My first encounter with gochujang, the Korean condiment now ubiquitous in food circles, happened many years ago in an unlikely place, considering I was born and raised in Brooklyn: Ann Arbor, Michigan. My sister was there for her MFA and had found an inexpensive lunch place, where there was only one food item, bi bim bop. I had no idea what this was; turns out it was a bowl of rice topped with little piles of sautéed beef, steamed spinach, bean sprouts, and kimchi, topped with a fried egg. With it, the waitress dropped off a squeeze bottle of a thick, brick-red sauce. I can never resist spicy food, or condiments, so I squirted out some on my chopstick to try it: fermented, salty, sweet, with a low-grade heat. When asked, she said it was gochujang. Observing the people around us, I added some, broke up the egg, and mixed the whole thing together. The sticky rice, the richness of the sesame seeds and molten egg yolk, the hot beef, and the tangy vegetables bound together with the intense gochujang to make the perfect one-bowl meal.
Korean food became a new obsession that day. I’d ask for gochujang every time I ate it, even though it was likely gauche—like pouring soy sauce on everything in a Chinese restaurant—but I just couldn’t get enough of that flavor and heat. (I also listen to a new album on repeat for days, until the music rings in my head unprovoked.) After I moved to Seattle, my mom and I would go to an amazing Korean tofu restaurant north of town in a strip mall with both a TJ Maxx/Homegoods and an enormous antiques warehouse: the absolutely perfect trifecta of a Saturday afternoon. Now back in NYC, I go to Flushing and K-town.
So I’ve had gochujang in my fridge for quite a while, and it’s become one of my all-time favorite condiments. I make my own bi bim bop occasionally, but I’ve also found ways to incorporate this still-loved flavor into my more typical everyday cooking. A common lunch for me is leftover takeout rice, a fried egg, and any greens and pickles I have kicking around*—eaten with a splash of soy and a sticky blob of gochujang.
A frequent lunch.
Recently, I wanted to use gochujang for dinner, with some short ribs that were taking up room in the freezer. Short ribs are a typical Korean cut of beef, usually sliced thin across the bone, marinated, and grilled, then eaten with rice, or wrapped in lettuce with a smear of ssamjang (another delicious Korean condiment). But I wanted to make them using a more French technique: thicker cut ribs, braised in a Le Creuset (my obsession), to kick off the first Sunday night dinner in fall.
So I made a concentrated braising liquid for the ribs, consisting of gochujang, soy, rice vinegar, and sesame oil to start. I knew I needed a sweet element to balance all of that salt and heat—so in addition to a sprinkle of white sugar, I pawed around in my fridge and found the perfect thing: quince jam. While this is no standard Korean ingredient, it provided a nuanced sweetness as well as a fruitiness that is not as crazy as it may sound: apples, pears, pineapples, and even kiwis can be found in Korean marinades to tenderize meat. After a couple of hours in the oven, the short ribs were super tender. I served them with the world’s best short-grain brown rice, garlicky sautéed chard, and a quick pickle of radishes and cucumber. It was sticky, spicy, and salty—everything I love in gochujang itself, now in a meal.
Gochujang-Braised Short Ribs
Season the short ribs--at least an inch thick--with salt and pepper. In a large dutch oven, sear the short ribs on all sides in a little vegetable oil. (Do it in batches so they aren't crowded, and will get really brown and caramelized.) Set the ribs aside, then add a sliced onion and a few minced garlic cloves and cook until softened. Mix together a sauce: a big scoop of gochujang, about half as much of both soy sauce and quince jam (you could replace the jam with additional sugar or pineapple juice to taste), a splash of rice wine vinegar and sesame oil, and a sprinkle of sugar and salt. Taste and adjust accordingly; it should be strongly flavored, but a nice balance of sweet, hot, sour, and salty. Add the ribs back to the pot with the onion and pour over over the sauce. (You should have about a 2/3 cup of sauce to 3 pounds of ribs--scale up or down as needed.) Add a spoon of chicken or beef bouillon and any leftover white or rosé wine you have kicking around (up to a cup), then top with water to almost cover. Put in a 350 degree oven and cook, rearranging the ribs once or twice, until the meat is tender and the bones literally fall away, about a couple of hours. (If using short ribs that have been cut into larger/thicker pieces, you may want to cook them longer.) Scallions sprinkled on top are not necessary but provide a nice freshness. Serve with rice, to soak up the sauce, and something pickled—ideally kimchi or a homemade quick pickle.*
A few other things to try with gochujang:
- Hot wings: Thin out gochujang with melted butter and toss with roasted chicken wings. Blue cheese or ranch works for dipping, though a lime-y tahini sauce might be extra good.
- Stuffed mushrooms: Mix cooked sticky rice with gochujang, diced (pre-cooked) Chinese sausage, mushroom stems (can't let those go to waste, obviously), and scallions, then stuff into the mushroom caps and bake until tender and hot throughout.
- Rumaki: A 70s appetizer with a twist. Wrap whole water chestnuts in bacon, marinate in a mixture of gochujang and soy, broil until bacon is crisp all over, then serve hot with toothpicks.
- Slaw: Make dressing out of gochujang, mayo, rice wine vinegar, and honey. Toss with shredded cabbage; shredded carrots, grated apple, chopped cilantro, and roasted salted peanuts are all optional. Great on pulled pork sandwich.
- Sloppy Jae: Add gochujang to ground beef for a Korean-style sloppy joe (replacing some of the ketchup or tomato sauce). Serve in toasted, buttered potato buns and top with kimchi.
* Quick pickles are the best. You can make them out of anything, and a "mixed pickle" is a great produce-drawer clear-out activity. And culinarily, they are surprisingly handy to have around--add them to sandwiches, tacos, or grain salads, or just nibble on them when you're cooking dinner. In a small pot, heat equal parts clear vinegar (white, red, cider, rice, etc.) and water, enough to be able to fully cover your veggies, with a hearty bit of salt and a little sugar, stirring until the salt and sugar are dissolved. (A good place to start is 1/2 cup vinegar and water, with a tablespoon each of salt and sugar.) Add flavorings if you like: peeled garlic cloves, whole spices, dried chiles, herbs. Pour this brine over sliced vegetables--cabbage, onions, carrots, peppers, chiles, blanched cauliflower, cucumbers, anything you like--in a heatproof bowl. Mix, then place in fridge. They'll be good to eat after a couple of hours, and will last at least a week.
