Korean Gochujang Chicken Mayo Rice Bowl
Chicken thigh glazed in gochujang goes over rice, with mayonnaise piped across it in zigzags. Thigh stays moist through the glazing where breast would dry out.
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Chicken thigh glazed in gochujang goes over rice, with mayonnaise piped across it in zigzags. Thigh stays moist through the glazing where breast would dry out.
Done right, the gochujang sauce does not pool in the pan but clings to every piece of fish cake with a shine. The square fish cakes are dipped briefly in boiling water first to rinse off their surface oil.
The goal is the school-gate snack-stand kind: soft, puffy wheat rice cakes seasoned sweet and hot all the way through. Wheat cakes swell easily, so they soak in cold water for 10 minutes first to rinse off surface starch. A pinch of black pepper at the end pushes it closer to market-stall tteokbokki.
Mackerel is cut into pieces, brushed with gochujang, soy sauce and ginger juice, and left for 30 minutes before it cooks. Skin side down, the pieces stay untouched for 4 to 5 minutes until the edges set red. Any piece sitting where the sauce starts to blacken gets moved aside.
Whole loaches are boiled until the bones soften, ground, and pushed through a sieve, and the resulting broth clings heavily to the spoon. Radish greens tossed in doenjang and some perilla powder go in too, and ground sancho pepper is sprinkled on a little at a time just before eating.
The soft tofu slowly comes apart in the broth until the whole pot is silky, with crisp bits of young cabbage stem in between. Only a touch of gochujang goes into the doenjang, so it tastes savory more than spicy.
Baby octopus, at its best in spring, spends only a short time in a gochujang and gochugaru marinade before steaming on a bed of cabbage and onion. Ten minutes is enough to coat the pieces before they start giving up water. As the vegetables soften, their juices mix with the marinade into a small pool of spicy sauce at the bottom. The cabbage keeps the octopus off the steamer and takes the edge off the heat. The steamer should be at a full boil before the octopus is added, and the lid stays shut so the steam stays strong. The window between springy and rubbery is narrow, and the moment the pieces curl up plump is the moment to stop.
Thick udon wears a coat of red gochujang dressing in this cold cup, with raw shredded cabbage and carrot adding crunch against the soft noodles. Oligosaccharide syrup gives the sauce enough body to cling to slippery udon, and vinegar keeps the heat bright rather than heavy. The frozen udon is blanched for just 1 minute so the thick strands keep their spring. Cabbage and carrot are pressed dry with a paper towel first to keep their water from thinning the dressing. Portioned into cups, it is easy to carry and eat by hand, though it tastes best served cold right away before the noodles swell.
A tablespoon of mayonnaise goes into the gochujang dressing. Its oil coats the dry squid strips, letting the dressing cling softly and making the squid less tough to chew. The finished dish is nearly dry, and in a lunchbox the sauce stays put instead of creeping into the next compartment.
The eggs are fried first, then the same pan goes up to high for the shrimp and squid, which come off the heat the moment they turn opaque. Whatever juices collect in the pan are poured over the rice along with the seafood.
Mayonnaise stirred in after the heat is off keeps the dried squid strands soft and moist even once the dish cools. The pan comes off the heat as soon as the strands start to clump together, since a sauce cooked any longer scorches and turns bitter.
Crushed instant noodles, fried crisp and tossed in a sticky gochujang, ketchup, and corn syrup glaze, taste like the snack sold outside Korean stationery shops near schools in the 1980s and 1990s. If deep-frying is a hassle, 5 minutes in a 180-degree air fryer does the job. Keep the seasoning packet aside and add a little if the glaze tastes flat.
Shrimp and squid are brushed with a thin layer of doenjang sauce and grilled. There is only half a tablespoon of gochujang in it, so it tastes more savory than hot. You know it is done by smell: once the sauce turns deep brown and smells toasty, it comes off the heat, and a little longer brings a burnt note.
Eggplant cut into wide bias slices drinks up the gochujang broth and releases a mouthful of spicy liquid with each bite. The chili paste and flakes need only about 30 seconds over low heat and scorch if left longer.
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.
Chewy canned whelk, slippery somyeon and crisp cucumber and onion all meet in one spicy-sour gochujang dressing, a classic drinking snack in Korea. A spoonful of the canning liquid stirred into the sauce deepens its savory base, while a quick rinse of the whelk itself tames the salt. Ice-cold water right after boiling keeps the noodles firm and bouncy once the dressing goes on.
In Seoul and Gyeonggi people mostly say maneuljong, and elsewhere often maneuljjong, but both mean the same curling flower stalk of the garlic plant. Tender spring scapes get just 20 to 30 seconds in boiling water before going into a gochujang, vinegar, and sugar dressing, and they stay bright green with a firm snap.
Rice goes into a single cup and gochujang-glazed pork shoulder is piled over it, the way Korean snack bars (bunsik) serve it. The trick is spreading the rice out first to let the steam escape: spooned into the cup straight from the pot, it turns soggy in its own vapor.
The pork belly goes into a dry pan with no oil at all. After three or four minutes it has rendered plenty of fat and browned at the edges, and that fat cooks the onion before a quick coating of gochujang, soy sauce and sugar.
Water and milk make the base, with gochujang stirred in, and the rice cakes and fish cake simmer in it. Milk tends to split over high heat, so the pot stays at medium-low the whole time, and the mozzarella goes in just before the heat goes off to melt on what is left.
The hwangtae, a Korean dried pollack, is not soaked; it is only dampened front and back with wet hands, which keeps it chewy rather than soggy once grilled. The gochujang glaze goes on in several thin layers over low heat, and it is done when the surface turns sticky and glossy.
Three potatoes, cut big, simmer with pork in a gochujang broth. The starch they release as they cook thickens the broth without any stock or added starch. Stir only now and then, just to keep the bottom from catching; more than that and the potatoes break.
Squid and shishito peppers end up coated in a spicy glaze of soy sauce, gochujang and gochugaru, with just enough sauce left in the pan to spoon over rice. The squid gets only a short, hot reduction, since it turns rubbery the longer it simmers; once the edges curl and turn white, it is nearly there. Residual heat keeps cooking it, which is the reason to stir in the sesame oil off the heat and plate right away.
Thin slices of cold white fish sashimi tangle with chewy naengmyeon noodles in a sweet, sour and spicy gochujang dressing. The noodles cook in only 30 to 40 seconds, so they come out the moment the strands loosen; any longer and the chew is gone.