683 recipes. Page 4 of 29
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Thick slices of dotori-muk (a mild, faintly bitter acorn jelly) are folded into lettuce, perilla leaves and cucumber dressed with soy sauce and vinegar. Chilled before slicing, the jelly has a firmer bounce.
In American Chinese cooking, egg mixed with vegetables is fried into small patties, and a brown gravy made separately is spooned over just before eating. This version has no meat, only mushrooms, bean sprouts, onion and scallion, and it is pan-fried instead of deep-fried, which leaves the edges brown and the middle soft.
No heat touches the garlic chives: they are simply tossed with soy sauce, vinegar and gochugaru. Pressing or squeezing draws water out of the stems, so the tossing is a light lift for no more than 20 seconds, and the dish is served right away or within five minutes.
Clam meat, julienned radish and shiitake cook on top of rice in kombu water, and the finished pot gets mixed with a soy, sesame oil and scallion sauce at the table. The radish steams over the rice and sweetens it, and cutting it thin (0.3 cm) lets it finish at the same time as the rice. The soaked rice has to drain well, since the kombu water is measured for rice without surface water. The clams go on only near the end so they stay plump.
The beef sits in a pear juice and soy marinade for 10 minutes, then shiitake, king oyster mushrooms and onion are tossed into the same bowl before anything hits the heat. With everything going in at once, a small pan is better worked in two batches. Apple juice can stand in for the pear juice if the sugar is cut back a little.
Rolled around a pan, garaetteok develops a thin, dried-out skin while the inside turns even softer. The soy, gochujang and honey glaze waits until the rice cake has browned, then goes on in two thin coats over low heat.
A traditional Korean confection made for Seollal and Chuseok, each one is twisted into a ribbon by pulling one end through a slit in the middle. Even under a coat of honey and rice syrup it shatters lightly, with only the syrup-soaked ends a little chewy. Ginger juice in the dough leaves a faint bite at the finish.
Butterfish has such fine, soft flesh that it falls apart easily when turned. The fillets go skin-side down and are left alone for a good while, then flipped once with a wide spatula. The gochujang paste, loosened with plum syrup, is brushed on very thinly, and a little lemon is squeezed over once the fish is plated.
Just scallions and eggs, ready in under ten minutes. The scallions do two jobs: the first batch simmers until soft, translucent and sweet, flavoring the broth, while the rest go in at the end for a sharp, fresh bite on top.
Ground pork fried with chili flakes in sesame oil makes the red oil that sets the flavor, and clams add a clean, briny note. Brought to the table in its earthenware pot (ttukbaegi), it keeps bubbling for a good while.
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.
Radish sprouts are so thin that any pressure squeezes out water and a grassy smell, which keeps the tossing down to about 20 seconds with the fingertips, and the vinegar is added last for a brighter tang. Eaten right away, before the sprouts wilt, it is light and crisp; leftovers keep, chilled and sealed, for a day or two.
With only gochujang, vinegar and sugar in the dressing, this bunsik-shop noodle dish lives on the texture of the noodles. A thorough cold rinse is what makes sweet potato glass noodles springy, because any warmth left after draining keeps them softening until they stick into a clump. The dressing keeps in the fridge, but the noodles should meet it only just before eating, or they soak it up and turn soft.
Pressed for 20 minutes and seared until golden on each side, the tofu goes onto the salad still warm, a crisp-edged contrast to cool baby greens, cucumber and cherry tomatoes. The soy sauce, lemon and sesame oil dressing brings enough salt and acidity that the tofu itself needs no separate seasoning. Only the vegetables get dressed, with the tofu sitting on top so its browned surface stays dry until the first bite.
Browning gyoza on one flat side only and then steaming them under a lid leaves the pleats soft and tender while the bottom turns golden and crisp. Japanese families brought the idea home from Manchuria after the war, recreating the jiaozi they had eaten there.
Cedrela shoots are dressed only with soy sauce, garlic, and sesame oil, keeping the seasoning plain so the aroma of the young shoots stays in front. Trimming a little extra from the lower stems, which are much thicker than the tender tips, lets the whole shoot cook evenly in just 40 seconds of blanching.
Rice toasted in sesame oil before any water is added gives this plain Korean porridge a faint nutty base instead of a flat, watery taste. The long, low simmer needs a wooden spatula working the bottom of the pot; skip that and the porridge catches, turning darker and off in flavor.
The liquor the hard clams release as they open is the base of the sauce here; no stock goes in. A little soy and oyster sauce is added, and the chives are cooked only until they wilt, so they are still bright green on the plate.
Glass noodles seasoned with soy sauce and sesame oil go into seaweed with stir-fried vegetables, rolled tight and fried. Rolling while the filling is still hot wets the seaweed and tears it, so the filling is spread out to cool first. They also get dipped in tteokbokki sauce.
Roasted soybean powder and green tea powder, bound with honey and rice syrup and pressed into a patterned mold, melt softly on the tongue: nutty soybean first, then a light green tea bitterness. The right dough just holds together when squeezed hard. Too dry, it cracks as it leaves the mold, and too wet, the pattern smears.
In Hong Kong and Guangzhou, char siu hangs from hooks in roast-meat shop windows after roasting in a fire oven; this version gets its lacquered red-brown surface on a rack in a home oven. A spoonful of honey is held back and brushed on only after the first turn. The slightly charred edges are the prized bits, and the meat is sliced thin over rice or wonton noodles.
A whole chicken is simmered, its cooking water kept as the stock, and the meat shredded and tossed in chili oil with bracken and bean sprouts before going back in. It is yukgaejang, the spicy beef soup, built from a single chicken, so the broth and everything in it come from one pot.
Turnip turns translucent as it cooks and gives the kelp stock a quiet sweetness. There is no meat or anchovy; oyster mushrooms and tofu fill out the pot. Once the perilla seed powder is stirred in, it gets about two minutes over low heat.
Bugeo is pollack dried through the Gangwon mountain winter, freezing and thawing over and over, which leaves the flesh loose and spongy. Soy and gochujang seasoning works its way into those gaps, and the flavor deepens over the few days it keeps in the fridge. Soaking should stop at 20 minutes, or the flesh goes mushy.