877 recipes. Page 6 of 37
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Zigzag-folded fish cake skewers simmer in a clear broth of radish, dried anchovy and kelp, and the hot broth served alongside matters as much as the skewers. Radish sweetness and anchovy savoriness carry the flavor, with only a light seasoning of soy sauce and garlic.
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.
Pacific saury is pounded in a mortar until sticky, mixed with miso, egg and sake, and shaped into balls that go into plain water first. The miso and fish in the balls turn that water into broth, and daikon, carrot and tofu follow.
Perilla leaves have a strong scent, so the pork and tofu filling is seasoned simply, with only soy sauce and black pepper. A thin layer goes inside each leaf, which is folded, fried, then cut in half again into single bites.
Monkfish stomach has a dense, springy chew that ordinary fish fillet lacks, and each bite releases more of the spicy-savory glaze. Most of the work is in the cleaning: if the slime is not scrubbed off with salt and flour, the blanching water smells strong and so does the dish. With only a little water in the pot, the gochugaru sauce reduces to a thick red coating.
Two days in a soy and vinegar brine take the raw sting out of large green onions and leave only their mellow onion fragrance behind. The recipe leans on the white and pale green sections, which stay crisp after pickling.
Jjolmyeon noodles have a rubbery, teeth-resisting chew, and topping them with tender soy-and-sugar marinated beef sets up a sharp contrast in texture. The gochujang and vinegar sauce adds spicy, sour notes that cut the bulgogi's sweetness. Shredded cabbage and carrot bring crunch, while a halved boiled egg tempers the chili.
Peanut butter loosened with lime juice and soy sauce turns a plate of blanched cabbage, bean sprouts, potato, seared tofu and egg into one Indonesian meal. Each vegetable gets its own blanching so the cabbage keeps its crunch while the sprouts only just soften. Everything sits in separate sections rather than tossed together, and the sauce is added at the last moment. Every forkful ends up a different mix of soft, crisp and nutty.
A boneless pork belly slab is rolled, tied with twine, and braised for 90 minutes in soy sauce, mirin, sake, and sugar. Each slice then shows fat and lean spiraled together. Thin slices sold for quick frying cannot be rolled this way, which is why the recipe calls for a whole slab. Those spiral rounds are the familiar ramen topping.
The kelp strips soak in cold water for 10 minutes to lose some salt, then get just 20 seconds in boiling water before going straight into a cold rinse. Tossed with seeded cucumber strips in a gochugaru, vinegar and soy dressing, they chill for at least 10 minutes before serving.
Chadolbagi, paper-thin beef brisket, goes into a dry, very hot pan with no oil at all; its own fat renders out and crisps the edges. The garlicky soy glaze is poured in at the very end and tossed for only 15 to 20 seconds, just long enough to turn glossy.
Canned saury goes into a soy-seasoned stir-fry of oyster mushrooms and cabbage, and a teaspoon of lemon juice just before the heat goes off takes down the fishy smell. The fish is already cooked, so it waits until the vegetables have dried out again and is folded in gently to keep the pieces large.
The skewered fish cakes start in a dry pan with no oil. Driving off their surface moisture is what lets the soy and gochujang glaze stay put instead of running off. After brushing, a short second spell over the heat melts the sugar into a shine, and sliced green onion and sesame seeds go on top.
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.
The sardines are ground in a mortar until no grain is left, then mixed with grated mountain yam, egg and miso into a sticky paste for the dumplings. The miso seasons the dumplings themselves, so the broth needs only a little soy sauce.
Each perilla leaf is folded around a thin layer of beef and tofu, and a bite goes through the egg coating to the leaf's aroma before it reaches the meat. Packing in more filling would bury that aroma under the beef, which is why it is spread thin, right to the edges of the leaf.
Dotted gizzard shad (baendaengi) has fine, soft bones that soften further in the braise, so the fish is eaten bones and all. It is layered with onion over a bed of radish and braised in a gochujang and soy sauce for close to half an hour.
The soy and vinegar brine goes into the jar only after it has cooled completely, because wild chives lose their sharp, garlicky bite quickly when heated. After one day in the fridge the pickle is ready to eat, and by the third day the brine has reached the small bulbs and the flavor turns rounder and deeper. Slices of hot green chili and a scattering of sesame give it an edge, and it is at its best next to grilled meat in spring, when dallae is in season.
Chewy and clear, sweet-potato glass noodles grab the gochujang-soy sauce tightly and bring a vivid sweet-spicy hit with every lift of the chopsticks. The dish comes from street food sold in Busan's markets, and it is quick: boil the noodles, then toss them with briefly stir-fried vegetables, fish cake, and the sauce. Fish cake adds a soft savory note against the springy noodles, while cabbage and carrot, cooked only until just bent, keep some crunch.
Gamtae, a fine Korean seaweed, crumbles between your fingers into flakes that cover the shrimp and avocado with a light sea flavor. Lime juice, soy sauce and a little honey cut through the richness of the avocado, while red onion soaked in cold water adds crunch without the sharp bite. Blanching the shrimp for only 2 minutes and chilling them straight away keeps them springy rather than dry.
Egg beaten with a generous amount of dashi and steamed in individual cups sets into a soft, trembling custard that is savory, not sweet. It firms at the edges while the center still wobbles, with the broth flavor up front. Shrimp, sliced shiitake and ginkgo nuts sit at the bottom, and each spoonful turns up something different.
Cheongyang peppers, the hottest everyday chili in Korea, carry this raw soy dressing, and keeping or scraping out their seeds sets how sharp it gets. The tofu needs a hot pan and high heat until the underside turns deep brown; drop the heat and the tofu releases water and steams, losing the contrast between crust and soft center.
The oil from the tuna can goes straight into the pan and the onion and carrot fry in it, so the tuna flavor gets into the vegetables and rice. Each bowl is topped with its own fried egg.
The name is Vietnamese for shaking beef, after the way the wok is shaken so cubes of sirloin sear on every side. It took shape in colonial-era Saigon, when Western cuts of beef arrived and Vietnamese cooks seasoned them their own way, here with oyster sauce, soy and garlic. Once the cubes have a dark crust, the onion softened earlier in butter goes back in, and lime is squeezed over just before serving.