480 recipes. Page 15 of 20
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The king oyster mushrooms are torn by hand along the grain instead of sliced, then steamed. The soy, vinegar and chili flake dressing seeps into the torn fibers, and with no oil in the pan the mushroom stays clean-tasting.
Sour, long-aged kimchi and canned tuna are stir-fried together and spooned over hot rice. The tuna goes in last and is turned over just a few times in big folds, so it stays in chunks that take on the kimchi seasoning rather than breaking into flakes. Very sour kimchi can take about half a teaspoon more sugar, and canned mackerel works in place of tuna.
A curled tentacle and a white surface do not prove the thickest part of the octopus is cooked. Instead of a fixed time, this recipe relies on a thermometer and keeps the pot going until the center has held at 75°C or more for over a minute.
Blue crab, clams, squid and shrimp share one pot that keeps simmering on a low flame at the table. The seafood gets fished out first as it's ready; the tofu and zucchini stay in the red broth a while longer.
Fat melting out of the mackerel mixes into the spicy broth and ends up in the potatoes. The potatoes simmer in the sauce first, and the fish joins them only when a chopstick slides halfway in; it needs just a short braise.
No fermentation is needed: the soy-based seasoning is brushed between the leaves and the kimchi is ready to eat the same day. Sesame oil softens the sharp, herbal edge of perilla, and the chili flakes stay light enough that the green of the leaves still shows. On day one the brightly seasoned top leaves are the ones to eat, while the wilted leaves underneath soak up more after half a day. Two to three refrigerated days let the seasoning reach into every leaf, ready to wrap warm rice or grilled meat.
Saeujeot, tiny salted shrimp, supplies every bit of salt in this side dish; the chili flakes, garlic, scallion, and sesame oil only round it out into something eaten a little at a time from a small bowl. Jars vary a lot in how much brine they hold, and too much liquid leaves the seasoning sliding around in a puddle. Coloring the shrimp with chili flakes first, then folding the rest in from the bottom up, keeps the little shrimp whole instead of mashed.
Mild, pan-browned tofu breaks up the sharp sourness of aged kimchi in every bite. The finishing oil is perilla rather than sesame, drizzled once the heat is off so its nutty aroma survives and smooths out the kimchi's fermented intensity.
You pick the meat off the pork back bones in your bowl as you go, between spoonfuls of cloudy broth and napa greens soaked in doenjang seasoning. What decides the broth is pouring away the first blanching water, where the scum and porky smell collect.
Clam juice forms the base, with gochugaru and gochujang turning the pot deep red and spicy. Thick slices of tofu and zucchini soak up the seafood broth all the way through. Served straight from the pot, it stays bubbling until the last spoonful.
Two mackerel are cooked whole, with only the heads and innards removed. Deep scores along the back open up in the heat and let the spicy sauce run into the flesh instead of sitting on the skin.
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.
These are not fresh soybean leaves but leaves that have been fermented in brine, so the first job is soaking out their strong funk and excess salt before any seasoning touches them. Rather than tossed loose, they are stacked a few at a time with the fish sauce and chili dressing brushed between the layers, then packed into a container and chilled.
Medium anchovies are bigger and thicker than the tiny ones used in the sweet version, and their heads and dark guts, which would make the dish bitter, come off one by one. Gochujang brings a fermented heat, chili flakes deepen the red, and the amount of flakes is the dial for spiciness.
With the ox bone broth made ahead, the work here is in the napa outer leaves (ugeoji). Blanched leaves are rubbed through with doenjang, chili flakes, garlic and perilla oil, then stir-fried in the pot for three minutes to bring up the doenjang aroma before the broth goes in.
With Spam and Vienna sausages piled in by the handful, the salty, meaty side of budae jjigae leads. Well-aged kimchi cuts through the processed meat with its sourness, and a block of instant ramen soaks up the seasoned broth as it cooks.
Mackerel is oily and strong enough that a sauce built on both gochujang (Korean chili paste) and chili flakes does not bury it. A little ginger juice in the sauce takes the edge off its fishiness.
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.
Unlike soy-brined crab that sits for days, this version coats quartered raw crab in a thick chili paste and is ready after half a day in the fridge. Because the paste does not cook anything, the crab must be sold for raw consumption and stay at 4°C or below from cleaning through marinating.
It is called a stir-fry, but for the first few minutes the lid stays on. Bean sprouts laid on the bottom let out enough water to keep the gochujang from scorching, and a final blast of heat reduces that liquid into a thick sauce that coats the octopus.
Once the doenjang-coated napa greens and bean sprouts have simmered and the broth has turned savory and cloudy, the large pieces of ox blood curd (seonji) are slid in at the edge of the pot. A deep stir with the ladle breaks them apart.
Mussels go in by the potful here, 900 g of them. Once the water with radish and garlic is boiling, the mussels are tipped in, and when they open and the broth turns milky, the chili flakes and soup soy sauce follow. Any that stay shut at the end get thrown out.
Each piece of mackerel gets a 20-second dip in hot water to set the outside white, then goes in a single layer over aged kimchi (mukeunji) lining the pot. By the end, the kimchi has soaked up the fish fat and turned glossy.
Denser and drier than Korean radish, kohlrabi cubes hold their crunch even as the kimchi ferments. Eaten right away it tastes light and fresh, almost like a salad; after three to four days in the fridge the fish sauce comes forward and it turns properly savory. It can take the place of kkakdugi, the cubed radish kimchi, or sit beside meat dishes. Twenty minutes of salting is enough once the surface tastes seasoned, with no need to wait for the cubes to bend.