877 recipes. Page 10 of 37
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The filling uses both pork and beef, with wrung-out tofu, chopped onion and green onion, all kneaded in one direction only. Any water left in the tofu or vegetables loosens the filling and pools inside the wrappers as they steam.
Breast, thigh and wing each get their own seasoning here and end up side by side on one plate. Salt alone keeps the breast mild, gochujang gives the thigh heat and charred edges, and soy with garlic makes the wings savory. Because fat and muscle differ by cut, the breast comes off first while the other two stay on longer.
Freshly cooked rice, pounded until about half the grains break, is pressed around skewers and browned, then cut into pieces that soak up chicken broth and turn chewy, much like rice cake. Kiritanpo comes from Akita Prefecture, where the rice is traditionally wrapped on cedar skewers and grilled over charcoal; this version browns the sticks in a dry pan instead.
Four shiitake, finely chopped, go into the ground beef, and the mushroom's grain turns up in every mouthful of meat.
Fat from the thin brisket slices melts down into the bean sprouts underneath, so even a bite of sprouts alone tastes rich. The dressing is light: soy sauce with garlic, a little sugar and sesame oil.
Brine poured over whole green chilies just 5 minutes off the boil sears their skins, knocking the heat down a notch while the flesh inside stays crisp. Each bite brings salty soy savor first, then the pepper's clean sting.
Strips of chicken breast take the place of beef, giving a leaner japchae where the noodles, spinach, carrot, shiitake and onion come through more clearly. Tossing the drained noodles with a little soy sauce and sesame oil right away and spreading them out keeps them from gluing together while everything else cooks.
The cockles of Beolgyo, on the wide tidal flats of South Jeolla, are plump and notably sweet, and they are fullest from November through March. Stirring in one direction while they boil helps every shell open at the same time, and they come out the moment they gape, before the meat shrinks and turns rubbery. A dressing of chili flakes, soy sauce and vinegar lays a sour, spicy edge over their briny sweetness, and a short rest lets it soak into the flesh.
The dish takes its name from the Song dynasty poet Su Dongpo. Thick squares of pork belly are tied with string and braised for a long time in soy sauce, rice wine and sugar until the fat turns translucent, then cut into thick slices and served under a spoonful of the reduced, glossy brown sauce.
The dried shrimp go into a dry pan for about a minute first to drive off leftover moisture. The soy sauce and oligosaccharide syrup glaze gets 30 seconds after it first bubbles, and then the heat goes off; any longer and it sets hard. Cooled and sealed, it keeps for a few days at room temperature.
No cheese on this one. The chicken thigh is stir-fried in gochujang sauce alone, and it lands on the rice along with soft, sweet cabbage.
Chamnamul, a Korean mountain green, smells a little like parsley or celery leaves, only cleaner and stronger. Stir-fried with soy-marinated beef, its fresh scent sits clearly on top of the heavier meat.
Kelp-steeped water carries the gochujang and chili flakes, and the rice cakes simmer in it long enough to soak up the sauce rather than just wear it. Unlike stir-fried versions, this one should still have plenty of broth in the pot when the heat is turned off.
Coarse chili flakes stand in for gochujang, so the wings bake into a rough, spicy crust with the flakes stuck right into the skin. For more heat, swap part of the flakes for hotter cheongyang chili powder.
In Aizu this soup was served to guests, and at weddings it was one dish people could go back to for more as often as they liked. The broth combines bonito dashi with the soaking water from dried scallops, and since the scallops and mushrooms need eight hours in the fridge, the work starts the day before.
Finely mashed tofu worked into the ground beef keeps these bite-size patties from turning dry. They belong on ancestral rite and holiday tables, and because they taste and feel much the same once cold, they also pack well in a lunch box.
With no seasoning beyond salted steaming water, snow crab tastes only of itself, which also means mistakes have nowhere to hide. Crab set over weak steam turns soft and watery, while crab left too long goes tough.
Equal parts hot Cheongyang chili and mild, crunchy cucumber pepper, sliced into thin strips, balance heat against crunch in every bite. The brine is simply soy sauce, vinegar, sugar and water in the same amounts, boiled and briefly cooled, so the result is sweet, sour and salty at once. Because the strips are only 2 to 3 mm thick, they take on the brine far faster than whole pickled peppers and are ready the next day to serve with grilled meat.
Think of a pan of dakgalbi with udon added. Gochujang-marinated chicken thigh, cabbage and thin slices of sweet potato cook first, and the thick udon then takes on a heavy coat of that sauce.
Hot bulgogi on cold greens gives this salad its contrast in temperature. The beef is marinated in soy sauce and pear juice, then seared in a very hot pan until the liquid cooks off and the surface turns glossy and caramelized. Cooking it in batches in a well-heated pan keeps water from pooling, so the meat browns instead of stewing. The fat left in the pan is not wasted; it becomes part of the dressing for the vegetables. Minari, a Korean water parsley with a grassy, celery-like aroma, is cut into 5 cm lengths so the stems stay crisp. Because it wilts fast once dressed, it is mixed in only at the last moment, with a generous shower of sesame seeds.
These are the steamed pork ribs that come in little dishes at dim sum. Coarsely chopped douchi, salted fermented black beans, keeps its salty, funky smell through the steaming and ends up in the juicy meat.
Lightly toasted gim is torn into big pieces and tossed with a soy and sesame oil dressing and thinly sliced scallion. Big pieces matter, because some of the edges stay crisp even after the dressing goes on. The seaweed drinks up liquid within minutes, and only what will be eaten right away gets mixed.
Rice pressed into a hot stone pot keeps sizzling at the table, turning crisp and toasty at the bottom, which is what sets dolsot bibimbap apart from the regular bowl. Scraping up the crust while mixing is part of the meal.
This goes to the table the moment it leaves the pan. Bok choy stalks keep releasing water even on the plate, and the sauce thins as they do. A splash of water in the oyster sauce and soy lets the seasoning run down between the stalks.