779 recipes. Page 26 of 33
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Somewhere between a burger and a grilled cheese, a patty melt puts a thin beef patty, deeply caramelized onion and cheddar between slices of sandwich bread griddled until crisp. Three heat levels do three jobs: low heat for at least 20 minutes sweetens the onion, medium-high heat browns the thin patty, and medium-low heat crisps the bread while the cheese melts.
Rice, then a beef patty, onion gravy and a soft fried egg: the Hawaiian bowl is built in that order. The gravy starts in the pan the patties came out of, with butter and the rest of the onion scraping up the browned juices before flour and Worcestershire sauce go in. The yolk gets broken and stirred through with the gravy.
Pumpkin leaves get tougher and more fibrous as they grow, so this uses young ones picked in summer. The stringy fibers are peeled from the stems, and the leaves are blanched, squeezed dry and stir-fried with shrimp in perilla oil, seasoned with soup soy sauce.
Instead of the offal and many garnishes found in fuller versions of this Jakarta soup, this home recipe makes its beef broth from brisket, coconut milk and a ground paste of onion, garlic and ginger cooked in oil. The milky color comes from the coconut milk added at the end, with no need to wait for a cloudy stock. Brisket is the slow part, and a cooked-looking surface says little; a fork should slide easily into the center. Rice is served on the side.
Well-fermented sour kimchi is cut without shaking off its seasoning, so that paste goes into the broth too, and it simmers with pork shoulder that has a good streak of fat before thick slices of tofu go on at the end.
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.
Glass noodles, shrimp, squid, pork, napa cabbage, and wood ear fill a clear chicken broth, finished with half a hard-boiled egg on top. The dish came from Fuzhou in China's Fujian province, where it was a celebration food, and reached Kumamoto by way of Nagasaki in the late Meiji era. Today it appears at Chinese restaurants and home tables in central Kumamoto as lunch, dinner, or a meal after drinking. The seafood is added only after the pork and firm vegetables have cooked, which keeps the shrimp and squid from turning rubbery. To keep the broth clear, the glass noodles are boiled and rinsed separately, warmed in the soup only at the end, and the heat is cut as soon as the sesame oil and scallion are added.
Paper-thin beef, onion and green pepper hit a hot pan for only a couple of minutes, then get melted provolone and a toasted hoagie roll. That thinness starts in the freezer: 30 minutes firms the outside of the ribeye or top round enough to slice it without a struggle. Stacked slices won't cook in so short a sear, so each piece gets pulled apart before it goes in.
Keep the fat that renders from the ground pork, because the onion cooks in it next and needs time to turn deeply golden; rushing that stage leaves the sauce pale. During the low simmer, the sauce is ready for the peeled eggs once it has thickened and the pork looks glossy, and the eggs stay in until their surface turns deep brown. Spoon both meat and sauce over the rice so the liquid soaks into the grains.
One bite brings the springy head of webfoot octopus (jjukkumi), its chewy suckered legs and crunchy soybean sprouts. With plenty of gochugaru and cheongyang chilies on top of that, it is properly hot.
Half a spoonful of doenjang in the chili paste keeps the heat from turning sharp. The sundae sits on cabbage and onion and simmers at the table; the broth grows stronger as it reduces, and the flame comes down as you eat, with the perilla leaves added last.
Kimchi, ham, and tofu, all common refrigerator staples, come together into something close to a pared-down budae jjigae. Frying the kimchi for 2 minutes first tames its sourness so it blends with the salty ham and the sweet heat of gochujang instead of competing.
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.
Squid, shrimp, cabbage and onion simmer in chicken stock, then starch slurry binds it into a glossy gravy that is poured hot over wheat noodles. There is no chili, so the flavor is mild, built on oyster sauce and seafood. The noodles are drained but not rinsed cold, letting the warm sauce work its way between the strands.
Salty green olives and sweet raisins scattered through browned ground beef give this Cuban dish its push and pull of flavor. Cumin warms the beef, and crushed tomatoes reduce until they cling to the meat rather than pooling around it. Leaving the beef alone for a moment after it hits the pan lets it brown instead of turning gray and steamed.
Minari (Korean water parsley) and clams are both at their best in spring, which is when this porridge gets made. Each spoonful starts with the clean savoriness of the clams, followed by the green scent of barely wilted minari.
This jeyuk bokkeum starts by searing: pork with only a thin coat of gochujang marinade is spread across a very hot pan and left untouched for about two minutes until the edges darken. Onion and scallion join only after the pork has browned.
The papaya has to be green and firm, not the ripe fruit, and it is added only after the chicken has simmered, so it softens to fork-tender while keeping its shape. Plenty of julienned ginger, fried first with garlic and onion, gives tinola's clear broth a clean, sharp heat.
There is no chili anywhere in this tofu stew. Garlic and onion soften for a minute in a teaspoon of perilla oil, the stock goes in, and a tablespoon of soup soy sauce is all the seasoning it gets. Spinach is added at the very end, and the heat goes off while it is still bright green.
Dried only partway in the sea wind on Korea's east coast, kodari pollock keeps some moisture in its flesh. Braised, it turns chewy without the dry, fibrous texture of fully dried hwangtae or bugeo. Radish under the fish keeps it off the hot pot bottom while a spicy-sweet sauce of gochujang, gochugaru, soy sauce and sugar cooks into it over about half an hour. It tastes even better after a night in the fridge, and leftover sauce makes a good bibimbap seasoning.
Without any meat, japchae leans entirely on its vegetables: spinach, carrot, shiitake, bell pepper, and onion each keep their own color and sweetness because they are stir-fried one at a time. The spinach only needs to wilt over high heat and is spread out to cool at once, or it dulls in color and turns tough. The glass noodles soak up soy sauce, sugar, and sesame oil before anything else joins them and come out glossy, chewy, and seasoned through. Tossing them with vegetables straight from a hot pan makes the noodles slump and clump, the usual way this dish goes wrong. It works as an everyday side dish or on a holiday table.
Potato, farmer's cheese (twarog) and onion softened in clarified butter fill these Polish dumplings, and the batch makes about 60. The dough skips egg, using hot water and oil, and a 30-minute rest makes it easy to roll thin. Firm block twarog matters: soft tub cheese or cream cheese turns the filling slack and the seams hard to close. Clean edges, free of filling and flour, seal tight, and the pot stays at a gentle simmer rather than a rolling boil.
Bulgogi-cut beef is seared in the pot just until it changes color, then the soaked rice and water go in on top and cook with it. Water parsley and the last of the soy sauce are laid over after the heat is off, and the parsley is still green when everything is stirred together. A heavy-bottomed pot leaves a layer of scorched rice as well.
Made in spring with webfoot octopus (jjukkumi) full of roe, each bite comes with little pops. The octopus is rubbed hard with coarse salt to strip its slime, blanched briefly, coated in gochujang sauce and stir-fried over high heat in under two minutes.