1421 recipes. Page 6 of 60
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Fresh oysters and soaked miyeok seaweed share one batter, and a single bite brings a crisp outside, slippery seaweed, and an oyster full of briny juice. Plump winter oysters suit it best. Each oyster gets pressed down into the batter with a spoon, since any that pokes above the surface cooks less than the rest.
Clams and seaweed go into a base broth of simmered radish, and with no meat in the pot, the clams carry the flavor. Their briny savoriness and the sea smell of the miyeok layer up in the same pot.
The dish is done when the glass noodles have drunk up the soy braising liquid and turned glossy brown; they go in only for the last five minutes, since added early they soak up all the sauce and go limp. Its current form is said to have settled in Andong's old market in the 1980s, though chicken braised in soy sauce in Gyeongsang Province goes back much further.
Beets cut into 2 cm cubes get dressed like kkakdugi, the cubed radish kimchi, but this batch is eaten fresh rather than fermented. Whatever is not served right away goes into a lidded container and straight into the fridge at 4°C or below rather than sitting out at room temperature. A kimchi meant for long fermentation needs its own tested ratios and instructions, not this one. The salted cubes are drained well first, because any water they carry thins the paste.
Shiitake carries the chew in this meatless japchae, cut into long thin strips alongside the onion and carrot. The seasoning is split: half dresses the sauteed vegetables, and the rest is stir-fried with the boiled noodles so they take on flavor of their own.
Cajun seasoning, a Louisiana Creole blend of paprika, cayenne, oregano, thyme, and garlic and onion powders, gives this cream pasta a smoky, moderate heat. Half of it coats the shrimp and the other half seasons the sauce, spreading the spice evenly. The butter and spiced fat left after searing the shrimp become the base for the onion, garlic, and bell pepper, and a mix of cream and milk keeps the sauce lighter than cream alone. The shrimp leave the pan as soon as they turn pink and only return on top at the end, which keeps them snappy.
Korean garlic chives (buchu) are far sharper and more pungent than Western chives, and this side dish keeps them raw to hold on to that bite. Doenjang, a fermented soybean paste, clings to the flat leaves so every mouthful carries its salty depth, while vinegar lightens the finish and chili flakes leave a gentle heat. A 30-second rinse in cold water is enough, and longer soaking dulls the aroma. It is made right before the meal and belongs next to a bowl of rice.
Crisp, garlic-rubbed toast against juicy tomato makes this antipasto work, and that contrast fades as soon as the bread turns soggy. That is why the cherry tomatoes lose some seeds and watery centers and drain briefly in a sieve before seasoning.
No water or dashi goes into this pot: chicken, gizzards, pork and vegetables cook in sake and whatever moisture the vegetables release. The dish comes from Saijo in Higashihiroshima, Hiroshima Prefecture, where sake brewery workers ate it during breaks in brewing. With so little liquid, each ingredient keeps its own flavor, and diners season their portion with salt and pepper. Cooking it in two rounds, half the ingredients at a time, keeps the napa cabbage and garlic chives from going limp.
Minced garlic and chopped rosemary are kneaded straight into these thin twisted Italian breadsticks, and parmesan is scattered over the tops. Set aside a little of the olive oil before mixing the dough, since that portion is brushed on after shaping.
Peeled and sliced thin, the broccoli stem cooks in the same 1 minute 30 seconds as the florets and goes into the bowl with them, leaving nothing from the head to waste. Pull the broccoli while it is still bright and firm, because overcooked florets break apart as soon as the dressing is folded in.
This pot rice is eaten without a dipping sauce; the seasoning, just soup soy sauce and salt, is cooked into the rice. Lift the lid and the chamnamul, a fragrant Korean wild green, hits first, while the rice itself carries the flavor of the oyster and shiitake mushrooms sautéed underneath it.
A splash of cheongju (Korean rice wine) under a lid opens the clams, then butter goes in, and the clam juices and butter run together into a salty sauce in the bottom of the pan. Whatever is left gets mopped up with bread. The clams bring their own salt, so the soy sauce stops at a teaspoon, and any clam that stays shut is thrown out.
Zigzag-folded fish cake skewers simmer in a clear broth of radish, dried anchovy and kelp, and the hot broth served alongside matters as much as the skewers. Radish sweetness and anchovy savoriness carry the flavor, with only a light seasoning of soy sauce and garlic.
La lot leaves, sold as wild betel, wrap seasoned ground beef and char at the edges while the meat's fat soaks into them, giving each roll a peppery, herbal smell. They are not the betel leaves sold for chewing, so look for the la lot or wild betel label.
Midwinter napa cabbage grows sweeter the more cold it weathers, and simmered from cold water with radish it sweetens the broth with no separate stock. The oysters go in last for a minute or two, and since they bring plenty of salt, the soy sauce stays light.
Ground chicken and pressed tofu make a filling with little fat, and against that mild filling the perilla leaf's sharp aroma comes forward. Sliced straight out of the pan, the pieces lose their juices onto the plate. Serve them whole or cut them just before eating.
Shiitake stays chewy, oyster mushrooms go soft and silky, and enoki keeps a light crunch: three textures in one doenjang stew. The mushrooms go in equal amounts but not all at once. Shiitake and oyster simmer first to flavor the anchovy broth, and enoki joins near the end so it does not collapse. The doenjang is pressed through a sieve so the broth stays smooth rather than gritty.
Blanched napa cabbage leaves are rolled around a filling of minced pork and mashed tofu, then steamed. The filling needs two or three minutes of kneading to turn sticky, or the rolls come undone in the pot, and each roll sits seam-side down. Stir a little starch into the leftover cooking liquid and it becomes a sauce to go with them.
Even a small amount of beet stains the broth red. The radish portion is kept the larger one, since a jar where beet outweighs radish turns muddy and dark. Both are cut into the same thin, flat pieces so a spoonful picks up some of each. The liquid drawn out during salting is added to the jar rather than poured away. Pear juice brings sweetness, sliced garlic and ginger bring aroma, and a cooled rice-flour porridge gives the broth body. A good stir after adding the salt water keeps that porridge from settling on the bottom. It sits out for a day before moving to the fridge.
Wide ribbons of hand-stretched dough, slapped against the counter as they lengthen, come to the bowl with chili flakes and garlic piled in the middle. Oil heated to just short of smoking is poured over that pile, cooking the garlic and chili on contact, while soy sauce and vinegar underneath turn it into a sharp, savory dressing. With all-purpose flour, resting does more of the work than kneading, and a strip that shrinks back or tears needs more time under cover, not a harder pull. The broad, thin ribbons get stirred the moment they hit the boiling water, before they can stick to each other.
Thin-sliced beef brisket, chadol in Korean, browns at the edges in its own fat in a dry, very hot pan, and that fat is poured off so the sauce tastes mainly of cream and milk. Perilla leaves, a fragrant herb common in Korean cooking, are folded in only once the burner is off, and their herbal note lightens the cream and the fatty beef.
Rubbing bellflower root with salt, rinsing it, then blanching it for just 3 minutes takes away bitterness while keeping a firm crunch. Julienned Korean pear brings cool sweetness to a sharp, spicy dressing of gochugaru (Korean chili flakes) and vinegar. A teaspoon of fish sauce gives the seasoning depth, and sesame oil goes in last so its aroma stays on top. The pear loses juice and softens the earlier it goes in, so the root is seasoned first and the pear folded in at the very end. It is best eaten while both are still crisp, when bitter root, sweet pear and sharp dressing shift from one to the next in each bite.
Bulgogi, thin beef in a sweet soy and garlic marinade, gets a fast sear in a smoking-hot pan before landing between toasted bread with mayo and lettuce. A pan that is not hot enough stews the meat in its own juices instead of browning the edges. Mayonnaise spread to the edges of the bread softens the salty marinade and slows the juices from soaking in. Ciabatta works as well as sandwich bread, and with pre-marinated beef the whole thing comes together in about 10 minutes.