Korean

Soy-glazed black beans are a common panchan—little side dish—in Korea, but they’re also served in Japan; in both countries they’re usually served at room temperature. They are about as far from the cumin- and garlic-laced black beans of Mexico (see page 438) as they could be. In Asia, they’re made with black soybeans, which are larger and rounder than the more common black (“turtle”) beans you see everywhere. But you can use either. Serve this as if it were a little salad, with any Korean or Japanese cooked dish.

Kimchi, the world’s best-known Korean ingredient, generally describes pickled vegetables, though cabbage is the most common choice. Originally a basic salt pickle, chiles were introduced in the sixteenth century, followed soon thereafter by fish or shrimp paste. Regional influences determine the level of pungency, with warmer regions producing kimchi heavily seasoned with chile powder and anchovy paste. Some take to kimchi immediately; for others it is an acquired taste. For information on nam pla (Thai fish sauce), see page 500. If you love kimchi, you’ll enjoy making this version. Even though it’s quick, the results will be as good as that found at most restaurants and better than almost any version you’ve bought in jars. Kept refrigerated, it will last for about a week. Dried salted shrimp are inexpensive and keep forever; you’ll find them at most Asian markets.

Nori, the familiar seaweed used for rolling sushi, is a popular snack in Korea, especially when treated this way. And if you use the pieces of nori to pick up clumps of rice—a common after-school snack—you may find yourself making this frequently.

Usually served as a panchan (side dish or small appetizer), this makes a fine little salad, too. Like many panchan, it contains sesame oil. To trim bean sprouts—a process I consider unnecessary but many people worldwide believe essential—simply pull off the thin little tail.

Crunchy, mildly sweet, and lightly spicy, this is a lovely little salad I learned in Kyoto. If you can find myoga—a lily root that looks something like garlic and is sold at some Asian markets—use it instead of the onion. Like onion, it’s spicy and peppery; unlike onion, if you eat too much of it, you forget everything— or so I was told.

You can buy go chu jang, the excellent, slightly sweet and not-superhot Korean chile paste that is a part of Crab Soup (page 135) and many other Korean dishes, but in many places it’s easier just to make this substitute, which keeps for about a month, covered, in the refrigerator. It’s a good sauce for any grilled food or even raw vegetables. The best chile powder for this is not the typical Mexican chile powder but ground Korean chiles—co chu kara—which (obviously) you can buy at Korean markets (you can also buy pretoasted and ground sesame seeds). It’s bright red, looks like coarse cayenne, and is not super hot. A good alternative is chile powder made from ground New Mexico chiles.

A festive dish that takes a bit of preparation—a simple enough process, but quite a few steps. Nevertheless, it’s a delicious and unusual noodle dish, and because it’s best served at room temperature, you can make it a couple of hours in advance. Substitute shrimp or fish for the meat (or omit it entirely) if you like. Precooked fish cake is available at Korean or Japanese markets. Potato starch noodles are available at Korean markets.

If you like seaweed salad, try this. Traditionally offered to nursing mothers, it’s soothing in the winter and cooling in the summer (see variation). To slice the beef thinly, freeze it until it is just beginning to harden, 30 to 60 minutes. Miyuk is the Korean word known to the Japanese as wakame and elsewhere as alaria (see page 484); you should be able to find it at Asian markets.

Mandoo are Korean dumplings almost identical to gyoza, though they are more often steamed than panfried. If you don’t feel like making dumplings, you can use this broth to make soup with duk, Korean rice cakes; these are sold fresh or frozen at most Korean markets. Sometimes noodles are added to this soup as well, a nice but unnecessary touch.

Although oxtail is no longer a common meat in American households, it’s still sold in many supermarkets (it’s really “steertail,” of course) and makes a great soup base, contributing wonderful flavor and body. Though you might think otherwise, this is actually a fairly light soup, extremely tasty and, when made traditionally, quite spicy. Traditionally, you use the seasoning mixture as a dipping sauce at the table for the oxtail pieces, eating them with the soup on the side.While that can be fun for a dinner party, the soup is easier to make and just as tasty when all the ingredients are combined at the end. If you can’t find oxtail, use short ribs, shank, or brisket; or try the variation, which is a bit mellower.

Korean soups like this one are often served in heavy stone pots that keep the soup sizzling hot at the table—in fact, they’re often still boiling when you (attempt to) start to eat them. (In some restaurants they’re served over flames so they continue to boil as you eat them; this is tricky for Westerners.) The pots may be hard to come by unless you can get to a Koreatown in a city like New York or Los Angeles, but this soup is just as good served in an ordinary soup bowl; just preheat the bowl so you can serve it very hot. You can serve this as an entree. In Korea, it would be teamed with Sticky Rice (page 508); spoon some of it right into the hot soup.

Here’s an unusual dish: a grand cold soup that is essentially a whole meal. (You might, if you have the inclination and want to be wholly authentic, serve with Kong Namul, page 182; Black Beans with Soy, page 432; or other panchan.) Pickle the cucumber and daikon in advance if you can or substitute kimchi. Though this dish contains some chiles, it is not meant to be blazing hot, so use mild long red chiles if you can find them or the more common long green (Italian frying, or Anaheim) peppers.

This is just about the best crab soup I have ever tasted, and it’s also the easiest. (One of the messiest, too; you must eat the crab with your hands.) At its base is miso, combined with go chu jang, a red pepper paste mixed with beans, kind of a spicy version of hoisin sauce. If you live anywhere near a Korean market, you’ll find it; if not, use hoisin mixed with Tabasco. Buy the crabs live and have them cleaned and chopped up by the fishmonger. Or follow the directions for cleaning them in step 1.

A great way to use leftover rice and a nice cooked treatment of kimchi, which you can buy at any Korean market if you don’t want to make your own. Good as a side dish with Korean food, this also makes a fine snack or even a main course (add chicken, pork, beef, or shrimp if you like). The butter is a contemporary feature, but it’s how I learned this (from a Korean-American friend), and I like it that way.

Every culture that relies on rice mixes other common ingredients into it, to boost both flavor and nutrition. Most people are familiar with Fried Rice (page 506) and Coconut Rice (page 516), but this recipe is quite different from those. If you make this dish with red beans only, use all the bean-cooking liquid for the rice; it will give it a lovely pink tinge.

The Korean coast is known for its variety of delicious clams, which inspired this local specialty. More like super flavorful pancakes than the highly breaded clam cakes sometimes served in the States, they are a good use for our sea clams, which are sold fresh, chopped, in their own liquid (canned clams, which are acceptable, will not be as flavorful). These are best eaten with your fingers, by the way.

In Korea, this popular starter and snack is served at home, in restaurants, and on street corners. (It’s also one of the most popular dishes in Korean restaurants in the States.) At its most basic, it’s a large egg batter scallion pancake, but other vegetables, meat, and seafood are often added to make it a fancier and more substantial dish. Glutinous rice flour creates a wonderfully chewy texture, but if you can’t find it, all-purpose flour is perfectly fine. Serve these immediately after making them.

It’s quite possible that nothing has ever sounded worse to you, but believe me, nearly everyone who tries these crisp, salty, sweet tidbits falls in love with them (some prefer the less assaultive Thai version in the preceding recipe). Best served as a little nibble, but hard to stop eating once you start, these rank as one of my favorite snacks to accompany an ice-cold beer or cold sake (or some soju, the deceptively mild Korean vodka). Buy the smallest dried anchovies (page 25) you can find for this dish, preferably no more than an inch or so long.

Serve these spicy little pancakes as an appetizer—they’d even work at a cocktail party—or as part of a meal. They’re not especially delicate (in fact they’re pretty filling), and they’re frequently served at room temperature, so feel free to make them in advance.

Compare this recipe, which is usually served cold as a panchan (small appetizer or side dish), with the Japanese version on page 184, and you’ll have a vision of the difference between Japanese and Korean cooking, which are closely linked and starkly different at the same time.