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Vegetarian Korean recipes

Bibimbap, banchan, noodles and stews without meat or fish. (134 recipes)

Kkwari-gochu jorimBraised shishito peppers

Kkwari-gochu, the small wrinkly peppers the Japanese call shishito, are braised all over Korea into a soft, garlicky, sweet-soy banchan that sits in the fridge ready for the dosirak. Many households add dried anchovies; this version leaves them out and keeps it vegan, with a few toasted sesame seeds for crunch. Most peppers are mild, but about one in ten is surprisingly hot. The common mistake is leaving the peppers whole and unpierced, so they puff up and never take in the sauce. Chef's tip: prick each pepper with a fork once or twice, and the braising liquid soaks right into it.

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Oi bokkeumStir-fried cucumber

Cooked cucumber sounds odd until you try oi bokkeum, a Korean banchan in which salted, squeezed slices are flashed in a hot pan with garlic and sesame. They come out bright green and squeaky-crunchy, like a warm pickle, and they hold up beautifully in a dosirak because the salting has already drawn out the water that would make other cucumber sides soggy. The common mistake is frying too long; past a minute or two the slices go soft. Chef's tip: spread the cooked cucumber on a plate to cool at once rather than leaving it in the hot pan, so it keeps its colour.

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Mu jorimBraised radish

In Korean homes, when the winter radishes are sweet and juicy, they are cut into thick rounds and braised slowly in soy, chilli flakes and garlic until they turn amber and almost melting. Mackerel or hairtail is often cooked on top; this version leaves the fish out and uses a quick kelp broth for depth. It is even better the next day, cold, in a dosirak. The common mistake is cutting the radish thin, so it breaks up before it has absorbed the sauce. Chef's tip: simmer the radish in the broth alone first, until a chopstick slides in, and only then add the soy, so the salt does not toughen it.

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GimjabanFried seasoned seaweed

Korean children grow up eating gimjaban scattered over rice or rolled into jumeokbap rice balls, and a little tub of it is the easiest way to make a plain dosirak exciting. It is laver seaweed toasted, crushed and stirred in a pan with sesame oil, a little sugar and plenty of sesame seeds until crisp and savoury-sweet. The common mistake is adding the soy sauce while the pan is very hot, which turns the flakes soggy and clumped. Chef's tip: mix the soy and sugar into the oil first, then toss in the crushed seaweed off the heat and return it to a gentle flame just to dry out.

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Dubu gangjeongSticky fried tofu cubes

Gangjeong usually means sticky glazed fried chicken, but Korean mothers make this tofu version for the dosirak because the starch coating stays crisp even after a morning in the lunchbox. The glaze is mild, sweet and garlicky, so children love it; add gochujang for the grown-ups. The common mistake is skipping the pressing, which leaves wet tofu that spits in the oil and goes soggy under the sauce. Chef's tip: let the fried cubes cool for two minutes before glazing, and boil the sauce to large, slow bubbles first, so it clings instead of soaking in.

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Saesongi beoseot bokkeumKing oyster mushroom stir-fry

King oyster mushrooms, saesongi in Korean, are cheap and meaty, and this quick stir-fry is a staple in Korean home kitchens for dinner banchan and next-day dosirak alike. The thick stems turn juicy and almost scallop-like, seasoned with just soy, garlic and spring onion. The common mistake is salting or saucing the mushrooms as soon as they hit the pan, which draws out their water so they stew instead of browning. Chef's tip: let the slices sear undisturbed in a hot pan until golden on one side before you add anything else.

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Konnyak jorimBraised konjac

Konjac, the grey, jelly-like block made from a root called devil's tongue, has almost no calories, and in Korea it is braised in sweet soy until glossy and chewy, a popular dosirak banchan that never wilts. Its texture is the point: bouncy, with a savoury glaze clinging to every scored cube. The common mistake is skipping the blanch, which leaves konjac's slight fishy smell from the alkaline water it is set in. Chef's tip: score a shallow criss-cross on the cubes or tear them with a spoon rather than cutting, and the sauce grips the rough surfaces.

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Yachae jeonVegetable pancakes

Korean fridge-clearing at its best: courgette, carrot, onion and chives shredded thin and bound with just enough batter to hold them together, then fried into lacy pancakes. Hot, they are a rainy-day snack with makgeolli; cut into wedges the next day, they fill a dosirak and taste good cold. The common mistake is too much batter, which gives a thick, doughy pancake; the vegetables should look barely coated. Chef's tip: use ice-cold water in the batter and press each pancake flat with the spatula after flipping, for crisp edges that last until lunchtime.

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Mayak gyeranMarinated soft-boiled eggs

The name means "addictive eggs", and these soy-marinated eggs with their soft, fudgy yolks went viral in Seoul before landing in lunchboxes across Korea; one egg on a bowl of rice is a whole dosirak. The marinade is loaded with garlic, chilli and spring onion, and is spooned over the rice too. The common mistake is peeling the eggs warm, which tears the soft whites; chill them in iced water first. They need at least 6 hours in the fridge. For pregnant women, young children and anyone with a weakened immune system, boil the eggs for 10 minutes until fully set. Chef's tip: start the eggs straight from the fridge into boiling water and time them exactly, so every yolk sets the same way.

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OgokbapFive-grain rice

Ogokbap is cooked across Korea for Jeongwol Daeboreum, the first full moon of the lunar year, when families share five-grain rice with nine kinds of dried namul and crack nuts to wish for good health. Sticky rice, millet, sorghum, black soybeans and adzuki beans cook together into a chewy, purple-tinged rice with a nutty, gently sweet flavour. It is good any time of year beside soup and banchan. The usual mistake is putting the adzuki beans in raw with the rice: they stay hard while the rice turns soft, so parboil them first. Chef's tip: keep a little of the adzuki cooking water for the rice, as it gives ogokbap its lovely rosy colour.

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Hobak jjigaeCourgette and tofu stew

Hobak jjigae is the late-summer stew of Korean home kitchens, made when the garden throws up more courgettes (aehobak) than anyone can eat, and it lands on the table in its own pot next to rice and kimchi on any ordinary weeknight. Potato and soft tofu soften in a red, gently spicy broth of gochujang and kelp, and the courgette turns silky without falling apart. Most cooks start with anchovy stock; this one uses dried kelp and shiitake so it stays vegan. The usual mistake is adding the courgette with the potato, which leaves it mushy and grey by the time the potato is cooked. Chef's tip: a final splash of soup soy sauce (guk-ganjang) seasons the broth more deeply than salt without darkening it.

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Yuja-cha (citron tea)

Goheung, on the southern coast of South Jeolla, is Korea's yuja country: in November the groves turn gold and families slice the knobbly citrons for yuja-cheong, the honeyed preserve that becomes tea all winter. From December to March a spoonful in hot water is offered to guests, to students cramming late and to anyone with a scratchy throat, as it is traditionally drunk for colds. The tea is sweet, floral and sharp, with soft, chewy strands of peel that you eat at the end with a spoon. The common mistake is leaving the fruit damp or the pith too thick: wet fruit lets mould in, and thick white pith makes the preserve bitter. Scrub, dry completely and pare away any pith thicker than a few millimetres. The cheong is ready after a day or two, when the sugar has dissolved into a clear, glossy syrup around the peel. Keep it in the fridge for up to three months, always with a dry spoon; throw it away if you see fuzzy mould, smell alcohol or it bubbles. No yuja? Japanese yuzu is the same fruit; otherwise use 2 lemons and 2 mandarins. Chef's tip: soak the seeds in a little of the honey and add that liquid back for a silkier syrup.

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Sungnyung (scorched rice tea)

Before electric rice cookers, every Korean pot of rice left a golden crust, nurungji, stuck to the bottom. Rather than waste it, cooks poured in water and simmered it while the family ate, and the warm, cloudy sungnyung was drunk at the end of the meal in place of tea. Older Koreans still describe it as the taste of home, and many Seoul restaurants that cook rice in stone pots finish by pouring water over the crust at the table. It tastes of toasted grain and has a faint natural sweetness, with soft pieces of crust to spoon up at the bottom. Without a stone pot you can make the crust from leftover rice in a frying pan. The common mistake is rushing the crust over high heat: it blackens on the outside and turns the drink bitter while the middle stays soft. Keep the heat low and patient, and aim for even golden-brown. The crust is ready when it lifts away from the pan in one sheet and smells like popcorn; the sungnyung is ready when the water is milky and pale gold. Chef's tip: make extra crust, dry it completely and keep it in a jar, so you can make sungnyung in ten minutes any evening.

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Daechu-cha (jujube tea)

Boeun county in North Chungcheong is famous for its large, sweet jujubes, harvested each October and sold at a lively autumn festival. Once dried, they become daechu-cha, the deep amber tea Korean traditional teahouses in Insadong and Jeonju serve from late autumn to early spring, topped with pine nuts. Long, slow simmering with ginger and a stick of cinnamon draws out a flavour like dates, caramel and baked apple; pressing the softened flesh through a sieve gives the tea its velvety, almost soup-thick body. It is traditionally drunk to warm up on cold nights. The common mistake is simply boiling whole jujubes and straining: the skins stay sealed, the tea comes out thin and pale, and most of the sweetness is thrown away. Slit each jujube, simmer until the flesh slides off the stone, then mash the pulp through the sieve. It is ready when the liquid has reduced by about half, is dark amber and lightly coats a spoon. Keep it covered in the fridge for up to 5 days and reheat gently. Chef's tip: a few slices of fresh ginger added in the last 20 minutes give a brighter heat than ginger boiled for the whole time.

110 minKoreanDrinksGluten free
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Maesil-cha (green plum tea)

In early June the hillsides of Gwangyang are picked clean of hard green maesil, and Korean kitchens across the country fill with jars of plums buried in sugar. Over about a hundred days the sugar draws out the fruit's juice and becomes maesil-cheong, a golden syrup that is both a cooking ingredient and a drink. Iced, it is the summer cooler; hot, it is traditionally drunk after a heavy meal for digestion. It tastes bright and tart, like green apple and apricot, rounded by the sugar. The common mistake is putting damp plums or plums with stalks into the jar: water and stalk ends invite mould and unwanted fermentation. Pick out each stalk with a toothpick and dry the fruit completely. The syrup is ready when the plums have shrivelled and float in clear amber liquid. A little foaming early on is normal, but if it smells strongly of alcohol, grows fuzzy mould or turns slimy, discard it. Remove the plums at 100 days, because their stones contain natural compounds best kept out of a long-stored syrup. Chef's tip: use half white and half light brown sugar for a rounder, toffee-edged syrup.

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Misutgaru (multigrain powder drink)

Misutgaru began as travellers' food, a powder of roasted grains that kept for weeks and could be stirred into water on the road. Today it is the drink of Korean summer: mothers shake it with cold milk for breakfast before school, office workers buy it as misutgaru latte from cafés, and farmers drink it at midday in the fields of July. The powder is a mix of roasted barley, glutinous and brown rice, black and yellow soybeans, and sesame, and it tastes of toasted cereal and peanut, lightly sweet, with a thick, creamy body that fills you up like a light meal. The common mistake is tipping the powder into a full glass of milk and stirring: it floats, clumps into dry balls and never fully mixes. Shake it in a jar with a little liquid first, or blend it, then add the rest. It is ready when the drink is smooth, beige and frothy with no dry flecks, and slightly thickened after a minute's rest. Use water or soy milk for a dairy-free version, and note that the barley means it is not gluten free. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt makes the grain flavour taste rounder and less flat.

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Oksusu-chaRoasted corn tea

Oksusu-cha is the tea Korean households boil by the kettleful and keep in the fridge in old glass bottles, drunk instead of water with meals from Seoul apartments to Gangwon farmhouses, chilled in summer and hot in winter. Dried corn kernels are roasted until dark golden, then simmered to make a pale amber tea that tastes gently sweet and toasty, though nothing is added at all. About 0.0 g salt per glass. The usual mistake is boiling the kernels too long, which makes the tea cloudy and starchy; 15 minutes is plenty. Ready-roasted corn kernels are sold in Korean shops; if roasting your own, use dried corn, not fresh or tinned. Chef's tip: mix in a spoon of roasted barley for the classic boricha blend, rounder and more nutty, though no longer gluten free.

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OijiSalt-brined cucumber pickle

Oiji is the Korean way of keeping early-summer cucumbers into the dog days. In June, when short, thin-skinned pickling cucumbers flood markets from Seoul to the southern provinces, they are packed into a crock and covered with boiling salt brine, which keeps them crisp. A week later they are olive-gold, wrinkled and sour-salty. Nobody eats them straight: they are sliced, soaked and squeezed, then dressed as oiji muchim with chilli flakes, garlic and sesame, or floated in cold water with vinegar and spring onion as oiji naengguk, a cooling summer soup. Over rice on a hot afternoon, the crunch is everything. The brine is about 10% salt (200 g per 2 litres of water), strong enough to keep them all summer. The common mistake is leaving any cucumber above the brine; it softens and moulds, so weigh them down well. It is ready when the cucumbers are evenly yellow-green, wrinkled and firm, and the brine smells cleanly sour. Normal: cloudy brine and bubbles; bad: fuzzy coloured mould, mushy or slimy cucumbers, a rotten smell. Chef's tip: squeeze the soaked slices in a cotton cloth as hard as you can before dressing; the drier they are, the better they crunch.

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Ssam-muPickled radish wraps

Ssam-mu is what you find in a little dish at every Korean barbecue restaurant, from Seoul's pork-belly alleys to suburban galbi houses: translucent discs of radish, sweet and sharp, to fold around a piece of hot meat with a dab of ssamjang. At home it is a year-round fridge staple, especially in winter when Korean radish (mu) is at its sweetest, and it is just as good wrapped around grilled king oyster mushrooms or tofu. Each round is cool, crisp at the edge and pliable enough to fold without breaking, with a clean sweet-sour taste that cuts through rich, smoky food. The vinegar must be at least 5% acidity, and the brine should be no weaker than 2 parts water to 1 part vinegar. The common mistake is slicing too thick: over 1.5 mm the rounds crack when you fold them, so use a mandoline set to 1 mm. It is ready when the slices are translucent, bend easily and taste sweet-sour right through, after about a day. Daikon works if you cannot find Korean radish; choose a fat one. Chef's tip: add a slice of raw beetroot for pink rounds, or a pinch of turmeric for the yellow ones in Korean shops.

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YujacheongYuja citron preserve

When the first frost comes to Goheung in South Jeolla and Namhae island in November, the yuja orchards turn gold, and households slice the knobbly, deeply perfumed fruit into sugar to make yujacheong. Through the winter, a few spoonfuls in a mug of hot water make yuja-cha, the tea Koreans reach for on cold evenings and when they feel a cold coming on; it is also spooned over yoghurt, toast or into salad dressings. It tastes floral, sharp and sweet, with tender strips of peel and a thick golden syrup. The sugar is what preserves it: equal weights of fruit and sugar, kept in the fridge once the sugar dissolves. The common mistake is leaving it warm too long: after a day or two on the counter it can start to ferment and fizz, so move it to the fridge as soon as the sugar has mostly melted. It is ready after about a week, when the peel is translucent and the syrup thick. No yuja? Use Meyer lemons, or two lemons for every mandarin. Bubbles or a boozy smell mean it has started to ferment: refrigerate it at once; mould means throw it away. Chef's tip: scrub the skins with baking soda first; you are eating the whole peel, so it must be spotless.

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MaesilcheongGreen plum syrup

In early June, Gwangyang in South Jeolla holds its plum festival under hillsides of maesil trees, and across Korea families buy crates of hard green maesil plums to make maesilcheong. The plums are layered with an equal weight of sugar in big glass jars, and over 100 days the sugar draws out their juice into a tart, fruity amber syrup. It is the Korean kitchen's all-purpose sweetener: a spoonful in a marinade for bulgogi, in salad dressings and in kimchi, and diluted with cold water as a summer drink traditionally taken after a heavy meal. It tastes sweet, sour and almond-scented. Expect a little natural fermentation: a few bubbles and a trace of alcohol (well under 1%) are normal while the sugar dissolves, so keep the lid loose. The common mistake is wet fruit: any water left on the plums or stem scars can lead to mould, so dry them for hours. Ready when the plums have shrivelled and float, and the syrup is clear amber. Raw green plum stones contain compounds that release cyanide: never crush, bite or eat the stones, and remove the fruit after 100 days. No maesil? Use hard green apricots, with the same care. Chef's tip: use half brown sugar for a deeper colour and caramel note.

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Twigim (vegetable and egg)

Twigim is the fried side of Seoul's bunsik stalls: a glass case of sweet potato, vegetable fritters, boiled eggs and squid in a thicker, crunchier batter than Japanese tempura. Around the student bars of Sinchon and in Tongin Market, people order a mixed plate in the evening and have the pieces snipped and drowned in tteokbokki sauce. Squid is the other classic; this version keeps it vegetarian. It contains egg and wheat. Chef's tip: fry everything twice, the second time hotter, the way the stalls do; it is the secret to batter that stays crisp under sauce.

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Homemade gochujangChilli bean paste

Sunchang, a small county in North Jeolla, is so tied to gochujang that it holds a jang festival every October, but the paste itself is traditionally made in the cold weeks of late winter, when there are no flies and it can ferment slowly in glazed onggi jars on the sunny jangdokdae terrace. Glutinous rice flour is broken down by barley malt into a sweet, runny porridge, boiled down, then beaten with fine chilli powder, fermented soybean (meju) powder, rice syrup and salt. Young, it is bright, sweet and fiery; after two or three months it darkens to brick red and gains a round, savoury depth, thick enough to hold a ridge on the spoon. It goes into bibimbap, tteokbokki, ssamjang, stews and marinades all year. Common mistake: adding the chilli and salt while the porridge is still hot, which dulls the colour and can make the paste turn sour; wait until it is lukewarm. It is ready when it is glossy, deep red, and smells sweet and earthy with no sharp, boozy note. Chef's tip: hold the malt and rice at 55–60 °C on a rice cooker's keep-warm setting; any hotter and the malt enzymes stop working, so the porridge never thins.

210 minKoreanBasicsVeganSpicy
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Homemade doenjangFermented soybean paste

Doenjang starts in late autumn, after the soybean harvest, when Korean households used to boil beans in a cauldron, pound them into bricks and hang the meju from the rafters on straw ropes to grow a white, sweet-smelling bloom over the winter. In early spring, on a clear dry day, the bricks are dropped into salt brine in an onggi jar with dried chillies, jujubes and a red-hot piece of charcoal. Some six to eight weeks later the dark liquid is drawn off and boiled into soup soy sauce (guk-ganjang), and the softened bricks are mashed into doenjang, which ripens through the summer. It is chunkier, saltier and funkier than miso, with a nutty, almost smoky depth: the backbone of doenjang-jjigae, ssamjang and spinach namul. Common mistake: making the brick too thick or drying it in a warm, still room, so the centre rots before it dries; keep it about 6 cm thick and hang it where air moves. The paste is ready when it is mid-brown, smells of toasted nuts and soy, and tastes salty-sweet rather than sharp. Chef's tip: you can buy dried meju blocks from Korean grocers and start at the brining step.

300 minKoreanBasicsVeganGluten free
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