683 recipes. Page 27 of 29
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Bulgogi-cut beef is seared in the pot just until it changes color, then the soaked rice and water go in on top and cook with it. Water parsley and the last of the soy sauce are laid over after the heat is off, and the parsley is still green when everything is stirred together. A heavy-bottomed pot leaves a layer of scorched rice as well.
Pork shoulder goes red with gochujang and chili flakes, and summer yeolmu (young radish greens) keeps its slight bitterness against that heat. For a milder plate, leave the other seasonings alone and cut the chili flakes to half a tablespoon.
The seaweed and garlic are fried in sesame oil before the rice ever goes in. That step takes the fishy edge off the seaweed, and the nutty smell stays in the porridge through the long simmer. Soup soy sauce is used sparingly so it does not cover the seaweed.
Smoked duck gives off a lot of fat as it cooks, and all but a thin film is poured off. The duck brings plenty of salt of its own, and soy sauce waits until a taste just before serving.
Julienned radish is laid on top of the rice, not mixed in, and as it cooks its water and sweetness work down into the grains, leaving them moister and sweeter than plain rice. The soy sauce dressing waits until just before eating; stirred in early, it turns the rice mushy. Winter radish makes it noticeably sweeter.
Wet lotus root and shrimp give off water instead of frying, and that water thins the soy glaze. Lotus slices are done when the edges are translucent and the middle still crunches; cooking longer to soften them only overcooks the shrimp.
There is no boiling of octopus here: it is bought already cooked. Diced as small as the carrot and zucchini, it waits until the rice has fully softened, since a long simmer from the start would make it tough.
The 2.5 tablespoons of soy sauce are split: one seasons the beef up front, and the rest goes in with syrup at the end to glaze the lotus root as well. Only a thin cut of beef will cook in about the same time as the lotus.
The rice cooks in plain water, and the salt and heat come later from a soy sauce with cheongyang chili and green onion that is mixed in at the table. Octopus tentacles steam on top of the rice so their sea aroma works into the grains, while thin radish slices covering the bottom of the pot stop the rice from sticking and add a little sweetness. The scorched rice at the bottom gets scraped up and eaten too.
Blanched daikon greens are chopped fine and coated in miso and ground sesame, making a loose, crumbly side you spoon over rice. Chopped this small, even the tough stems go down easily, and a little sugar and mirin turn the miso sweet rather than sharply salty.
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.
Toasted in a dry pan until they crackle, the tiny anchovies get just a glaze of soy sauce and oligosaccharide syrup before being mixed into warm rice. Anchovies vary in saltiness from one package to the next, and saltier ones call for less soy sauce. Packed for a picnic, the rice balls taste much the same once cool.
Because it starts from cooked rice simmered in anchovy stock rather than raw grains, this porridge comes together much faster. The pollock roe breaks apart into the broth, tinting it pink and spreading its salty, savory flavor through the pot. Eggs poured into a rolling boil seize into rough clumps, but drizzled in at a gentle simmer they set into soft curds.
The octopus gets two minutes over high heat, and the rice goes in as soon as it starts to curl. That leaves no time to mix sauce in the pan; it is stirred smooth before the burner is lit. For less heat, the chili flakes are dropped and gochujang used alone.
The flying fish roe stays in the fridge until the moment of rolling; once it warms up, the skins slacken and the eggs stop popping. Inside there is only a thin line of mayonnaise and cucumber, and a little more roe goes on the cut faces.
A shallow crosshatch on the inside of the squid makes each piece curl into a thick, bouncy roll the moment it hits the heat, and the opened cuts give the gochujang sauce more surface to grab. Onion and cabbage go into the pan first to cook off their water so the sauce stays glossy.
Thick slices of fresh shiitake sit on the rice as it cooks, staying moist in the steam while their aroma drifts down into the grains. With dried shiitake instead, the soaking water becomes the cooking water and the mushroom flavor gets deeper. The finished rice is mixed with a sauce of soy, sesame oil, green onion and sesame seeds.
King oyster mushrooms are cut lengthwise into thick planks and scored in a crosshatch, which gives them enough heft to stand in for meat over rice. They are seared in a dry pan first to drive off water, then glazed with soy sauce, cooking wine and sugar, and they stay chewy under the sauce.
Large shrimp are split lengthwise before rolling, which packs the middle of every slice with pink shrimp. Egg strips, sauteed carrot and cucumber go in too, but nothing strongly seasoned, and it eats lighter than most gimbap.
The shrimp are split into two uses. Heads and shells simmer into the stock the rice cooks in, while the meat is minced, given a quick turn in sesame oil with garlic, and set aside until the grains have fully broken down.
Brown rice is topped with pan-seared salmon, blanched spinach, shredded carrot and avocado, then dressed with soy sauce, lemon juice and sesame oil. Against the chewy rice, the salmon is cooked only until its center is still faintly translucent and stays moist.
Five minutes in soy and sesame oil is all the salmon gets: long enough to turn the surface glossy, short enough that the inside still eats like sashimi. The fish comes out of the marinade as soon as a light soy tint appears, before the soy takes over its flavor.
Fernbrake, bellflower root and chwi-namul (aster greens) each get their own treatment: the fernbrake turns soft in sesame oil, the bellflower root is salted to draw out bitterness yet stays crisp, and the aster is blanched just until bright green. Cooked separately, they still taste and bite differently after mixing, and the gochujang sauce is served alongside to add a little at a time.
Despite the Korean name, which points to gim (roasted laver), this bowl is built on rehydrated wakame. A short toss in sesame oil with garlic keeps the seaweed slippery and chewy while turning its sea smell nutty. With only five ingredients, water left in the wakame does the most damage: it spatters in the hot oil and thins the soy sauce until the whole bowl tastes flat.