480 recipes. Page 10 of 20
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Squid beaks in butter take so little time that another plate can go out in the middle of a drinking session. They are tossed with garlic in butter over high heat for about three minutes, then soy sauce and mirin are cooked down onto them.
Garlic and chili flakes, given 30 seconds in sesame oil, turn the broth a deep red, and in it large spoonfuls of soft tofu wobble alongside plump oysters.
No doenjang or gochujang here; salted shrimp does the seasoning. Its saltiness varies by jar, which is why only one tablespoon goes in at first and the remaining half is added at the end to taste. The base is rice-rinsing water with potato boiled in it for eight minutes, and chili flakes and cheongyang pepper turn it red and sharp.
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.
Tearing steamed eggplant by hand along its grain, instead of slicing it, leaves ragged surfaces that pull the chili, garlic and fish sauce dressing deep between the fibers. There is no fermentation, so it is eaten the day it is made, ideally in summer when eggplant is in season and a quick extra side dish is needed. Spooned over cold rice and mixed, it becomes a simple meal on its own, with soft eggplant and spicy dressing coating every grain.
Tofu, shiitake and thick udon all cook in one pot of kimchi broth that goes to the table as is, nabe style. Frying the sour kimchi in sesame oil first takes off its raw sharpness and leaves the anchovy-kelp broth spicy yet rounded. Tofu pressed dry with a paper towel keeps the broth from clouding, and it simmers while broth is spooned over it, since stirring hard breaks it apart. Only half the soup soy sauce is added early because kimchi varies in saltiness, and the rest is added bit by bit once the noodles are in. Once the udon has soaked up the soup it is ready, and any broth left in the pot can take a scoop of rice to finish.
Leek-like daepa scallions are shredded into fine threads along the grain and soaked in cold water, which takes off the harsh bite and makes the strands curl lightly. The mellowed shreds are heaped beside grilled meat and picked up together with each slice.
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.
Julienned radish is laid on top of the rice, not mixed in, and as it cooks its water and sweetness work down into the grains, leaving them moister and sweeter than plain rice. The soy sauce dressing waits until just before eating; stirred in early, it turns the rice mushy. Winter radish makes it noticeably sweeter.
Oily mackerel and boiled gondre, a rustic, grassy Korean thistle green, share one gochujang and soy glaze. The mackerel is pan-browned separately and added near the end, so it is still in large flakes on the plate.
As sliced duck grills with onion, the fat that melts out mixes with the gochujang marinade and pools in the pan as a sweet, spicy sauce. Spooning it back over the meat while it cooks is what gives the surface its shine. Wrapped in perilla leaves, each bite is noticeably less fiery.
Pork spine bones simmer for about two hours into a cloudy, rich stock, then blanched cabbage greens (ugeoji) rubbed with doenjang and chili join the pot for an earthy, spicy depth. Cubes of seonji, congealed blood, are added near the end and warmed by ladling broth over them rather than stirring, so they hold their shape.
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.
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.
Mustard greens (gat) carry a nose-tingling mustard bite that is harshest right after mixing and settles over 2 to 3 days of ripening into something rounder and tangier. This style comes from the southern Jeolla region and has a much sharper kick than napa cabbage kimchi.
Equal measures of soy sauce and vinegar give this Gangwon-style dressing its sour edge, with gochugaru for heat and a little sugar to round it off. Finely chopped kimchi clings to the noodles instead of sitting in clumps, adding fermented tang and crunch to every bite. With little gluten to hold them together, buckwheat noodles snap apart when boiled past the package time or pressed down while mixing. The dressing is folded in by lifting from below. Several rinses in cold water wash off the surface starch that would make the strands stick together. Water left on the rinsed noodles thins the dressing fast, which makes thorough draining as important as the chill.
Wilted chard, leaves and stems both, gets folded into thick Greek yogurt with garlic, then olive oil warmed with chili flakes is drizzled across the top in a red streak. It is served cold, as part of a Turkish meze spread. Only half the minced garlic is cooked with the onion, while the rest stays raw in the yogurt, where its sharp edge survives. Most watery borani comes from mixing the chard while it still holds heat, which pulls liquid out into the sauce. A low-moisture strained yogurt keeps the coating thick for the same reason. Done right, the plate holds no loose water, and the cool yogurt and warm chili oil stay distinct.
Whole yellow croaker spends two days buried in sea salt in the fridge, then gets a coat of garlic, ginger, chili flakes and cheongju (clear rice wine) and goes back to the fridge for 5 to 7 days. Unlike jeotgal left to ferment at room temperature for a long time, every stage here happens in the fridge. The seasoning has to reach inside the belly as well as the skin, otherwise the flesh near the bone stays plain. Small pieces go with plain rice or into kimchi jjigae.
The octopus gets two minutes over high heat, and the rice goes in as soon as it starts to curl. That leaves no time to mix sauce in the pan; it is stirred smooth before the burner is lit. For less heat, the chili flakes are dropped and gochujang used alone.
Blanched beef intestines (gopchang) go into a dry pan first and give up their own fat, and that fat, not cooking oil, is what the gochujang sauce and vegetables are fried in. The chewy gopchang carries a strong hit of chili from both gochujang and chili flakes.
Paneer marinated in yogurt with turmeric and garam masala goes onto skewers with bell pepper and onion and over high heat, just until the edges char. A fresh Indian cheese, it holds its shape on the grill instead of melting. In India it is served as an appetizer with mint chutney.
Blue crabs go in shell and all, turning red as they cook and flavoring the radish broth, and with cheongyang chilies for heat the pot goes in the middle of the table for everyone to dip into.
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.
The longer the kimchi has sat in the fridge and the sourer it has become, the better it suits this braise. Simmered with soy sauce and gochugaru (Korean chili flakes), its sharp acidity softens, and the tofu, laid in raw without frying, soaks up the red liquid to the middle.