18 recipes. Page 1 of 1
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The mussels are boiled first, the meat set aside, and the strained cooking liquid becomes the water for the rice. That is why the grains themselves taste of mussel. The meat goes back on top of the finished rice, along with some minari, a Korean water dropwort.
Mussels steamed in butter and rice wine get green chili and scallion, so a sharp heat follows the richness of the butter. The liquor from the shells mixes with the melted butter, and there is no separate sauce to make.
The mussels start with two tablespoons of white wine and a lid, steaming for about 2 minutes. Only the opened ones are set aside; butter and garlic melt into the liquid left in the pan, and the mussels go back in for 2 or 3 minutes of tossing. Half a lemon is squeezed over once the heat is off.
Saffron soaks first in a few spoonfuls of warm fish stock until it turns deep gold, then joins the rest of the stock; that is where the color of the stew is set. The seafood goes in by stages: firm white fish, then the softer pieces and shrimp, and mussels last. In the end, the freshness of the fish decides how it tastes.
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.
There is no stock in this pot: the mussels open over a splash of rice wine and garlic, and their own juices become the broth. Everything happens fast over high heat, and the main mistake is letting it go on, since the meat shrinks and toughens within minutes. Green onion and cheongyang chili (a hot Korean green pepper) go in only once most shells have opened, adding fragrance and a clean bite. Any broth left at the bottom is worth saving for kalguksu noodles or a pack of ramen.
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.
White wine, butter, and the juices the mussels release become one broth in the same pot, and baguette is there to soak it up. Opening shells tell you the mussels are done, so watch under the lid rather than the timer, and discard any that stay shut.
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 mussels are added with a spoonful of rice wine and boiled uncovered for five minutes, letting the fishy steam escape while the taste of the sea stays in the broth. Any still closed by then are taken out and thrown away.
Scallion-infused oil, a hot wok and a quick toss of chili flakes give this red seafood soup its smoky, spicy base. The flakes stay in the oil only briefly, since even a little scorching leaves the whole pot bitter. Chicken stock carries the broth while squid and mussels add their own savoriness, and soy sauce ties the seasoning together and darkens the soup to a reddish brown. Wilted cabbage and onion soften the heat with sweetness. Seafood toughens with long boiling, so once the broth comes up to a boil it is ladled straight over chewy wheat noodles cooked in a separate pot.
Steamed mussels and fries share one plate in this Belgian pairing, but they run on very different clocks. The mussels open in 3 to 4 minutes under a lid, while the potatoes need a gentler first fry and a hotter second one to turn crisp. Getting the first fry done before the mussels hit the pot keeps the two from colliding at the stove. That first fry ends while the potatoes are tender but still pale. Soaking the cut sticks in cold water and drying every side matters, since wet potatoes splatter and stay limp. Discard any mussels that stay closed, and bring both to the table at once so the fries do not soften while the shellfish waits.
The stew is credited to San Francisco wharf fishermen who pooled their leftover seafood in one pot. The tomato and white wine broth simmers on its own first; mussels, white fish and shrimp follow at the end, one after another, for a short cook. Any mussels still shut after cooking are picked out before serving.
Mussels release their own briny liquor as they open, and together with dry white wine that becomes the broth without any added stock. The butter is split in two for a reason: the first part softens the shallot and garlic, the second is stirred in at the end to give the broth some shine. The pot comes off the heat once most shells have opened, before the meat shrinks and toughens, and any that stay shut get thrown away. Ladle the leftover wine broth into the bowls too.
Hard scorched rice dropped into hot seafood broth starts out crisp, turns chewy, and if left a while longer softens into something like porridge. It goes into each bowl at the table rather than into the pot, and how long you wait decides which version you eat.
Mussels steamed fast in white wine release their juices into the pot, and that liquid becomes the sauce once a spoonful of cream and chopped parsley are stirred through. Any mussels already open before cooking are left out. Shallot and garlic soften in butter without taking color, giving the wine a mild, sweet base. One shake of the covered pot halfway through helps the shells open at about the same time. The cream waits until they have all opened, and crusty bread takes care of the broth.
Mussels simmered in their shells give off a briny, sweet liquor that becomes the soup. At the drinking table the broth is sipped between glasses, and the mussels are fished out and dipped in chogochujang, a sweet-sour chili sauce. Plump winter mussels make the sweetest broth.
There is no separate stock here. Seven hundred grams of mussels open in boiling water and their liquor becomes the broth, with doenjang seeping out of the radish greens that were rubbed with it beforehand. Between bites of plump mussel, the greens stay a little fibrous.