779 recipes. Page 7 of 33
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Well-fermented kimchi and bacon baked into an egg and cream custard show up as flecks of red kimchi and bacon across every cut slice. The kimchi is squeezed hard and fried with the bacon and onion before it goes in, which keeps the custard from turning watery.
Thin slices of pork shoulder and onion cook in a gingery soy sauce and go over rice. The pan comes off the heat while a little sauce still pools at the bottom, and that sauce is spooned over the rice.
The name is Vietnamese for shaking beef, after the way the wok is shaken so cubes of sirloin sear on every side. It took shape in colonial-era Saigon, when Western cuts of beef arrived and Vietnamese cooks seasoned them their own way, here with oyster sauce, soy and garlic. Once the cubes have a dark crust, the onion softened earlier in butter goes back in, and lime is squeezed over just before serving.
The shrimp is chopped coarsely, not ground, so you bite into firm pieces of it in the soft pork filling. Steamed, the wrappers turn translucent and show the pink shrimp through; pan-fried, only the bottoms go golden and crisp. Chopped cheongyang chili in vinegar soy sauce makes a spicy dip.
Only the surface of the bonito meets the flame, for 20 to 30 seconds a side, leaving a smoky crust around a center that stays red and cold. Since the inside stays raw, the fish has to be bonito sold and cold-handled for eating raw, not ordinary grilling fish. In the Kochi Prefecture style, thick slices are sprinkled with salt, splashed with yuzu vinegar and soy, and patted with the flat of a knife so the seasoning settles in. Paper-thin garlic and onion and chopped scallions are scattered on top, and the plate is eaten right away rather than left at room temperature.
Napa cabbage and onion line the bottom of the pot, beef goes on top, minari (Korean water parsley) rings the edge, and the octopus sits highest of all. When its legs curl up and turn bright red, the heat goes off at once and everything is ladled out with the broth.
Matchstick-thin strands of potato, not grated pulp, give this pancake an open lattice that crisps at every strand instead of the chewy pull of grated gamja-jeon. Not a drop of water is added: potato starch dissolves into the potato's own moisture and glues the strands together.
The whole can of tuna, oil included, is tipped into the pot with water. No stock is made separately, and that oil is what the broth builds on. Some add ramen noodles to stretch it into a full meal.
Pork shoulder has fat running evenly through it, so it braises tender and pulls apart along the grain without drying out. The garlic chives on top are only just wilted and get picked up with each bite of soy-braised pork.
Sweet potato stems need their tough outer skin peeled away, a fiddly job, but it is what lets a 2-minute blanch leave them bright and pleasantly crisp. Plunging them into cold water straight from the pot, until no warmth remains, is what holds that color and snap. Mixing the glutinous rice paste into the other seasonings first helps it coat the stems thinly between the fibers. Thin onion and scallion round out the dressing with sweetness and fragrance. The stems snap easily, so the seasoning is worked in with fingertips rather than pressed, and even packing the container takes only a light touch.
Think of a pan of dakgalbi with udon added. Gochujang-marinated chicken thigh, cabbage and thin slices of sweet potato cook first, and the thick udon then takes on a heavy coat of that sauce.
Bacon crisped in butter leaves behind a smoky, salty fat, and the onion and garlic cook in it before any cream arrives. Milk thins the cream until the sauce coats a spoon lightly instead of sitting heavy on the pasta. A hard boil reduces it too far and can split it, while a gentle simmer at the edges keeps it smooth. Parmesan melts in after the heat is off, and either penne or spaghetti works.
Coarse, soft lumps of tofu sit between thin strips of red and yellow pepper and cucumber, and each bite alternates between creamy and crisp. The soy and vinegar dressing is a small amount, and any water left on the tofu or vegetables thins it quickly and pools at the bottom of the bowl.
Sour cream and Dijon give this sauce a gentle tang with a sharp mustard finish, and mushrooms cooked until golden supply most of its savory weight. The sirloin barely spends time in the pan: seared on each side, set aside, and returned only at the end so it stays pink and tender. Once the sour cream is in, a boil will split the sauce.
Salmon, cabbage, onion, shimeji mushrooms, green pepper and carrot are sealed in foil with a sweet miso sauce and a pat of butter, then steamed in a covered frying pan. The dish is a local specialty of the Ishikari area of Hokkaido. Inside the parcel, steam wilts the vegetables while butter, miso and the juices of the salmon and vegetables pool into a salty sauce at the bottom.
Break one open and it is packed with peppery ground beef, soft cabbage and onion. The filling is cooked until the pan is dry before it goes in, so the bottom of the bun is still dry when you eat it out of hand.
The oil from the tuna can goes straight into the pan and the onion and carrot fry in it, so the tuna flavor gets into the vegetables and rice. Each bowl is topped with its own fried egg.
Smoked duck goes into the pan first, and the fat it gives off is what the onion and oyster mushrooms cook in, and the vegetables pick up the smoke too. If there is more fat than needed, pour off all but a tablespoon. The gochujang and syrup sauce is sweet and hot, the kind of thing that goes with a drink.
Sundae, Korean blood sausage, alternates with onion and green onion on the skewer before it goes into the pan. The onions lose water and turn sweet as they cook, a break between rich mouthfuls of sausage. The glaze mixes gochujang with ketchup, oligosaccharide syrup, and soy sauce.
Boso Peninsula fishermen in Chiba used to carry namerou, mackerel chopped fine with miso, up into the hills in abalone shells and grill or steam it there, and sangayaki grew out of that habit. The fish and miso are chopped together until the paste is sticky enough to lift as one mass, then mixed with ginger, onion and green pepper. Each shell is topped with a shiso leaf and grilled until the mound puffs and turns opaque all the way through. It goes with rice or with drinks.
Caldo verde means green broth in Portuguese. The soup is thickened with nothing but blended potato, no cream, and carries kale cut fine as thread along with a few slices of smoked sausage.
In the Gangwon mountain style, onion is grated right along with the potatoes and finely chopped cheongyang chili goes straight into the batter. Makgeolli is the traditional pairing.
A can of tuna and some sour kimchi, no meat to brown, and the stew is ready fast; most of the flavor comes from the kimchi's sourness. Pour in a little of the oil from the can and the broth gets noticeably deeper.
Fat from the thin brisket slices melts down into the bean sprouts underneath, so even a bite of sprouts alone tastes rich. The dressing is light: soy sauce with garlic, a little sugar and sesame oil.