42 recipes. Page 1 of 2
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The rice is cooked in the broth from simmering clams with kelp, so every grain tastes of the shellfish. The picked clam meat goes on top after the heat is off and warms through as the rice rests, and each bowl is mixed with a sauce of soy and sesame oil. Water poured over the crust at the bottom of the pot turns it into sungnyung, a toasted rice drink.
A splash of cheongju (Korean rice wine) under a lid opens the clams, then butter goes in, and the clam juices and butter run together into a salty sauce in the bottom of the pan. Whatever is left gets mopped up with bread. The clams bring their own salt, so the soy sauce stops at a teaspoon, and any clam that stays shut is thrown out.
Shrimp, squid and clams share one batter, but each gets its own prep. The shrimp have the tendons along their backs cut so they fry straight, and the squid is scored so it does not shrink up in the oil. Everything goes through the oil only once, briefly, at 170°C.
Squid, shrimp, scallops and clams all cook at different speeds, so even on one grill each comes off on its own schedule. The clams are lifted out as soon as they open, juices and all. With nothing but olive oil, salt, pepper and lemon on them, any overcooked, rubbery piece gives itself away.
Along Korea's west and south coasts, where mallow and clams are both easy to find, the two have long shared a pot of doenjang soup. The mallow is rubbed between the hands as it is washed, which gives the broth a little body, and the finished soup is usually eaten with rice stirred in.
Mallow leaves turn this doenjang broth silky: their natural mucilage thickens the liquid so it clings to the spoon. Peeling the stringy stem skins and kneading out the green juice keeps the leaves from tasting grassy.
The butter waits until the clams have opened. Added then, it blends with the clam juices into a glossy broth, while butter added at the start just floats as a slick of fat. Soju is boiled hard first to drive off the alcohol smell, and any clam that stays shut after cooking gets thrown away.
Manila clam broth is naturally salty, so a little soup soy sauce is enough, and more would bury the clean, mineral sea flavor. For a stronger soup, the answer is more clams rather than more seasoning.
Clams opening in white wine release the briny liquor that seasons this pasta, so only a little salt is added at the end. Chili flakes add a slow heat, and buchu, Korean garlic chives, stirred in after the heat is off, gives the dish a grassy, garlicky finish that a classic vongole does not have. Starchy pasta water binds clam juice and olive oil into a glossy sauce that clings to every strand.
As soon as the clams start giving up their liquid, the oyster sauce and soy go in, and thirty seconds later the cornstarch slurry. Cook it any longer and the squid toughens while the shrimp dry out. Thickened like this, the sauce sinks slowly into the rice instead of running straight to the bottom.
No anchovy or kelp stock here, just the liquor from the clams and the sweetness of napa cabbage, so the soup tastes clean and gentle. That also means any leftover grit has nowhere to hide, which is why the clams need a thorough soak beforehand.
Red chili and Cheongyang chili, both sliced on the bias, go into this clear clam broth, but not until two minutes before the heat goes off. The base is just radish simmered in water, and the rest of the flavor comes from the juices the clams release as they open.
Crunchy bean sprouts and chewy squid and shrimp share one platter, all coated in a thick red sauce. It shows up often as a dish to go with drinks.
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.
Like risotto, orzo stirred through vegetable stock turns creamy and spoonable, all in one pot. The clams are added near the end and open right in the pot, letting their briny juice mix with doenjang, the Korean fermented soybean paste that seasons it all.
There is kimchi in this soup but no chili flakes, so the broth stays clear while the sourness of white kimchi and its brine works its way into the clam stock. The clams come out as they open, and the stock is strained through a fine sieve before the kimchi goes in. If the kimchi is salty, the salt is left out.
Clams and seaweed go into a base broth of simmered radish, and with no meat in the pot, the clams carry the flavor. Their briny savoriness and the sea smell of the miyeok layer up in the same pot.
A knob of butter dropped in as the first clam opens turns the salty mix of rice wine and clam juice cloudy and rounded. No stock is used, so the broth tastes only as good as the clams and how well they were purged. Tilting the lid as it comes off sends condensation away from the pot instead of back into the liquid, and a scatter of chopped chives cuts through the butter. In Korea this is a drinking snack, brought to the table while the shells are still steaming.
Clams open in white wine, and the briny liquid they release becomes the sauce base for a spoonful of gochujang, the Korean fermented chili paste. The result tastes like vongole with an extra layer of savory heat rather than a red chili sauce. A small knob of butter at the end rounds off the spice and gives the sauce its gloss. Because that clam liquor goes straight into the sauce, the clams soak for 30 minutes first to purge any sand.
It is a doenjang soup, but with less doenjang than usual. The clams are already salty, and too much paste would bury their flavor. A little zucchini and tofu round out the pot.
In early spring, February to April, when wild chives are around, a handful goes on top of this clam and gochujang stew. Their sharp scent takes the edge off any fishiness from the clams.
Long simmering does nothing for the clams. Once the shells open, the job becomes keeping the meat moist: opened clams get pushed to the side of the pan while the spaghetti and a few spoonfuls of pasta water go in, and a minute of tossing over high heat binds the wine-scented clam liquid with the olive oil. The measured salt goes in gradually after tasting, with the already salty clam liquid in mind.
A generous handful of minari, Korean water parsley, goes into this clam broth, and its fresh green smell reaches you before the spoon does. There is no separate stock: the clams and sliced garlic simply start in cold water.
Wait until the clams are cooked to check the seasoning. As they open they release briny liquid into the broth, and a broth salted to taste with doenjang alone can end up too salty. Throw out any clams that stay shut.