Korean Bulgogi Rice Bowls

My first taste of bulgogi was in a tiny Korean barbecue restaurant in Queens, where the owner spoke almost no English and the menu was entirely handwritten on a chalkboard. I had no idea what I was ordering. The waitress brought out a sizzling cast-iron platter of glistening, caramelized beef strips and gestured for me to wrap them in lettuce leaves with a smear of gochujang and a few shreds of pickled radish. I built my first lettuce wrap nervously, took a bite, and immediately decided I would dedicate a portion of my remaining life to figuring out how to make this at home.

The key to good bulgogi, I have since learned through many failed attempts and one extremely helpful conversation with the owner of a Korean grocery store, is the marinade. And the secret ingredient in the marinade is — wait for it — Asian pear. Yes, pear. A grated Asian pear has natural enzymes that tenderize the beef and bring this subtle, almost floral sweetness that balances the salty soy and umami garlic. If you cannot find an Asian pear, a regular Bartlett or even a small apple will do the trick. But seek out the Asian pear if you can. It makes a real difference.

The second secret is the cut and slice of the beef. You want a well-marbled cut — ribeye is traditional and worth the splurge, but sirloin works too — and you want it sliced paper-thin against the grain. The easiest way to do this at home is to put the beef in the freezer for 30-45 minutes until it is partially frozen and firm, then slice with a very sharp knife. Thin slices marinate quickly and cook in seconds, which is exactly what you want.

The third secret is the heat. Bulgogi needs a hot, almost dangerously hot pan. Cast iron is ideal. You want the beef to hit the pan, sizzle violently, and caramelize on the edges in about 90 seconds. Do not crowd the pan or you will steam the meat instead of searing it. Cook in two or three batches if you need to, and let the pan come back up to temperature between batches.

I serve mine over short-grain rice — the slightly sticky, almost glossy kind — with whatever quick-pickled vegetables I have on hand and a fried egg cooked sunny-side up with crispy lacy edges. The yolk runs into the rice, mingles with the bulgogi juices, and creates this deeply savory sauce at the bottom of the bowl that you will absolutely scrape clean with your spoon. My husband, who once claimed he was 'not a big rice person,' has rated this one of his all-time favorite meals. I have made it for friends with mixed dietary restrictions and watched the bowls disappear. Even my notoriously picky niece, who eats approximately seven foods, ate two helpings.