682 recipes. Page 2 of 29
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Blending the sea snail innards into the broth turns this Jeju soup a deep green and gives it a nutty taste. Innards left coarse clump in the pot, so they are blended with a little water until smooth.
Each perilla leaf is folded around a thin layer of beef and tofu, and a bite goes through the egg coating to the leaf's aroma before it reaches the meat. Packing in more filling would bury that aroma under the beef, which is why it is spread thin, right to the edges of the leaf.
This is the everyday pork belly and sour kimchi stew with one addition: a tablespoon of doenjang, fried briefly with the chili flakes before the water goes in. It gives the bottom of the broth a slightly earthier weight. If the kimchi is not sour yet, use half a teaspoon of sugar rather than a few drops of vinegar.
Instead of a spatula, the pot itself does the stirring: you shake it so the baby potatoes roll through the reducing soy sauce, which keeps the skins on and the glaze even and dark. Cooled and kept in the fridge, they take the seasoning all the way through and last close to a week.
This kimchi is eaten the day it is made rather than aged: oyster and shiitake mushrooms get a one-minute blanch and a dressing of gochugaru and anchovy fish sauce. Tearing the oyster mushrooms along the grain into thick strips keeps them from collapsing, and the thick shiitake caps stay chewy throughout. Mushrooms that are not squeezed hard thin the paste and soften further in storage. Even chilled, it is best within 2 days.
With dried anchovies, kelp and somyeon noodles on hand, this bowl comes together even when the fridge is nearly empty. There is no chili and no fermented paste; the clear anchovy broth simmers for 15 minutes and is seasoned with soup soy sauce and salt. The thin wheat noodles cook in a separate pot and are rinsed, so their starch does not cloud the broth.
Cheongpomuk, a soft, translucent jelly made from mung bean starch, is cut into batons and tossed in chojang, Korean sweet-and-sour chili sauce. Crisp apple, cucumber, and red cabbage play against the jelly's smooth, bouncy texture, and the apple's sweetness rounds off the chili heat.
A teaspoon of vinegar in the soy marinade makes the salt less sharp and the chicken skin taste less greasy. The shine comes from using sugar and oligosaccharide syrup together, and the last coat of sauce brushed on near the end bubbles in the oven until it sets into a thin lacquer. The thickest wing, not the glossy skin, decides when the tray comes out, because the meat by the bone cooks last. Sesame oil and toasted seeds go on after baking, while the wings are still hot.
There are no noodles in this high-heat stir-fry of chicken breast, bok choy, carrot, mushrooms, and bean sprouts; it sits beside rice, with a light brown sauce that coats rather than pools. The carrot is cut thinner than the softer vegetables so everything finishes at once while the bok choy stems keep their crunch.
Paper-thin sheets of dried whitebait are dry-toasted until stiff, then coated thinly in gochujang, soy sauce and oligosaccharide syrup. Straight from the pan they look a little soft, but they crisp as they cool; there is no need to keep them on the heat longer.
Bacon started in a cold pan renders slowly, and that smoky fat replaces cooking oil for the whole fried rice. Well-fermented sour kimchi is fried until its edges brown, which rounds its sharp tang into something toastier. Pressing the rice against the pan builds a light crust on the bottom, the cue to turn off the heat. A runny-yolk fried egg goes on top and gets broken into the rice like a sauce.
Oyster mushrooms torn along the grain come apart in thin strands, while shiitake cut 5 mm thick have a fuller chew. Whether the mushrooms were rinsed matters less than whether they go into the pan wet or piled in layers.
Part of the gochujang sauce is set aside the moment it is mixed. The rest marinates the chicken thigh, while the reserved portion never touches raw meat and goes on as a final glaze near the end of grilling. Each skewer holds two or three pieces of chicken for every piece of green onion, and they cook until the edges just char.
Steamed glutinous rice dough has to be pounded hard for five minutes or more before it stretches into long, elastic ropes; under-pounded, it cracks soon after the soybean powder goes on. The roasted soybean powder gets a little sugar and stays fluffy only if the pieces are coated right before eating. Injeolmi is a regular on Korean ancestral rite tables and at first-birthday parties.
Two kinds of salt meet in each shell here: the briny juice of the hard clam and the fermented saltiness of doenjang. That is why the paste goes on thin enough to let the clam meat show through; doenjang varies in saltiness from brand to brand, and a heavy coat buries the shellfish. Over high heat the doenjang surface scorches lightly and turns toasty, and the moment the liquid in the shell bubbles, the clams come off. Another minute and the meat turns tough.
Beaten egg is poured in a circle from the edge of the pot and left unstirred for thirty seconds, so it sets into soft ribbons in the barely moving broth. Because the soup never comes to a hard boil, the even 1.5 cm tofu cubes keep their corners too.
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.
Gochugaru and soup soy sauce are used lightly here, and twelve sliced perilla leaves go in right before the heat is cut, letting the herb come through ahead of the chili. For a richer broth, add a teaspoon of perilla seed powder.
This bulgogi never goes over a flame. It simmers down in its marinade in a wide pan and comes to the table still juicy, with about half the liquid left. Soy sauce is the only seasoning, no gochujang or doenjang, in the inland North Gyeongsang manner, and in Andong it has long been set out in its pan at ancestral rites and family gatherings for everyone to serve themselves.
No soy sauce goes into this pickle: deodeok, a mountain root prized for its fragrance, sits in vinegar, sugar and salt alone, leaving its own aroma in front. Pounding the split roots flat with the back of a knife loosens the dense fibers and lets the brine work its way between them, and a day of chilling turns the texture pleasantly chewy. Chili flakes and sesame oil go on only at serving time, which keeps the red bright, and the dish is served cold.
With grated fresh apple handling part of the sweetness and apple cider vinegar bringing the tang, the gochujang sauce tastes lighter and fresher. It is not fruit-sweetened alone, though: oligosaccharide syrup goes in too. Thirty minutes in the fridge takes the raw edge off the gochujang and lets the apple's acidity settle into it. Half a boiled egg on top turns the thin somyeon noodles into an easy light meal.
Korean garlic chives (buchu) are far sharper and more pungent than Western chives, and this side dish keeps them raw to hold on to that bite. Doenjang, a fermented soybean paste, clings to the flat leaves so every mouthful carries its salty depth, while vinegar lightens the finish and chili flakes leave a gentle heat. A 30-second rinse in cold water is enough, and longer soaking dulls the aroma. It is made right before the meal and belongs next to a bowl of rice.
Hot-water dough is rolled thin, brushed with sesame oil, salted and scattered with scallion, then rolled into a log, coiled like a snail shell and pressed flat. The oil-and-roll step happens only once, yet when the pancake comes out of a medium-hot pan and is torn open, it separates into thin layers, with edges that crackle.
Bangpung grows on seaside cliffs and sandy shores and is picked along the coasts of Gangwon-do, Gyeonggi-do and Jeju from March to May. Its aroma is strong and celery-like. The seasoning stops at doenjang, garlic and sesame oil, and the greens get only a minute in salted boiling water.