157 recipes. Page 4 of 7
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Every spoonful brings up strips of dried pollack and fine threads of egg along with the soft rice. The egg goes in last, once the rice and fish are cooked, drizzled thinly over the surface on the lowest heat and stirred only once. The savory flavor comes from the pollack itself, toasted in sesame oil with garlic, rather than from a stock.
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.
Scallions go into the hot pan before the batter, so one side of each stalk touches the metal and browns into a sweet, toasty fragrance that mixing them in would not give. The batter is poured thin, just enough to fill the gaps, which keeps scallion rather than dough in every bite.
Cheonggak, a branching green seaweed, gives this radish kimchi a firm, almost crunchy chew and a marine aroma that land-vegetable kimchi lacks. Half the paste is massaged into the julienned radish first so it seasons evenly; the seaweed joins the remaining paste and is tossed quickly, because long handling toughens it. A day in the fridge lets the seaweed's salinity merge with the fish sauce paste, and the briny result sits naturally beside seafood and mild rice soups.
Shrimp shells fried with garlic until red and fragrant set how far this broth can go. Pork stock is added and simmered with them, then strained into a soup that looks almost clear but tastes concentrated. The peeled shrimp go in only at the end, with the egg noodles, and come out as soon as they turn opaque. A spoonful of sambal on top slowly melts into the hot broth, and the heat builds as you eat. It is a mainstay of Singapore's hawker centers.
Toasted rice powder, khao khua, is what turns seasoned ground chicken into larb. Rice browned in a dry pan and ground coarse gives the salad a nutty, faintly smoky grain flavor that nothing else copies. The dish comes from the Isan region of Thailand, where it is seasoned hard with fish sauce and lime and eaten scooped into lettuce leaves. Because the chicken cooks gently with a splash of water instead of oil, it stays soft and moist rather than browned and dry.
Mackerel fillets simmer skin-side up under a glossy glaze of miso, mirin, sake, and sugar, a staple of Japanese home cooking. Pouring boiling water over the fish first takes away surface odor, and thin slices of ginger in the pan deal with the rest.
One chip dragged to the bottom of the dish should pick up refried beans, cream cheese, guacamole, salsa, cheddar, olives and scallions at once. Draining the salsa for 10 minutes keeps its juice from bleeding into the layers, and spreading each layer in small dollops avoids dragging up the one underneath.
The deodeok browns in butter, but half the butter is held back and melted into the soy and rice syrup sauce just before the heat goes off. The root is peeled first, then pounded and torn along its fibers.
Abalone scored in a fine crosshatch goes into garlic butter for a minute a side, gets a splash of soy sauce, and comes off the heat right away. The innards can be minced and melted into the butter too. The cooked meat goes back into its scrubbed shell to serve.
Enoki pulled apart strand by strand and only filmed with batter fry into a loose, lacy round, crisp as tempura at the rim and chewy in the middle. A dip of soy sauce with vinegar and a pinch of chili flakes comes with it.
Bok choy makes a lighter, crunchier kimchi than napa cabbage, ready to eat within a day. The salt goes mainly on the thick stems, and 20 minutes is the limit before the stems toughen. The halves drain thoroughly in a sieve after rinsing, because leftover water thins the paste until it slides off the leaves. Blending the salted shrimp and fish sauce into the sweet rice paste first makes the seasoning easy to spread thinly between leaves. Julienned carrot and scallions add color and a varied bite. After 4 hours at room temperature it moves to the fridge.
From the Cambodian immigrant communities of Phnom Penh, this clear rice noodle soup crossed into southern Vietnam and settled into Saigon's street food. Fish sauce and a little sugar give the pork broth its savory-sweet southern balance, and this recipe starts from ready-made pork bone stock rather than simmering bones. Once seasoned, the broth drops to low heat so it stays clear and fragrant. Ground pork fried with garlic until dry and crumbly sits on top as a contrast to the silky broth. The shrimp spend only about a minute in boiling water and come out as soon as they turn pink, which keeps them tender.
Iceberg lettuce is cut into quarters with the core left on, so each wedge stays cold, firm and whole while blue cheese dressing runs down between the layers. Because the leaves are never separated, water trapped between them and in the cut face is what thins the dressing. Only part of the blue cheese is mashed into the sour cream base, leaving small lumps; the rest is scattered on top with crisp bacon, tomatoes and chives. If the blue cheese tastes too strong, part of it can be replaced with Parmesan without changing the method. Assemble it right before serving, as dressed lettuce softens fast.
Cleaned monkfish liver is rolled in foil with the ends twisted tight like a sweet wrapper, then steamed, chilled firm, and sliced into rounds. Before that, every vein and bit of membrane comes off and the liver sits in sake with a little salt. It is a cold starter, served with ponzu, lemon, scallion, and grated daikon mixed with chili powder (momiji oroshi).
Left undisturbed while it browns, the tofu firms up on the surface and holds together when the egg and soy glaze go into the same pan. Seaweed flakes and sesame oil go on last, over the tofu and egg on the rice.
Two horse mackerel sit in a yuzu-soy marinade for just 10 minutes before going onto a grill pan. The bits of yuzu in the marmalade burn easily, which is why half the marinade is held back and brushed on only in the last minute. Sesame oil and scallions go on after the heat is off.
Chopped shiitake, crumbled tofu, carrot and scallion go into one batter, which is spooned into small, flat rounds. Chopping the mushrooms a little coarser gives them more chew. A sauce of soy, vinegar and sesame seeds goes on the side.
Ponytail radishes go into the kimchi whole, greens and all, and after a day at room temperature they bite back with a fizzy tang. Long greens turn tough, so they are trimmed short first.
It is just udon in a broth of bonito flakes and kombu, topped with a few slices of kamaboko fish cake and some scallion. Nearly all the work goes into seasoning that broth so it stays clear and light rather than salty.
Ground chicken is pressed and broken up in the pan, joined by fine shreds of ginger, then cooked down in soy sauce, mirin, and sugar. Turn off the heat while a thin film of liquid still coats the pan, and every crumb carries a dark glaze while the meat stays moist. Spread over rice, it becomes a soboro bowl.
Chunks of cutlassfish (galchi), seasoned for ten minutes with soy sauce and ginger, sit on the very top of the pot as the rice cooks. After resting, the flesh falls apart at the touch of a paddle. The scallions are scattered over and everything is folded together with a light hand.
Cockles are at their plumpest from winter into early spring. They go into boiling water only until the shells start to open, then get a thin layer of spicy sauce and a turn in the pan. Bubbling sauce does not mean the meat is done; the center should hold 85 to 90°C for more than 90 seconds. The sauce left in the pan gets mixed into rice.
Chili flakes stirred into the brine and never strained out leave flecks of red through the pale, cool broth of this clear spring water kimchi. Shredded Korean pear sweetens the liquid gently, and 8 to 12 hours at room temperature give it a light, refreshing tang. Sedum, a small succulent spring green, gets only a quick swish in cold water, since long washing makes it grassy. It joins the jar last and is folded rather than pressed so its tiny leaves stay crisp. Because the ferment is short, the broth and greens are best eaten cold within a day or two, ladled over rice.