480 recipes. Page 18 of 20
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The blue crab simmers first and gives the broth its sweetness; clams and shrimp come after. It is a red, chili-heavy stew, but a spoonful of doenjang underneath keeps it from being only hot.
Perilla leaves, brushed thinly with soy and chili seasoning and stacked, braise gently into soft, dark green sheets that still peel apart one at a time. Draped over a spoonful of rice, each leaf brings its strong herbal aroma and the salty sauce together in one bite. Leftover rinsing water is what usually goes wrong, since it dilutes the seasoning and leaves the stack bland. Alternating the stem direction as the leaves are stacked evens out the thickness on both sides. Spooning the liquid from the bottom over the top midway lets every layer take on salt, and a day in the fridge evens it out further.
The broth, not the vegetables, carries this water kimchi: it is meant to be spooned up and sipped cold. Gochugaru is steeped in a cheesecloth bundle so the water turns clear red without powder clouding it. Radish and napa cabbage are sliced into thin flat squares and salted only briefly, so they keep some crunch in the liquid. A day at room temperature brings a gentle tang, and a few more days in the fridge round it out. A spoonful next to spicy dishes cools the mouth, and in summer it drinks almost like naengmyeon broth.
Kodari, pollock dried only partway, has a dense, chewy flesh that keeps its grain through a long simmer. It can still break if flipped, so it sits on the bed of radish and gets the broth spooned over it two or three times instead. Rice-rinse water forms the broth and tones down any fishy smell.
Oily Pacific saury can braise for a good twenty minutes in a spicy soy broth and still come out moist. Laying the fish in a single layer over thick radish slices, and pouring water in around the edge rather than over the top, keeps the soft flesh in whole pieces. Skimming the foam when it first boils keeps the sauce clean, and spooning the liquid over the fish midway seasons the exposed top. The liquid is cooked down until only a shallow layer remains, which coats both the fish and the radish. Whatever sauce is left gets spooned onto rice.
Made with early-spring shepherd's purse, this kimchi is eaten as soon as the seasoning settles in the fridge, and sweet rice paste gives the chili and anchovy sauce dressing enough body to cling to the thin stems. Washing takes more care than anything else in the recipe: soil hides between the fine roots, and any left behind makes the whole batch taste muddy and bitter.
Bite into a sea squirt and the little sac bursts, releasing a salty, briny juice. To keep that, the radish and zucchini are cooked through first and the sea squirts get only three or four minutes over high heat at the very end. In April and May, when they are in season and full of juice, the broth itself tastes different.
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.
Raw nakji, a slender-armed octopus, gets a 30-minute salt cure and then goes straight into the red pepper seasoning and stays springy instead of turning soft like long-fermented jeotgal. Thin arms and the thick body are cut to different lengths so each piece makes a similar bite. Starch syrup makes the dressing glossy and sweet, slices of garlic give some bites a sharp edge, and sesame finishes it with a toasted note. Anyone who should avoid raw seafood should skip this dish, as salt curing does not replace cooking.
Only half a tablespoon of gochugaru goes in. The broth stays clear and tastes mostly of clams. Minari and a Cheongyang chili are added after the heat is turned down and cook for just a minute. With the clams purged ahead of time, the cooking itself takes about ten minutes.
Well-fermented kimchi, sour and soft, meets the oil from canned Pacific saury and cooks down into a tangy, concentrated sauce. With no fish to clean, the work is mostly waiting: about twenty minutes of simmering, partly uncovered, until the kimchi turns tender and the liquid thickens. Sliced cheongyang chili goes in near the end to keep its sharp heat. The fish only needs heating through and stays in large pieces as long as nobody stirs it.
The cucumbers are stored whole, split lengthwise into quarters with the red chive filling poking out, and only cut into bite-size pieces at the table. Bite into one and the cucumber juice and the seasoning come out together.
A full 120g of water parsley (minari) turns an everyday doenjang stew green and sharply aromatic, with a peppery, grassy bite against the fermented soybean broth. The minari simmers for only 2 minutes and comes off the heat while the stems are still crisp, not limp and stringy.
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.
Salting firms the squid flesh enough to keep a pleasantly chewy bite after it is coated in the red seasoning. Starch syrup gives the gochugaru paste a gloss and a little sweetness that keeps the salt from standing alone. The squid should be frozen at -20°C or below for at least 24 hours and thawed in the fridge before cleaning, with any visible parasites removed. Hot rice is the usual partner.
Long-fermented kimchi (mugeunji) is sour enough that it gets fried in rendered pork fat before the water is added, which takes the harsh edge off its acidity. With plain water as the broth, all the flavor has to come from the kimchi and pork over at least 20 minutes at a medium simmer. Cut that short and the broth stays thin.
Tofu and shishito peppers carry this meatless braise, and the salty, mildly spicy sauce that remains is meant to be mixed into rice. The tofu is basted with a spoon rather than flipped, so the slices stay neat and square to the end. Onion cut on the thick side keeps its shape through the braise and adds a bit of bite. Patting the tofu dry one more time just before it hits the pan cuts down on spattering oil.
Whole stalks of green onion ferment into this kimchi, and time turns their sharp, raw bite mellow while the white stems go supple. A shallow slit down the thick white part lets salt and paste reach inside rather than sitting on the surface.
No stock goes into the pot: plain water plus 3 tablespoons of salted shrimp (saeujeot) carries all the savory depth. The radish is cut into thin julienne and tossed with the shrimp and chili flakes before cooking, so the seasoning is already in the strands when the water goes in. The broth comes out clearer and more lightly spicy than doenjang or kimchi jjigae.
Instead of being stir-fried, shishito-style peppers are dusted with a thin layer of flour and steamed, which keeps their mild sweetness and soft bite. During steaming the white coating turns translucent, forming a thin film that the dressing of soy sauce, gochugaru, garlic and sesame oil clings to.
Skipping the usual long salting, raw napa cabbage goes straight into the chili seasoning and the leaves stay crunchy, cool, and full of juice. Green plum syrup brings a rounded sweetness that fermentation would otherwise supply, softening the salt of the anchovy sauce. Tossing stops as soon as the red paste coats the leaves evenly, because any water left on the cabbage, or too much mixing, thins the seasoning.
A whole pollack roe sac (myeongnan) sits in the pot intact, so the outside firms up while the eggs inside stay separate and pop when you bite them. The heat drops to low as soon as the broth returns to a boil; a hard boil breaks the roe apart and dulls that texture. Since the roe is already salty, the stew often needs nothing more, and the broth with pieces of roe is good spooned over rice.
The firm, slightly chewy flesh of half-dried pollock holds together through a long spicy braise and takes the seasoning all the way in. Gochugaru and gochujang together give the sauce body and a deep red color, and a spoonful of syrup added near the end gives it shine. Basting two or three times beats flipping, which only tears the fish. When the sauce turns thick and sticks to the pollock, it is ready to serve with the radish and a bowl of rice.
Lettuce wilts within minutes of meeting salt, which caps the salting at 10 minutes, and the kimchi is mixed right before the meal, while the leaf edges still hold a little crunch and a gentle bitterness. Leaves left wet after salting dilute the seasoning until it tastes flat, and patting them dry, never wringing, prevents that. Fermented sand lance sauce (kkanari aekjeot) adds savory depth to the mild leaves, vinegar brightens the finish, and sesame seeds give small toasty bites. The leaves slump and release liquid as it sits, so it goes to the table at once. A spoonful of ssamjang, a soybean dipping paste, stirred in makes it earthier.