240 recipes. Page 7 of 10
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Dried shredded squid (jinmichae) is usually done in gochujang; this version uses butter and soy sauce, so it comes out rich and sweet-salty. There is only a pinch of chili flakes, so it is not spicy.
Half-dried pollock, kodari, is chewier than fresh pollock and much less fishy. It soaks in cold water for 10 minutes, both sides are seared plain, and only then does the soy, gochujang and syrup glaze go on, a thin coat at every turn.
A couple of fork pricks in each shishito pepper keep them from bursting in the hot pan and let the soy and syrup glaze seep inside. The peppers are stir-fried on their own until glossy and lightly wrinkled, while the anchovies are toasted dry and only tossed back in for a quick glaze. You get nutty, salty anchovies against the mild green taste of the peppers.
Ssamjang, the thick soybean and chili paste served with Korean lettuce wraps, forms the base of this sauce instead of plain gochujang. Resting the sauce for about ten minutes before tossing softens the heavy note of the ssamjang. Squid rings blanched for just forty seconds stay springy against the medium wheat noodles, and gochugaru, vinegar, and syrup add heat, tang, and sweetness. The cooked noodles are rubbed under cold water to strip their surface starch so they do not stick together. Julienned perilla leaves and paper-thin onion on top bring an herbal scent and a sharp crunch.
Squid scored on the inside, blanched briefly, and plunged into ice water stays chewy without turning rubbery. Half-moon cucumber slices add crisp juiciness, and shredded red cabbage brings a purple contrast. The chojang dressing, gochujang (Korean chili paste) thinned with vinegar and maesil-cheong, a green plum syrup, is spicy, sweet, and sour all at once, giving the mild squid a strong accent. Served cold, it makes a light meal on hot summer days when appetite is low.
Tofu gangjeong began in temple cooking as a meatless stand-in for meat gangjeong, and these days it also shows up as a drinking snack. The potato-starch crust on the pan-fried cubes lasts about 10 minutes once the gochujang, ketchup, and oligosaccharide glaze goes on; after that it soaks up moisture and the crunch is gone. It gets glazed only when it is ready for the table.
Butterbur leaves are steamed for 4 minutes rather than blanched, which leaves them pliable enough to fold. Their bitterness softens once each bite also holds sesame-oil rice and a salty ssamjang of doenjang and gochujang.
Dried filefish jerky is tough and dry straight from the bag; a glaze of gochujang, soy sauce and oligosaccharide syrup softens it until the pieces bend instead of snapping. Kept in the fridge, it holds for five to seven days.
Garlic scapes stay tough if they go into the pan raw. So they spend just 30 seconds in boiling water, get rinsed in cold water right away, and then cook with the gochujang sauce in a pan for about 3 minutes. Done, they bend easily but still snap when you bite.
Store-bought boneless jokbal, Korean braised pig's trotters that are already cooked, gets a second short simmer in a soy, sugar, and ginger glaze, turning it into a warm, glossy dish in well under an hour. As it cools, the gelatin-rich skin sets with the glaze into a pleasantly chewy texture, which makes leftovers worth eating cold.
A tangle of finely shredded scallion, soaked in cold water for at least five minutes to soften its raw bite, sits on top of soy-dressed udon and stays crisp to the last forkful. Without that soak, the sharpness of raw scallion overwhelms the dressing. The dressing mixes soy sauce, vinegar, sugar, gochugaru, and sesame oil into something sweet, salty, tangy, and mildly hot. Half of it coats the noodles first for an even base, and the rest is folded in with the drained scallion, which loses its crunch if squeezed hard. The udon is cooked only until the strands loosen, which keeps it springy.
Blanched squid tossed in gochujang, chili flakes and vinegar works as both a drinking snack and a side dish with rice. Timing decides almost everything: past a minute to a minute and a half in boiling water the flesh contracts and turns rubbery, while undercooked squid stays translucent in the middle. An ice bath right after stops the carryover heat and locks in the springy bite.
Eolgali, young napa cabbage cut before the head fills out, has leaves thin enough to need only about a minute in boiling water. It is dressed mildly, with doenjang, garlic, scallion, and sesame oil and no chili, a habit carried over from country tables that turned whatever grew in the garden between kimchi-making seasons into namul.
Bulgogi-cut beef is seared in the pot just until it changes color, then the soaked rice and water go in on top and cook with it. Water parsley and the last of the soy sauce are laid over after the heat is off, and the parsley is still green when everything is stirred together. A heavy-bottomed pot leaves a layer of scorched rice as well.
When kimchi has gone too sour, this is the first thing many Korean households think of making. The kimchi is cut without squeezing out its juices and fried with onion over medium heat until the liquid in the pan cooks down and clings to the leaves. Besides rice, it often goes on top of ramyeon.
King oyster mushrooms stay firm and chewy even when cooked, enough to stand in for meat on the plate. A shallow crosshatch on the long cut faces gives the butter soy sauce somewhere to cling as it thickens. Wipe the mushrooms with a damp paper towel instead of washing them.
With no meat at all, this braise relies on texture: thin slices of burdock stay crisp and chewy while konjac, a firm jelly made from konjac yam, stays bouncy. The konjac is blanched and then dry-toasted in an unoiled pan for 1 minute, which takes away its distinctive smell. Burdock absorbs the seasoning faster the thinner it is sliced, and after its vinegar-water soak it is drained well so the braising liquid is not watered down. Holding back the syrup until the soy liquid has reduced by about half lets it add gloss at the end instead of scorching. Sesame oil and seeds stirred in off the heat finish it.
Konjac noodles, blanched for 2 minutes to lose their faint odor, keep a bouncy, almost rubbery chew that plays against crisp shreds of cucumber, carrot, and onion. The dressing is gochujang sharpened with vinegar and softened with a little sugar, soy sauce, and garlic, finished with sesame oil and toasted sesame seeds. Served cold after a short rest in the fridge, it works as a banchan or a light side, with the translucent strands stained red by the sauce.
Leek-like daepa scallions are shredded into fine threads along the grain and soaked in cold water, which takes off the harsh bite and makes the strands curl lightly. The mellowed shreds are heaped beside grilled meat and picked up together with each slice.
Simmered until the liquid is nearly gone, the fish cakes keep a sticky, sweet-salty shine and turn even chewier as they cool. It has been a school lunch and lunchbox side for a long time, usually made in a big batch to last several days.
Julienned radish is laid on top of the rice, not mixed in, and as it cooks its water and sweetness work down into the grains, leaving them moister and sweeter than plain rice. The soy sauce dressing waits until just before eating; stirred in early, it turns the rice mushy. Winter radish makes it noticeably sweeter.
The shishito peppers stay in the oil until a few dark blisters appear on the skins, which is where their slightly bitter aroma comes from. The tiny anchovies are toasted separately in a dry pan beforehand until crumbly, and they only rejoin the peppers when the heat is lowered and the syrup goes in.
King oyster mushrooms sliced 0.7 cm thick lengthwise are laid in butter in a single layer and browned on both sides, and only then does the soy glaze go in around the edge of the pan to reduce for about a minute. Finished with green onion and sesame, the salty butter-soy flavor works next to rice or with drinks.
Burdock root cut into thin, even matchsticks is cooked in soy sauce and sugar, then glazed with syrup until shiny, giving a chewy, slightly crunchy bite with a salty-sweet coating. Even cutting matters more than it looks: thinner strands go soft while thicker ones stay stiff. Cooked through, the strips bend rather than snap. It is a staple Korean banchan, close in spirit to Japanese kinpira gobo but sweeter and glossier.