carries more fat than ordinary galbi. Lightly scored and marinated in pear juice and soy sauce for at least 30 minutes, the ribs are browned dark over medium-high heat, then brushed with thin coats of marinade at medium. Doneness is checked by pressing the meat beside the bone: little or no red juice means it is ready.
Once the bean sprouts are in, the lid goes on and stays shut for seven minutes. Koreans have long held that this keeps the beany smell away, and with those seven minutes included, the soup goes from prep to bowl in about 15 minutes.
Butterbur stems are sharply bitter, so they are peeled, blanched and then soaked in cold water for a full hour; after that only a pleasant, faint bitterness remains. Braised slowly in kelp stock with soy sauce and a little syrup, the stems absorb the seasoning all the way through and come out salty-sweet with a glossy surface. Sliced red chili at the end adds more color than heat.
Garlic scapes taste of garlic without the sharp bite of the cloves, more sweet than pungent, and even people who shy away from garlic tend to keep reaching for them. Their season runs from spring into early summer, when the stalks are at their most tender.
Doenjang, Korean fermented soybean paste, gets mixed with a little gochujang, garlic and honey and spread over rockfish fillets in a coat thin enough to see the flesh through. Any thicker and the paste and honey burn before the fish is done. Laying the fillet skin side down and leaving it alone keeps it from curling.
Bean sprouts go into a milky broth made from toasted dried pollack, and it is the soup many Koreans make the morning after drinking. The sprouts cook briefly with the lid off, so their stems stay crisp.
With nothing more than radish, soy sauce, sugar, and garlic, everything depends on cooking the thick 2 cm rounds through to the center. Covered first, then uncovered to reduce, the radish turns translucent at the edges and picks up the soy while its own sweetness rounds out the salt. A single green chili and a little sesame oil at the very end add a light kick and a nutty smell to an otherwise plain, everyday side.
Garlic scapes are crisp with a slight chew, which gives lean chicken breast something to bite against. Oyster sauce and soy leave everything glossy.
This is the cumin-and-chili flavor of a Korean lamb skewer bar, where you roll each skewer through a dish of spice, made at home in a pan or on a grill. Here the cumin and chili flakes are mixed and scattered straight onto the meat as it finishes cooking. If cumin is new to you, a little curry powder in the mix makes it less foreign.
The kimchi decides almost everything here. Well-fermented, sour kimchi goes in with plenty of its brine, which turns the broth a deep brick red; if yours is not sour yet, a little vinegar makes up the difference.
Blanched radish greens, the leafy tops of Korean radish, soak up the pear-and-soy braising liquid from the beef and bring an earthy flavor with a slight chew. Short rib meat is soaked in cold water first to draw out blood, which keeps the sauce clean-tasting rather than murky. Pear juice adds a gentle fruit sweetness under the garlic and ginger, and the reduced sauce clings to both meat and greens, ready to spoon over rice.
Clam meat is mixed among crisp, oyster-sauce-glazed garlic scapes, and since the clams are barely more than warmed through, they stay plump and tender.
The soy marinade gets its sweetness from grated pear and onion juice as much as from sugar. With honey in there too, the ribs catch easily, so this is not something to walk away from while it cooks. The batch serves four, sized for a holiday table or guests.
Red lentils fall apart on their own as they simmer, so the soup thickens to a golden, spoonable body without any added thickener. Cumin and turmeric make it deep in both color and aroma.
Sour, long-fermented kimchi and pork back ribs braise down together in one pot, so the first impression is tangy and savory before it is spicy. The riper the kimchi, the stronger its sourness and savory depth, which makes the state of the kimchi the biggest factor in how the dish turns out.
Even boiled butterbur stems often keep tough outer fibers on the thicker pieces. Snap each one, and if strands come away with it, peel them off then and there. The ground perilla seed goes in while a little broth still covers the pan bottom, so it wraps the stems in a thick coat instead of clumping in one spot.
Onion rings cut 2 cm thick are pinned through the side with toothpicks, and the layers stay together when turned. Doenjang (fermented soybean paste), gochujang, perilla oil and garlic are loosened with two tablespoons of water into a brushable sauce, which goes on thinly from the first flip onward.
Maesaengi, a winter seaweed, grows in strands as fine as thread, and once it is loosened with chopsticks in anchovy stock the whole pot turns deep green within minutes. Its aroma fades with long cooking, so three to four minutes is all it gets.
Unlike the spicy, raw-dressed dried radish salad, this version braises rehydrated radish strips with thin slices of lean beef eye of round in a soy broth until chewy and lightly sweet. Drying concentrates the radish's sugar, and the strips drink up the braising liquid as they simmer. Soaking them in cold water for at least 20 minutes, until they spring back, sets up the right final texture.
Blanched and dressed straight away, butterbur stems keep a clear bitter edge; simmered and stirred with soup soy sauce and water for five minutes or more, they turn much milder. In spring it appears on mountain-village tables next to gondre and chwinamul greens.
Chicken hearts take longer to prep than to cook. Each one is split open and cleared of vessels and clots, and after that the searing is over in about six minutes over high heat. Sliced scallion goes on top, and they are served as a drinking snack.
This is a soup for November through February, the months when maesaengi (a seaweed as fine as thread) and oysters are both in season. The seaweed spreads loose through the broth, so every spoonful lifts green threads along with an oyster or two.
Made from the same tiny dried anchovies as crunchy myeolchi-bokkeum, this braise goes the other way: the fish soak up a soy and sugar syrup and stay moist and tender inside. The heat drops further near the end so they never dry out and turn hard, and as it cools, the glaze thickens around each anchovy.
The beef and minari (water parsley) go in at equal weights, which keeps the minari's slightly bitter aroma clearly present behind the soy-seasoned meat. The minari gets only 20 to 30 seconds in the pan, enough to soften the leaves while the stems stay crisp.