689 recipes. Page 11 of 29
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After soaking, the dried pollack strips are picked over for thick bones, torn by hand, and toasted in sesame oil until their edges curl before any water goes in. Tofu and egg poured in a circle keep the broth clear and mild, and in Korea it is a common pot the morning after a night of drinking.
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.
The oyster mushrooms are torn by hand into thick strips along the grain, and they stay chewy even after the braise. The sauce starts from plain water rather than stock; the mushrooms give it all the savoriness it needs.
Manila clams opening in the pot release a briny liquor that does most of the seasoning work in this knife-cut noodle soup. Kelp pulled out before the water boils leaves a clean mineral base, and the wide wheat noodles shed a little starch as they cook, giving the broth a soft natural body. Shrimp and squid go in only briefly so they stay tender, and zucchini and scallion add a fresh, mildly sweet finish.
A large scallop shell serves as the pot here, not as a source of meat: miso broth simmers in it and an egg sets into soft curds. The broth comes from grilled dried sardines and katsuobushi, salted with red miso, and flat sheets of dried wheat gluten called itafu soak it up before the egg goes in. It is a home dish from Tsugaru and Shimokita in Aomori, eaten with rice.
Shepherd's purse is eaten root and all, because the earthy scent lives in the root. That also means scraping dirt off each root with the tip of a knife and washing through several changes of water. Gochujang would bury the scent; the dressing is doenjang instead. The greens are around only briefly in early spring.
One pot does double duty: the water that poaches the chicken thighs becomes the cooking liquid for the rice. The heat stays low enough that only small bubbles rise at the edge, because a rolling boil splits and dries the meat.
Ketchup, chili sauce and a splash of vinegar make a sauce that leans sweet and tangy rather than hot. Shallow-frying the shrimp in a starch coat, rather than deep-frying them, leaves a coating that turns silky in the sauce while the meat stays springy.
Broad, thin sheets of sirloin cut across the grain give this neobiani a tender bite, and the beef stays in whole slices instead of being minced into patties. Grated onion and sugar in the soy marinade brown fast and scorch before the beef does, so the slices are laid in one layer without the leftover marinade.
Tuna from the can is tipped in along with all its oil, giving the broth a savory richness. The kimchi brine is held back at the start and used at the end, after tasting, to make up whatever salt and sourness the pot still needs.
There is no meat, just eggplant, tofu and perilla seed powder, but the broth is anchovy-kelp stock; for a vegetarian pot, change the stock first. The eggplant simmers for about six minutes until soft enough to collapse, while the tofu, cut small at 1.5 cm, stays firm.
Firm tofu cut into thick slabs and steamed comes out with a slight spring on the outside and a silky center. The soy and gochugaru sauce, left to sit until the chili flakes swell and thicken it, is spooned onto the hot tofu and seeps into each cut face with salty, mild heat.
Born in the Chinese immigrant community of Kolkata and now cooked across India, Hakka noodles keep their seasoning spare: soy sauce, a little vinegar and black pepper. Cabbage, carrot and bell pepper are cut into thin strips close to the width of the noodles, so each forkful picks up both evenly, and they spend only a minute or two over high heat to keep their snap.
The negi go into the dry pot first, no oil, and brown at the edges before the warishita is poured in, a premixed blend of soy sauce, mirin, sugar, and sake. Cabbage, shiitake, grilled tofu, and shirataki each get their own patch of the pot, and the thin beef goes in a few slices at a time, lifted out as soon as it is cooked.
Oiji are cucumbers put down in brine for a month or more in summer, when cucumbers are everywhere, and they come out with a firm, chewy crunch nothing like a fresh one. Straight from the brine they are too salty. The slices soak in cold water for about 30 minutes, though a bite of one slice tells you more than the timer.
The water the mussels cook in becomes the broth for this porridge, strained through a fine sieve or cloth to catch sand and bits of shell, so the whole pot tastes of the sea without a separate stock. Mussels are sorted twice for safety: discard any with cracked shells or that stay open when tapped before cooking, and any that stay shut after cooking.
The Gangwon version of soy bulgogi includes shiitake. Thick slices of the mushroom soak up the marinade along with the onion, and even with pear juice in the mix, the salty soy comes through before any sweetness.
Okdom, the tilefish most associated with Jeju, is grilled whole and seasoned with nothing more than coarse salt and pepper. The flesh is firm and flavorful enough on its own; even the ginger juice is brushed on only thinly, just to deal with any fishiness.
Chamge is a freshwater crab, and the shells and the joints of the legs need a good scrub with a brush if the broth is to taste clean. Halved and simmered in a radish broth with a little doenjang (Korean soybean paste), the crabs give it a deep crab flavor, sharpened with chili flakes and cheongyang peppers.
Boiled bracken goes in first and the hairtail pieces are laid over it without overlapping. The fish is never turned; spooning broth over it keeps the flesh from breaking. Only a shallow layer of broth is left at the end.
A well-made dubu jorim has three layers in one bite: a dark, slightly chewy glazed surface, a seasoned middle, and a soft white center. That outer layer forms in the frying pan, where the tofu browns on both sides before the sauce is added. Blotting off surface water first keeps the oil from spitting.
No stock goes into the pot: 500 g of mussels and some radish make the whole broth. The mussels give up a concentrated sea flavor, the radish adds a clean sweetness, and soup soy sauce with cooking wine smooths out the salt the shellfish bring. Each mussel is lifted out as soon as its shell opens and the meat waits on the side until the bowls are filled, which keeps it from toughening. Any that stay shut after cooking are thrown away rather than forced open. Straining slowly through a fine sieve removes sand and shell bits so the broth poured over the noodles stays clear, and garlic with green onion clears away what fishiness remains.
The batter here is more than three parts dashi to one part flour, thin enough to pour like water. It goes into the pan until each hollow overflows, octopus, green onion, tenkasu, and red pickled ginger drop in, and once the edges set, a skewer turns each one over and over into a ball. The shell cooks thin while the inside stays soft.
The squid comes out of the boiling water after 2 to 3 minutes, once the flesh turns opaque white and curls a little. Left in a pile, it keeps cooking in its own heat and toughens, which is why the pieces are spread out to cool. The body is cut into rings and served with chogochujang (vinegared chili paste) before it gets too cold.