236 recipes. Page 8 of 10
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Dried liriope root gives a faintly bitter, herbal tea, and shredded pear in the pot takes the edge off that bitterness while adding a natural sweetness. For the full twenty minutes the water should only tremble. A batch kept in the fridge still smells good when reheated.
The croaker keeps its white flesh and mild flavor instead of tasting of soy because the soy sauce stays out of the pot until the radish is tender and only then gets stirred into the broth and spooned over the fish. Thick slices of Korean radish line the bottom, shielding the fish from direct heat and sweetening the liquid as they soften. Rice wine and thinly sliced ginger handle any fishiness, which is why the seasoning can stay this light. The green onion cooks for just 1 minute at the end to keep its aroma. Croaker has fine-grained, delicate flesh, and a gentle steam-braise rather than a hard boil keeps the pieces whole for a shared table of four.
Salt pulls water out of raw oysters and tightens the flesh. After two to three days of cold curing they turn firm, and the red seasoning liquid soaks right through. The result tastes denser and saltier than a fresh oyster, closer to a seasoning than a side dish. Chili flakes give it the red color and a spicy aroma, and the acidity of plum syrup holds back the fishy smell that rises during curing. A small spoonful goes a long way over warm rice, and a little folded into napa cabbage kimchi filling adds an oyster savoriness that fish sauce alone lacks. The washed oysters are blotted dry before mixing, because leftover water thins the paste and softens the flesh.
A mackerel that has already been grilled whole is broken into large pieces and simmered a second time with onion. In inland Tottori, grilled fish kept and traveled well, and cooking it again this way became the habit. Even with the head and backbone gone, small bones stay in the grilled flesh, and a fingertip run along it finds them. Ginger is used twice: thin slices go into the broth, and fine shreds go on top.
In masala chai the spices go into the pot before the tea does. Crushed ginger, cinnamon and cardamom simmer in water until fragrant, then the black tea and milk follow, and everything is strained before pouring. Boil the leaves longer and the tea gets stronger, but also more astringent.
Served cold and thinly sliced, pyeonyuk has a firmer, cleaner bite than warm boiled pork. Pork shank simmers with ginger, garlic, and whole peppercorns to take away any gamey smell, then gets rolled tightly in plastic wrap while still warm and chilled for at least 2 hours so it holds a neat shape. Slices are dipped in salted fermented shrimp, a classic starter for holiday tables and guests.
Kale's strong green smell mellows as it ferments while the leaves keep a firm bite, giving a kimchi that chews more than napa cabbage kimchi does. Julienned radish adds crunch, and soup soy sauce, rather than fish sauce, supplies the salty depth. Pear puree, or apple puree in its place, wraps the chili heat in fruit sweetness and balances the slightly bitter finish of the kale. It tastes best from the day after making, once the seasoning has settled into the leaves overnight.
Browning gyoza on one flat side only and then steaming them under a lid leaves the pleats soft and tender while the bottom turns golden and crisp. Japanese families brought the idea home from Manchuria after the war, recreating the jiaozi they had eaten there.
Minari, apple, cucumber and a small piece of ginger are blended with cold water. Poured straight from the blender, the juice is thick and fibrous; passed once through cheesecloth, it turns clear and green. A tart apple keeps it from leaning too sweet.
Pork belly and big chunks of radish braise together in soy sauce, and by the end the radish has absorbed as much of the rich, salty liquid as the meat. The belly is blanched briefly and rinsed first; skip that and the surface impurities and porky smell end up in the sauce. The radish is cut large because small pieces fall apart over the long simmer. Covered at first and then uncovered, the pot moves from gentle braising to reducing, which leaves the pork and radish coated in a glossy soy glaze rather than sitting in thin broth. It holds up well when made ahead, because cooling and rewarming drive the seasoning in further.
Cut into 2 cm cubes, the radish stays crunchy beside seolleongtang or gomtang, the milky beef soups it usually accompanies, and turns sweeter as it ferments. After salting, only the released water is poured off and the cubes go unrinsed, keeping in the salt and sugar they absorbed.
The deep reddish brown of hong shao rou comes from sugar melted to caramel in the pot before any soy sauce goes in. The caramel-coated pork belly braises in soy sauce and rice wine until the sauce clings to it in a thin glaze, and it goes over plain rice, sauce and all.
Dry-roasting dandelion root together with barley before simmering makes the cup taste more of toasted grain than of earthy root. Licorice and sliced ginger soften whatever bitterness remains and leave a warm finish.
Beef shank carries a lot of connective tissue that stays tough after a quick cook but lets the meat pull apart along the grain after a long, low simmer. As the braise cools, gelatin from the shank sets the sauce, and warming it again melts it back into a glossy, slightly thick glaze.
Cut into chunky 2 cm cubes, the radish stays crunchy right to the center even after salting and a day of fermentation. Anchovy fish sauce builds the savory base as the kimchi ripens, and ginger tames the raw radish smell for a cleaner finish. With sweeter winter radish, the sugar can come down. After 24 hours at room temperature a light fizzy sourness appears, and from there the fridge takes over. In summer, cut the room-temperature rest to half a day so it does not turn too sour. In Korean restaurants it sits beside grilled pork belly and hot rice soups, cutting through their richness.
The white fish is pan-fried until golden, then braised in soy sauce, sugar, ginger, green onion, and cooking wine until the sauce turns glossy. The sauce is poured in around the edge of the pan, not over the fish, to keep the seared crust from lifting off.
Tea simmered for thirty minutes from dried acanthopanax bark and astragalus root gets a very small amount of salt. It is there to take the edge off the herbal bitterness, not to make anything salty, and the honey goes in just before drinking.
In this braise the radish matters as much as the beef: thick rounds go into a soy broth that has already simmered with brisket and drink up its meaty flavor as they turn translucent at the edges. Trimming the sharp corners of each piece keeps them whole through the long, low braise. Serve the radish with a spoonful of the salty-sweet liquid over rice.
Soybean leaves start out earthy and grassy, and as they sit in soy sauce and anchovy fish sauce the raw green smell fades into a salty, fermented savoriness. Tender leaves picked before the first frost are laid over a spoonful of rice and eaten as a wrap, and a light toss with sesame oil softens any that taste too salty.
Sugar melted to a deep caramel coats chunks of pork belly before soy sauce, dark soy, Shaoxing wine, ginger, and scallion go in for a slow, quiet braise. At the end the reduced sauce clings to the pieces as a thin reddish-brown glaze rather than leaving them in broth. The caramel is the moment that decides the dish: a few seconds too long and the whole sauce turns bitter.
The ginger is peeled and sliced thin, the jujubes pitted and halved, and the two simmer together. Unpeeled ginger works too, but peeling it keeps out the earthy taste of the skin. After straining, honey and a tiny pinch of cinnamon go in, and two slices of lemon float on top. Drink it warm.
Beef head meat spends at least three hours in cold water and gets a short first boil that is thrown away before the real simmer in fresh water with scallion, garlic, ginger, peppercorns and soju. Because skin and lean meat are layered together, slicing while hot makes them slide apart. Let it cool until you can hold it firmly, then cut thin, even slices for the platter.
Raw soybean leaves go straight into the brine, neither salted nor blanched, and their green, beany aroma comes through intact. Pear, garlic and ginger are blended and strained through cloth so that only the juice is used. Without that step, pulp ends up floating in the liquid and stuck between the leaves.
Young sand lance, only 3 to 4 cm long, are reduced with soy sauce, sake, mirin, coarse sugar, and ginger until the pot is nearly dry. As they cook, the glossy fish bend and darken until they look like rusty nails, which is where the name kugini (nail simmer) comes from. This is a preserve from the Ise Bay coast of Mie, made in spring when the young fish are in season, and its sweet-salty glaze is eaten with plain rice.