Korean

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.

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.

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.

This Korean dish is usually eaten wrapped in lettuce leaves, but you could serve it over white rice instead. For added spice, serve Asian chile-garlic sauce on the side.

Like many food-oriented folk, I have a serious kimchi obsession going. But I didn’t want just any old kimchi recipe in this book. And I knew just where to turn in search of a recipe that has a little something extra: my friend Deb Samuels, cooking teacher and coauthor with Taekyung Chung of The Korean Table: From Barbecue to Bibimbap. Deb keeps up on all things Korean, and she told me that not only is it becoming more fashionable to salt kimchi less than traditional recipes call for, but also that the water-soaking process probably can be skipped entirely. She also said one of her favorites is a white kimchi with a main ingredient of Asian pear, which happened to already feature strongly in my Korean Short Rib Tacos (page 92). Why not try a kimchi with cabbage and pear together? Of course, she was right on the money. Look for Korean chili powder, which has a distinctive heat but a mellow, sweet undertone, in Asian supermarkets; for kimchi, there really is no substitute. Once you have your ingredients, this kimchi could hardly be simpler to make, and the slight sweetness and crunch it gets from the pear make it positively haunting. Besides using it on the tacos, use it on Kimchi, Ham, and Fried Egg Pizza (page 107) and Fried Rice with Cauliflower and Kimchi (page 136).

Growing up, I hated this Korean fermented delicacy. My father would drag me miles away to the Korean supermarket down an alley to buy this stuff. He would bring it home and literally evacuate the house when he broke the seal on the jar. It wasn’t until I started working at Momofuku that I learned that I really love kimchi, and that there are many, many levels of potency throughout the kimchi-producing kitchens in this country. The Momofuku cookbook has a ridiculously tasty kimchi recipe (among others). Or use your favorite brand of cabbage-based kimchi in this recipe.

I first ate Korean ribs years ago in San Francisco’s Bay Area, where there are many fine Korean restaurants. Although Korean ribs are usually barbecued, this slow-cooked version is a good approximation of the real deal, and the result is mouthwatering.

Take a page from Korean cooks who gently simmer lean beef with lots of scallions, onion, and garlic for a light, flavorful stock. The black peppercorns impart a golden hue as well as a spicy undercurrent. I prefer shank because there’s a little marrow bone for flavor, the gelatinous meat imparts richness, and the left overs can be used for an old-fashioned Chinese treat (see Note below). You can opt for oxtail, rump, brisket, or other stewing meat but know that a little bone, meat, and fat together make for good stock flavor.

There are many ways to tweak a dipping sauce for Korean mandu (pages 44 and 46). The base is on the light side and great on its own, but you can add a variety of extras for more complexity and body.

Meat and vegetable dumplings such as these are a standard offering at Korean dumpling and noodle shops. A favorite way to enjoy them is poached in broth for a warming mandu guk soup (page 49), but they are equally fabulous when fried. However, don’t expect the standard Chinese pot sticker. Korean cooks like to panfry at least two sides of their dumplings for a greater amount of crispy-chewy goodness. When made with extra chewy dough comprised of wheat and sweet rice flour, the dumplings are even tastier. Gun mandu may also be quickly deep-fried in 1 1/4 inches of oil heated to 350°F for 2 to 3 minutes total; the resulting pebbled golden skin is a delightful reminder of American frozen egg roll snacks.

Nothing says “Korean dumpling” more than one filled with kimchi, the spicy pickled cabbage that’s essential to the Korean table. Mandu are the Korean version of Chinese jiaozi and Japanese gyōza. The fillings often incorporate firm tofu as a binder and protein substitute—tofu is used in these kimchi mandu. In addition, the ground Korean red chile pepper used for making kimchi turns the filling a pretty orange color, and there’s plenty of garlic pungency to wake up the palate. Though these can be pan fried, deep-fried, and steamed, I love them boiled. The dryish filling gets a boost of succulence from the hot water bath. Purchased or homemade napa cabbage kimchi, especially older (stinkier) kimchi, works extra well. A side of shredded Korean or daikon radish tossed with a little salt and equal parts rice vinegar and sugar is a refreshing accompaniment.

One of the common ways to enjoy Korean dumplings is in a fragrant beef stock. A hot bowl of mandu guk is extra satisfying on a cold winter’s day. It’s easy to assemble if you’ve got frozen mandu and stock on hand. Any dumpling filling will do, but meat dumplings are generally preferred. For fun, you could mix different kinds or even make them out of different colored doughs (see page 23). The shape of choice for Korean dumpling soup is the big hug, though you can shape your dumplings anyway you’d like. The stock imbues the wrapper with its flavors and also thickens a tiny bit from the starches in the dough. For Korean New Year celebrations, chewy slices of dense rice cakes called duk are added to the stock for bowls of duk mandu guk.

Even my meat-eating friends, quietly polite when invited to a dinner featuring tofu, rave about this one. It is easy and delicious and contains flavors traditionally considered typical of both Japanese- and Korean-style cooking. Serve over brown rice.

You might consider this simple recipe the Korean version of New England baked beans: sweet and salty at the same time. The beans are slow-cooked to give the flavors time to meld, and served accompanied by some cooked greens, a salad, or some rice for a complete protein.

Kimchee is the signature dish of Korean cuisine and a staple in my kitchen. While I certainly love, adore, and crave its stiff aroma and sharp pucker, I understand that it can be an acquired taste for some. It’s quite polarizing—you either love it or hate it. either way, just to be safe, you may want to warn your cohabitants and neighbors of your culinary goings-on so they don’t alert the police to a strange odor emanating from your home.

A staple on the Korean table, kimchi is a pickled cabbage (and sometimes radish) side dish that is pungent and spicy. Traditionally, it has lots of spices and takes months to make, carefully buried in the ground to ferment. Forget all about that . . . this is a kinder, gentler version. The first thing you need to do is buy a bottle of Momoya Kimchi Base, a sweet and slightly spicy red sauce that has everything in it already. Look for it at your local Asian grocer or online. Once you have it in the fridge, you’re set for a while—a little goes a long way. This recipe couldn’t be easier to make but the kimchi needs at least a couple of hours to do its work, so plan ahead. I use the kimchi in practically everything from a topping on burgers to a filling for quesadillas (page 23). Spoon the kimchi into butter lettuce leaves and sprinkle with chopped peanuts for an incredibly tasty and healthy snack.

Although this is a chilled beverage, it is traditionally enjoyed in the winter. The "fire" of the cinnamon and ginger is supposed to warm you up, while the coolness of the beverage balances the heat. Not being much of a traditionalist, I like to make it during the summer and keep pitchers of it available as an alternative to iced tea.

Japchae is traditionally made for parties or celebrations, but I like to make it for a light lunch or part of a big dinner. Dried sweet potato noodles can be found in most Asian supermarkets. They are incredibly chewy but healthy and delicious. This recipe works as a side dish (banchan) or can even be served as an appetizer or light snack.

It's delicious, but even better, it's deconstruct-ible. (You can remove any offensive elements for the kids without sacrificing your own dinner.)