323 recipes. Page 13 of 14
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Green laver needs only 30 seconds to a minute in the pot; any longer and both its sea aroma and its bright green fade. That is why the anchovy stock and tofu are fully heated first and the laver goes in at the very end.
You pick the meat off the pork back bones in your bowl as you go, between spoonfuls of cloudy broth and napa greens soaked in doenjang seasoning. What decides the broth is pouring away the first blanching water, where the scum and porky smell collect.
White fish firms up in about 4 minutes, and after that every stir breaks it apart. The radish cooks halfway first to flavor the broth, then the fish follows and is ladled out as soon as the flesh begins to flake.
Shrimp instead of beef makes this seaweed soup lighter, with a clearer taste of the sea. The seaweed and garlic go into sesame oil for two minutes, then the shrimp follow just until they turn pink, and the water goes in right away.
Store-bought frozen shrimp dumplings keep this one quick. Simmering the shrimp for about two minutes before the dumplings go in gives the clear broth some seafood flavor, and the dumplings keep their shape best added still frozen.
With the ox bone broth made ahead, the work here is in the napa outer leaves (ugeoji). Blanched leaves are rubbed through with doenjang, chili flakes, garlic and perilla oil, then stir-fried in the pot for three minutes to bring up the doenjang aroma before the broth goes in.
Thin slices of radish simmer first to flavor the broth, because the clams and spinach themselves cook in moments. Turn the heat down as soon as the clams open and the meat stays tender.
Seasoned only with soup soy sauce, the broth stays clear and the grassy note of spinach comes through, a calm bowl to set next to oily or spicy dishes. Firm tofu cut into generous cubes holds together better as it simmers.
This royal court hot pot was once served in a special vessel with burning charcoal in its center; here an ordinary hot pot does the job. Meatballs of beef and tofu go in the middle, and shiitake, carrot and napa cabbage are arranged around them in separate sections. The egg never touches the broth. Yolk and white are fried into separate thin sheets, sliced, and laid on top in yellow and white strips.
Fat from the pork shoulder soaks into radish greens already rubbed with doenjang, and the broth turns heavy and reddish brown. It tastes deeper still after cooling once and reheating.
No meat goes into this one, only dried radish greens, doenjang and anchovy stock. Drying leaves the greens slightly bitter, and that bitterness stays in the pot on purpose. Strip it all out and the soup stops tasting like siraegi-guk.
The brisket is patted dry before it meets the perilla oil. Wet meat tastes boiled instead of toasty, and the radish greens then go into that same oil. That step is where the soup's nutty depth comes from.
Beef brisket is browned in sesame oil, then water and napa cabbage go in. Guk-ganjang, the Korean soy sauce for soups, turns the broth a clear light brown, and a thin film of sesame oil from the beef floats on top with a nutty smell. The stems go in before the leaves; the stems keep a little bite while the leaves turn soft and full of broth.
Thick-cut button mushrooms get 10 minutes in the pot, long enough to chew almost like meat, while the enoki join only for the last 3 minutes and barely wilt.
Seasoned with soup soy sauce, the clear brown broth doubles as the base for tteokguk, rice cake soup. The radish should simmer until a spoon slides through it easily; only then does its sharp bite give way to sweetness.
The broth starts from brisket browned in sesame oil, yet the sprouts keep it from feeling heavy. Cooked too long, mung bean sprouts give off a raw smell. The heat goes off while their heads still snap.
Salted shrimp and chili flakes stay out of the pot and go on the table, and each person sets the salt and heat. The boiled pork goes into the bone broth first to flavor it; the sundae follows and only warms through over low heat, which keeps the casings from splitting.
The same soft tofu as in sundubu-jjigae goes in here, but with no chili flakes or chili paste the broth stays clear. Big spoonfuls of tofu are slipped in and left unstirred, and the heating stops once they tremble on a spoon.
Taro comes into season around Chuseok, the Korean harvest holiday, and this soup often appears on the holiday table. Cooked taro has a finer grain than potato: it crumbles softly yet keeps a slight stickiness, and ground perilla seeds turn the broth milky and nutty. The taro is parboiled in its skin and then rubbed in salted water to wash off the slippery coating, which keeps the soup from turning cloudy or gluey.
Taro stems, the stalks of the taro plant, soak up broth like a sponge but keep a firm, springy chew. A generous amount of ground perilla seed, added in stages, makes the soup pale and thick, and when rice goes into the bowl the broth seeps between the grains.
Only two spoonfuls of ground perilla go in, and even with taro stems in the pot this stays close to a clear soup rather than a thick perilla stew. The stems are peeled of their tough outer fibers and the thick ones split by hand, so the chew never turns stringy.
Adding dumplings to rice cake soup stretches one pot to feed more people, and starch from the wrappers thickens the bone broth slightly.
People in Korea still say that eating a bowl on New Year's Day adds a year to your age. In the hot broth the oval slices of rice cake loosen on the surface, giving the soup a little body, while the centers stay dense and chewy. This version simmers bite-sized beef straight in water instead of starting from bone stock, for a lighter broth.
Stir-frying the beef and burdock in sesame oil before any water goes in gives the broth a toasted aroma and a light brown tint. Even after a long simmer the burdock never goes fully soft and keeps some chew. A short soak in cold water after slicing limits browning and astringency.