877 recipes. Page 21 of 37
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The potatoes here are cubed, not shredded, at about 2 cm. Their corners are browned first; then a gochujang, soy and sugar sauce goes in and cooks down until almost nothing loose is left in the pan. What remains is a red, glossy coat on each cube rather than sauce on the plate.
Boneless thigh pieces get only a potato starch coat and two trips through the oil, the second one hotter. The sweet and spicy gochujang and corn syrup glaze goes on in a pan already off the heat, with about twenty seconds of tossing. Even cold, the pieces still crunch when you bite in.
Webfoot octopus has a smaller body and thicker legs than nakji, the long-arm octopus. It spends just 10 minutes in the spicy marinade and 3 to 4 minutes over high heat, and the slightly charred sauce that catches on the pan floor is part of the flavor. In spring they often come full of roe, and the leftover sauce goes into fried rice.
Lean pork tenderloin pulls apart after boiling into long, even strands that take up a soy reduction along every fiber. It tastes better fully chilled than straight from the pot, since the seasoning keeps settling into the meat as it cools. Whole garlic cloves braise alongside and soften enough to eat with the pork.
Thick wedges cut along the grain are what let these onions stay crisp in soy brine for days; thin slices go limp fast. Sliced cheongyang chilies, a hot Korean green pepper, run some heat under the sweet-salty soy. The seasoning evens out after about three days in the fridge.
Chilled buckwheat noodles get tossed with fine shreds of cucumber, red cabbage, and carrot that outweigh the noodles, and the result eats more like a salad than a noodle bowl. The dressing is gochujang thinned with vinegar, soy sauce, and a little sesame oil: spicy, sour, and savory at once. Rubbing the cooked noodles under cold water strips their surface starch, which keeps them from clumping and stops the dressing from pooling at the bottom of the bowl. The toss happens right before serving and the bowl spends only 5 minutes in the fridge, because buckwheat softens quickly once dressed. It makes a light meal on a hot day.
Kaya, a pale green jam of coconut, egg, and pandan, goes between thin slices of crisp toast along with cold slices of butter that melt slowly from the center against the hot bread. The floral sweetness of the jam and the richness of the butter build in layers. In Singapore's kopitiams it comes with soft-boiled eggs seasoned with soy sauce and pepper for dipping, and a strong coffee sweetened with condensed milk.
Rice goes into a single cup and gochujang-glazed pork shoulder is piled over it, the way Korean snack bars (bunsik) serve it. The trick is spreading the rice out first to let the steam escape: spooned into the cup straight from the pot, it turns soggy in its own vapor.
The soy-based sauce takes a tablespoon of ketchup. Half-moons of potato go in first, and once their edges turn translucent the sausage follows, letting its fat soak into the potato. From cutting board to plate it takes around ten minutes, which keeps it manageable on a weekday morning.
Chicken hearts turn chewy and springy on the skewer, and their flavor builds the longer you chew. Halving each heart and clearing out blood clots and the thin membrane is what keeps the taste clean rather than gamey. A thin glaze of soy sauce, oligosaccharide syrup, and mirin brushed on both sides adds a sweet-salty shine, finished with sesame oil and black pepper.
Only the surface of the bonito meets the flame, for 20 to 30 seconds a side, leaving a smoky crust around a center that stays red and cold. Since the inside stays raw, the fish has to be bonito sold and cold-handled for eating raw, not ordinary grilling fish. In the Kochi Prefecture style, thick slices are sprinkled with salt, splashed with yuzu vinegar and soy, and patted with the flat of a knife so the seasoning settles in. Paper-thin garlic and onion and chopped scallions are scattered on top, and the plate is eaten right away rather than left at room temperature.
Sea bream fillet is spread flat, layered with cucumber, carrot and oyster mushrooms, then rolled and steamed into a log of white fish wrapped around a core of color. The soy, vinegar and sesame oil sauce sits on the side rather than being cooked in, which keeps the mild bream tasting of itself.
A splash of vinegar in the blanching water keeps lotus root slices pale and clean, and a quick dunk in cold water right after locks that color in. After thin peeling, each piece is rinsed right through the holes, where soil tends to hide. The soy brine gets bay leaf and black peppercorns and only a short simmer, because reducing it makes the pickle too salty. Even slices cook and season evenly, and shaking off the water keeps the brine from going thin. Poured on hot, the brine runs into every hole, and after two to three days in the fridge the centers are seasoned while the slices still have a crisp, fibrous chew.
Beef shank simmered for 2 hours with star anise, cinnamon and ginger yields a clear broth with a gentle spice aroma. The dish comes from Lanzhou in Gansu province, where the noodles are hand-pulled; store-bought Chinese wheat noodles stand in for them. Keeping the pot at a quiet simmer the whole time decides whether the broth stays clear. Daikon, sliced beef, cilantro and chili oil finish each bowl.
The tofu is broken up by hand into rough chunks, and they stay chunky among the daikon and carrot as everything cooks down in soy sauce and sake. In Yamaguchi it has long been made in a big pot and reheated over several meals, and it still shows up in school lunches.
The pork shoulder marinates in gochujang for 10 minutes, then gets spread across a hot pan and left alone for the first 2 minutes. That pause is when the glaze touching the pan catches and browns at the edges.
Flakes of green gamtae are scattered through a glazed stir-fry of tiny anchovies and sliced almonds, giving a familiar banchan an extra sea smell. Gamtae is a seaweed from Korea's southern coast, milder and less bitter than sea lettuce.
Cockles are at their plumpest from winter into early spring. They go into boiling water only until the shells start to open, then get a thin layer of spicy sauce and a turn in the pan. Bubbling sauce does not mean the meat is done; the center should hold 85 to 90°C for more than 90 seconds. The sauce left in the pan gets mixed into rice.
Steaming instead of braising keeps this flounder milder and moister than the spicy simmered versions. The fish sits on sliced onion in a rimmed heatproof dish, where the soy sauce, rice wine and juices from the fish collect underneath as a ready-made sauce.
Red taro stalks dry-fried without oil turn a vivid red the moment vinegar hits the pan, then soak up a sweet vinegar and soy dressing as they chill. In Toyama this summer side dish is made from the leaf stalks of yatsugashira taro and served at home, at Obon and at autumn festivals. Raw stalks carry an acridity that can prickle the throat, which is why peeling, soaking and thorough cooking all matter more than the color change. A batch is ready only when even the thickest stalk is tender and leaves no sting on the tongue.
Unlike chow mein, which gets fried until crisp, lo mein tosses boiled noodles gently with sauce so they stay soft and glossy. Soy sauce, oyster sauce and a little sugar make a salty, faintly sweet coating, mixed in advance so the seasoning spreads evenly during the brief toss. Half cooking the shrimp before the vegetables go in keeps it from toughening while everything is tossed, and the broccoli and carrot come off the heat while still bright and crisp. The noodles are plated the moment the sauce turns glossy, since left in the pan they dry out. Chicken or beef works in place of shrimp with the same steps.
Kkanpunggi does not sit in a pool of sauce. Chicken thigh, fried twice, is tossed for a moment over high heat with garlic, dried chilies, soy sauce, vinegar and sugar, and comes out with just a thin, sticky coat on a crisp crust.
Bite-size pieces of webfoot octopus (jjukkumi, a small octopus) are scattered through rice stained red by gochujang sauce. The first sear stops the moment the pieces curl and turn opaque, because they keep cooking while the sauce and rice are stirred in.
The Gangwon version of soy bulgogi includes shiitake. Thick slices of the mushroom soak up the marinade along with the onion, and even with pear juice in the mix, the salty soy comes through before any sweetness.