779 recipes. Page 27 of 33
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Canned whole tomatoes go in with their juice and are crushed with a spatula and fried first to drive off water. The cream gets only 3 minutes on the heat, and the soup keeps its bright tomato red.
Country-style doenjang gives this stew a dense, earthy body, and the Cheongyang chili added at the very end cuts through it with a sharp, clean heat. Half a block of tofu is torn by hand into rough chunks and simmered gently for 3 minutes so the pieces hold together.
Spicy pork and bean sprouts, usually a stir-fry, are steamed in this version, which uses no oil and lets the gochujang and gochugaru seasoning come through more directly. As the sprouts wilt under the lid they release water that turns into a light broth and carries the seasoning into the pork shoulder, while their remaining crunch eases the heat. Spreading the meat thin and low over the sprouts lets it cook at the same pace throughout. The dish is served as soon as it is done, before the sprouts give off too much water and turn limp. Rice or thin somyeon noodles stirred into the leftover broth finish the pot.
With no broth at all, a soy, oyster sauce and mirin glaze clings to thick udon, salty with a little sweetness. Udon still wet from rinsing drops the pan temperature and ends up steamed and soggy rather than stir-fried.
Chuck goes into the oven as one piece and comes out soft enough to pull apart with a fork, while the carrots and potatoes, added only for the final hour, still hold their shape. Tomato paste and the browned bits left by searing become the sauce right in the same pot, and the braising liquid ends up serving as the gravy.
This oyakodon, chicken thigh and onion simmered in dashi, soy and mirin and set with egg, gets a handful of mitsuba at the very end. The lid goes on for twenty seconds before the heat goes off; any longer and the herb's parsley-like scent is gone.
The chili sauce looks too thick, but no water goes in: the octopus releases its own liquid as it cooks and loosens it. The pork belly is browned in the pan first, and the octopus joins it over high heat for just a minute or two.
Three and a half hours over low heat turn the skin and tendons of beef trotters springy and gelatinous, and the broth comes out milky white. Salt is the seasoning, and some people dip each bite in a little salted shrimp or hot mustard.
Dried radish greens (siraegi) sauteed in perilla oil bring a nutty, chewy base, and clams add a clean, briny broth on top of it. The clams are added near the end and release salt as they open, so final seasoning waits until after they do.
Blanched radish greens, the leafy tops of Korean radish, soak up the pear-and-soy braising liquid from the beef and bring an earthy flavor with a slight chew. Short rib meat is soaked in cold water first to draw out blood, which keeps the sauce clean-tasting rather than murky. Pear juice adds a gentle fruit sweetness under the garlic and ginger, and the reduced sauce clings to both meat and greens, ready to spoon over rice.
Yakisoba sauce, built on Worcestershire, coats the noodles in a sweet, tangy glaze, and bonito flakes laid on the hot plate sway in the rising heat and add a smoky note. The noodles come precooked and need only about thirty seconds of warming to loosen before they fry, keeping some bounce instead of turning soft. Cabbage, onion, and carrot hit a very hot pan briefly and stay crisp under the sauce. The sauce is poured around the edge of the pan only at the very end, which protects that crunch, and a quick toss coats every strand evenly.
Pork shoulder braises low in a heavy pot until the meat separates on its own when a fork touches it, then is shredded and tossed back into the onion-soaked pan juices with barbecue sauce. Doneness is judged by the meat, not the clock; if it still resists, it needs longer.
The radish greens are stripped of their tough stems, blanched and chopped fine, while the shrimp are not minced but lightly crushed with the back of a knife. The oil for sauteing them is perilla oil, not sesame.
Fresh bamboo shoots are only around for a short season in spring, so most of the year this banchan is made with canned or vacuum-packed shoots. Fresh ones need at least 30 minutes of simmering in rice-rinsing water to remove their acrid bite; canned ones need a thorough rinse to lose their tinny smell. Soy sauce and garlic keep the seasoning light, and the point is crunch: cooked too long, the shoots dry out and toughen.
Onion and celery are sauteed, simmered in stock and blended, then smooth peanut butter and cream are stirred in. Chunky peanut butter would spoil that smooth texture, and the only crunch comes from chopped roasted peanuts scattered on top.
Ground perilla seed turns the rice-rinse broth beige and thick, and it eats more like a cream soup than a red jjigae. The dried radish greens (siraegi) need their tough outer skin peeled off, or they stay stringy.
Sour, long-fermented kimchi and pork back ribs braise down together in one pot, so the first impression is tangy and savory before it is spicy. The riper the kimchi, the stronger its sourness and savory depth, which makes the state of the kimchi the biggest factor in how the dish turns out.
A split hot dog bun, buttered and toasted on the inside, gets packed with saucy stir-fried noodles: carbs inside carbs, a Japanese street snack. The cabbage, onion, and carrot come off the heat before they wilt, leaving some crunch between the soft bread and the glossy noodles. A shake of dried parsley adds color and a light herbal note against the sweet-salty sauce.
Thin rounds of eggplant, zucchini, tomato, and bell pepper stand in overlapping rings on a cooked base of onion, garlic, and chopped pepper, which sets this version apart from ratatouille stewed in one pot. Instead of stock or water, the juices the vegetables release in the oven loosen the base into a sauce. Part of the pepper is diced into the base and the rest sliced for the top, giving it two textures in one dish. It makes a full plate without any meat.
Oyster mushrooms torn along the grain chew pleasantly between the slices of beef, stretching the dish and making it lighter than beef alone. The sweetness in the marinade is gentle, since it comes from pear juice.
Bamboo shoots sliced thinly across the grain stay crisp and outweigh the beef, and the dish eats more like a vegetable stir-fry with soy-marinated meat running through it. Beef round is very lean and toughens quickly, which is why the meat is seared briefly, lifted out, and only returned for a final toss once the bamboo has cooked down on its own.
Part of the white beans is mashed with a fork and stirred back in, thickening the broth without flour, while the rest stay whole. The chicken is already cooked and simply shredded, and the heat level is built around mild canned green chiles.
Radish lines the bottom of the pot, dried radish greens go on top, and mackerel sits above both, with rice-rinse water poured slowly in at the edge. Chili flakes alone, no gochujang, keep the broth a clear red rather than a cloudy one. The mackerel is cooked on the bone, and the flesh is picked off with chopsticks at the table.
Thick-cut onion and green onion line the pot so the squid sits above the bottom while a gochujang and chili-flake sauce steams it from the top. Gochujang gives a thick heat that clings to each piece, and the flakes add a sharper spiciness over it. Compared with stir-fried squid, there is no oil, and the moisture the vegetables release loosens the sauce enough to spoon over rice. Because squid toughens quickly, the whole cook stays around ten minutes, ending when the flesh turns opaque and the edges curl slightly. Cutting the vegetables thick and spreading the squid out without overlapping pieces is what lets both finish properly in that short window.