779 recipes. Page 6 of 33
As an Amazon Associate, we may earn from qualifying purchases.
Drained canned tuna and perilla leaves give these fritters more heft than a vegetable jeon but less than a fish one. The egg in the batter binds the tuna and gives a smooth surface, and the fritters hold up well cold in a lunchbox.
Little rounds of brisket fat float on top, and the stew tastes nuttier and heavier than a vegetable-only doenjang jjigae. The sliced cheongyang chili is there because of that fat.
Dotted gizzard shad (baendaengi) has fine, soft bones that soften further in the braise, so the fish is eaten bones and all. It is layered with onion over a bed of radish and braised in a gochujang and soy sauce for close to half an hour.
Brine poured over whole green chilies just 5 minutes off the boil sears their skins, knocking the heat down a notch while the flesh inside stays crisp. Each bite brings salty soy savor first, then the pepper's clean sting.
Strips of chicken breast take the place of beef, giving a leaner japchae where the noodles, spinach, carrot, shiitake and onion come through more clearly. Tossing the drained noodles with a little soy sauce and sesame oil right away and spreading them out keeps them from gluing together while everything else cooks.
Pork belly, fried until the fat turns translucent and the edges crisp, gives this arrabbiata a richer, meatier base than the usual garlic and chili tomato sauce. The heat comes from Korean gochugaru instead of dried Italian chili, so it lands as a familiar, warm Korean spiciness.
Slicing cooked octopus thin and wide with the knife laid at a low angle shortens its tough fibers, so each piece chews easily. Cho-gochujang, gochujang sharpened with vinegar and sugar, coats it in a sour heat, while minari (Korean water dropwort) adds a fresh, herbal aroma and cucumber and onion bring crunch.
Tortillas wrapped around cumin-seasoned ground beef and cheddar soak up red enchilada sauce in the oven until soft, while the cheese on top melts and bubbles. Cold tortillas crack when rolled, and a quick warming makes them pliable.
Chicken thighs marinated in ginger-garlic paste and garam masala are seared in butter until a brown crust forms, then finished in a long-reduced tomato sauce with butter and cream. Also called murgh makhani, it leans mild and rich rather than hot: reducing the tomato puree takes off its sharp acidity, and cream softens the spices.
Hobak-bokkeum, the stir-fried Korean zucchini usually served as a side dish, goes onto buttery pie dough with the edges folded up roughly around it. Pea-sized bits of cold butter left in the dough make that folded rim bake up flaky, while in the middle mozzarella melts over the zucchini and onion. Top it with a fried egg for brunch, or cut it thin to go with a glass of white wine.
Dig in and the melted mozzarella stretches away to reveal chicken breast fried rice turned red with buldak sauce, the fiery Korean chicken sauce. The sauce goes onto the chicken and onion before the rice.
The tofu is pan-fried in perilla oil until golden before anything else, so it keeps its shape when it is tossed with the broccoli in the doenjang sauce.
After 12 to 15 minutes in the steamer the wrappers go translucent, showing the filling of pork, tofu, glass noodles, and garlic chives. The dip is soy sauce with vinegar and chili flakes. Fold a big batch and freeze some, and a few can go straight from the freezer into the steamer later.
On the domed jingisukan pan, lamb fat and juices run down the grooves into the bean sprouts, onions and squash ringing the edge. This Hokkaido style skips the marinade and dips the lamb after cooking in a soy-vinegar sauce made with grated apple, pear, garlic and ginger. The fattiest pieces cook first in the center, and their rendered fat coats the grooves so nothing sticks without added oil. Everyone eats as things cook, lifting off meat and vegetables as they are ready, with potatoes and squash taking the longest. Hokkaido began eating lamb when sheep were raised for wool in the Taisho era, and the dish is now cooked at home year-round and outdoors at spring blossom parties and summer barbecues.
Broccoli cooks in a butter-and-flour roux loosened with milk and chicken stock, then the heat drops to its lowest setting and the cheddar melts in a handful at a time. Served as is, the florets stay chunky; blend half and small bits remain in the cream. It also goes into hollowed-out bread bowls.
The eggplant is salted and blotted dry, and the ground pork is cooked first with onion and garlic, then cooled before it goes into the batter. Because the meat is never raw in the pan, even thick rounds cook evenly to the center, and the softened eggplant stays moist between bits of pork.
The brisket is seared first to render its fat, and the gochujang and chili flakes are fried in that fat to build the base of the broth. The minari, cut into 5 cm lengths, waits on the side until just before the heat goes off, then goes in only long enough to wilt.
Doenjang and a pinch of instant coffee in the boiling water soften the porky smell without seasoning the meat itself. Five minutes in the broth after the heat goes off keeps the slices moist, and kimchi and fresh wrap leaves supply the seasoning at the table.
A quick thirty-second blanch strips the raw bitterness from pepper leaves and wilts them enough for the chili seasoning, thickened with glutinous rice paste, to coat them evenly. Even under that spicy dressing they keep a green, almost herbal note that sets this kimchi apart from napa cabbage or young radish kimchi.
The knife-cut noodles go straight into the chicken stock instead of a separate pot, and the starch they shed turns the broth slightly thick and silky while the noodles soak up the chicken flavor. That single-pot cooking is what separates kalguksu from a plain chicken noodle soup. Right after the noodles drop in, a stir along the bottom frees any that stick; after that, gentle stirring keeps them from breaking. Thigh meat, rather than breast, stays tender even after the shredded chicken returns for a final simmer. Black pepper is the main seasoning accent, sharpening the savory stock in a bowl built for cold days.
Chunjang, the black bean paste behind Korean jajangmyeon, goes into an Italian-style beef ragu, where its salty, roasted depth meets the acidity of tomato passata. Wide tagliatelle carry a thin, glossy coat of the sauce on every ribbon, and the result tastes somewhere between jajangmyeon and a Bolognese.
Shimeji, king oyster and fresh shiitake are microwaved and dressed while still hot with lemon juice, olive oil and a little soy sauce. Unlike soy-pickled mushrooms meant to keep, this is a side to eat the same day, not a preserve. The dressing is mixed while the mushrooms cook and is ready the moment they come out. Each mushroom is cut to keep its own shape and texture, and the baby greens never go into the hot bowl; they line the plate raw beneath the warm mushrooms. The microwave time is set for the base two servings, and a larger batch needs extra time until everything is steaming hot throughout.
Cutting skirt steak across the grain on a diagonal is what keeps such a short, fierce sear tender. Cumin, lime and smoked paprika give the beef a smoky, sharp edge, while the peppers and onion cook first in the same hot pan and come out still crunchy. Everything goes into warm flour tortillas right away, before the vegetables start to weep.
Rice paper rather than a wheat wrapper sets these southern Vietnamese rolls apart: it fries into a thin, blistered shell that shatters more sharply than a Chinese egg roll. Rolling tension matters, since a loose roll bursts in the oil and an overly tight one squeezes the pork and glass noodle filling into a hard core. In the south, families gather around Tet to roll them by the hundreds.