My Sick-Day Stew: Sundubu Jjigae (Korean Soft Tofu Soup) (Patreon)

The Korean soft tofu stew I grew up eating in Fort Lee is a full-health, full-red-potion healing stew with boss-level flavor—kimchi, pork fat, and a bubbling stone bowl that fights colds on my behalf.

Do you remember the level “Tubular” from the Special World in Super Mario World? It's The one where you blow yourself up with a P-balloon and spend the whole level fighting that relentless pressure to keep moving—even when all you want is to stop and breathe.

That’s what the school-season colds have felt like this year (or, more accurately, the one long mild cold I’ve had non-stop since October): slow moving, but difficult and relentless. And when I get like that, I start craving meals that feel like they’re fighting on my behalf—like a preemptive strike against whatever’s trying to take me down.

For me, that dish has always been sundubu jjigae: soft tofu stew, aggressively comforting. Spicy, sour, salty, rich. Hot enough to fog your glasses (even if you don't wear glasses). The kind of bowl that makes you sweat a little and feel like maybe your body is rebooting itself.

I grew up in New York, near the George Washington Bridge. Right across from Manhattan, up there in Fort Lee, New Jersey is home to one of the largest Korean populations in the country. There’s a restaurant literally called So Kong Dong Soft Tofu Restaurant. When I was feeling even a little sick, that was the place I wanted to go.

A stone bowl brimming with aromatic soup and a crimson streak of fat, still bubbling like the fires of Mount Doom. A raw egg cracked in at the last second. Rice on the side. A staggering array of banchan. It’s one of those flavor memories that lodges in your brain so deeply that you spend the next couple decades trying to recreate it at home—not because you can’t go back (you can; it’s still there), but because you want the ability to summon that exact feeling on demand.

This is my at-home version: anchovy-kelp broth, kimchi, pork, and ultra-soft tofu in big quivering chunks.

The Jjigae Standard Loadout

Jjigae, broadly speaking, is Korea’s category of stews: heartier and more concentrated than soup (guk), meant to be eaten with rice, often shared, often intensely flavored. Sundubu jjigae is a relatively modern member of that family. While tofu itself has been part of Korean cooking for centuries, sundubu—the ultra-soft, barely-set tofu used here—became more widely available in the 20th century with industrial production. The dish really took off post–Korean War, when inexpensive protein sources and fermented ingredients like kimchi became the backbone of everyday home cooking.

Unlike older, more formal dishes, sundubu jjigae is extremely flexible. Pork, seafood, anchovy broth, beef, clams, oysters, tuna, canned Spam, extra kimchi, less kimchi—it’s all fair game. What matters is the core balance of flavors and textures: spicy, sour, savory, rich, and soft.

Most bowls of great sundubu have the same underlying logic:

Richness and chewiness from pork (or beef, or shellfish, or a combination)

Acidity from well-fermented kimchi and its juice

Heat from gochugaru (Korean chile flakes)

Savory depth from anchovy broth (or another stock)

Silky texture from sundubu itself

To start the dish, I make a quick broth using a sheet of kombu (sea kelp) and some dried anchovies (I remove the heads and guts to keep the broth lighter tasting). You could easily use straight-up Japanese-style dashi (or hondashi made with dashi powder), or even water. There’s a ton of other flavor we’re going to be adding in anyway.

As the broth simmers, I start building the stew in a dolsot, a stovetop-safe stoneware bowl designed to cook slowly and evenly—and, crucially, to retain heat at the table. They’re inexpensive and easy to use, and they’re the ideal vessel if you want a crispy crust on the bottom of your bibimbap or you want your jjigae to stay piping hot from the first spoonful to the last. You don’t need one (a heavy pot works just fine), but if you’ve got one, it’s worth using.

Pork Fat Power Up

For the pork, I usually use pork belly. This time I found pork jowl, which is deeply marbled and unbelievably flavorful—the same cut used for guanciale. It renders slowly, gives you that luxurious mouthfeel, and it’s basically tailor-made for a stew like this. Pork shoulder works. Bacon works (if you don’t mind smokiness). You can even use thinly sliced short rib (kalbi-style). What you’re really after is fat plus flavor.

That fat matters because the chile flavor in this dish isn’t just heat. It’s chile-infused fat. When the gochugaru blooms gently in pork fat, it creates that signature crimson oil that floats on top of a good bowl of jjigae.

I cut up the pork jowl and start it rendering in the stone pot before hitting it with minced garlic and scallion whites (onions are also just fine for this step).

Bloom Service

Meanwhile, I start making my aromatic base. In an older verion of this recipe I wrote years ago for Serious Eats, I kept it very simple, sticking with gochugaru (Korean chile flakes), soy sauce, and gochujang (A sweet-hot fermented chili and wheat paste). Since then, I've made a couple of changes largely inspired by a technique I saw Aaron and Claire make in their version of the dish on Youtube: making a quick spice paste.

I stir gochugaru with sugar, soy sauce, and sesame oil. It’s a minor change that makes a big difference. The paste helps the chile bloom evenly in the fat, reduces the chance of scorching, and gives you a cohesive “red base” that clings to kimchi and pork rather than floating around as raw flakes—much like frying a Thai curry paste or a Sichuan chile-bean paste to carry flavor throughout the dish.

At this stage I’ll also often add a small splash of soju (or sake) and a dash of fish sauce. Neither is strictly necessary, but both add complexity with almost no extra effort.

Kimchi Drops and Radish Side Quests

Once the aromatics are softened and… aromatic, it’s time to go in with the kimchi and vegetables.

The kimchi should be old. Actively fermented. If you’ve got a jar languishing in the back of your fridge and you’ve been thinking I should probably deal with this, congratulations: you’re holding the key ingredient.

If the jar hisses when you open it, you’re in the right zone. That’s carbon dioxide buildup from healthy fermentation, and it’s a sign the kimchi has moved past “fresh and crunchy” into “sour, funky, complex.” Sometimes properly aged kimchi even tastes a little effervescent, like it’s been lightly carbonated. That acidity isn’t just nice—it’s essential for cutting through pork fat and sharpening everything else in the bowl.

Radish isn’t especially common in restaurant versions of sundubu jjigae, but it’s very common in homestyle Korean cooking. I started adding it after my neighbor Alice brought over a batch of jjigae made by her mother that had chunks of Korean mu in it (I use daikon at home). Nice chunky pieces of radish do the perfect trick in these kinds of stews: they become tender but keep a little soft crunch, they soak up the flavor of the broth, and they give you a clean, juicy contrast that keeps the stew from feeling one-note.

Once the vegetables are in, the broth should be ready to go. I pour it straight into the dolsot through a fine mesh strainer, then simmer everything for about 10 minutes—just enough to soften the radish and kimchi and to give the pork a head start on tenderizing.

Soft Tofu Jiggle Physics

By this point the stew should smell and taste incredible after you adjust the seasoning with a pinch of salt and (for me) a pinch of MSG. Now it’s time for the key ingredient: the tofu. Your choice of tofu makes a big difference here.

Korean sundubu (often labeled “soon tofu”) is what you really want. It’s barely set, fragile, irregular, and it breaks into large, quivering, custardy curds. It usually comes in sealed plastic tubes.

That texture is the soul of the dish. You don’t dice it. You don’t stir it aggressively. You let it slump and tear into big, jiggly pieces that you can scoop up and almost slurp like savory Jell-O. Overcooking tightens it up, so once it’s in, you’re really just reheating, not “cooking.”

If you can’t find sundubu, there are other options:

Japanese silken tofu is smooth and custardy and ranges in texture. If you’re using it, look for the softest one you can find.

Chinese soft tofu varies widely depending on coagulant. Avoid “cottony” pressed tofu that sits in a water bath. Instead, look for tofu that’s fully set in the container itself, with no extra water or brine—an indication it was set gently and will be silkier. Again: go as soft as you can.

I grew up eating this at So Kong Dong but I've been making it regularly at home since college. The reason I keep coming back to it? It’s comforting and instructive. It’s forgiving, but it rewards attention. And when you’re under the weather, it feels like food that’s doing something active for you: hot liquid, salt, fat, acid, spice. It coats your throat. It warms your stomach. It makes you sweat. It tastes alive.

Honestly, the only other thing in this category for me is a truly good bowl of miso soup.

But sundubu hits harder.

Recipe: Kimchi Sundubu Jjigae (Soft Tofu Stew)

Sundubu jjigae is one of my favorite “reset button” meals: spicy, deeply savory, and served bubbling hot with extra-soft tofu and an egg that cooks right in the stew. This version leans kimchi-forward and uses a quick anchovy–kelp broth for clean backbone, plus a simple gochugaru paste (rather than sprinkling chili flakes in raw) so the heat tastes rich and rounded, not sharp.

It’s also flexible—pork adds depth but isn’t required, and shellfish like clams, mussels, or shrimp are great stirred in at the end. The only real rule: treat it like a stew, not a soup. Keep it brothy enough to simmer and cook the tofu gently, but not so liquidy that the whole thing turns muddy.

What I love about this recipe:

Deep kimchi-forward flavor without being muddy

Chili heat that’s rich, not sharp

Ultra-soft tofu with real textural contrast

Flexible enough to adapt to what you have

Yield: 2 to 3 generous servingsActive Time: ~30 minutesTotal Time: ~45 minutesNotes: This is a stew, not a soup. Resist the urge to drown it! Kelp and dried anchovies can be found in any Asian supermarket or online retailer. You can omit the pork if you'd like. Instead, use an extra tablespoon of sesame oil. You can also add fresh shellfish such as clams, mussels, or shrimp during the last few minutes of simmering.

Ingredients

For the anchovy–kelp broth:

4–5 large dried anchovies, heads and guts removed

1 piece dried kelp (kombu/dashima), about 5 × 5 cm (2 × 2 in)

3 cups water (720 ml)

For the stew:

2 teaspoons (10ml) sesame oil, divided

4 oz (115g) pork jowl, belly, shoulder, or bacon, cut into small bite-sized pieces

2 tablespoons (about 14g) gochugaru (Korean chili flakes), more or less to taste

1 teaspoon (5g) sugar

1 teaspoon (5ml) soy sauce

5–6 small garlic cloves, finely minced

4 scallions, whites sliced, greens reserved for garnish

¼ cup (60ml) juice from the kimchi jar

4 ounces (120g) daikon radish, cut into chunky bite-size pieces

2 tablespoons (30ml) soju or sake (optional)

2 teaspoons (10ml) fish sauce (optional)

1 cup (about 150g) well-fermented kimchi, chopped

2 tubes Korean sundubu (extra-soft tofu), about 12–14 oz total (340–400 g)

Kosher salt and MSG, to taste

1 large egg per serving

Hot steamed rice and fresh veggies (such as cucumber) or Korean banchan, for serving

Method

Make the broth:Combine anchovies, kelp, and water in a small saucepan. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook for 10–15 minutes. Strain and set aside.

Meanwhile, render the pork:Heat a Korean stone pot (dolsot) or heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium heat. Add 1 teaspoon sesame oil and the pork. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the pork renders its fat and develops light browning, a few minutes.

Make the spice paste:

Meanwhile, in a small bowl, mix gochugaru, sugar, remaining sesame oil, and soy sauce into a thick paste.

Add aromatics:When the pork is lightly browned, add the garlic and sliced scallion whites to the pork. Cook, stirring, just until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the chili paste and cook until fragrant and the pork fat is stained red, about 30 seconds longer.

Deglaze and add kimchi:Add kimchi juice, soju or sake (if using), and fish sauce (if using). Stir, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pot. Add chopped kimchi and daikon (if using). Stir to combine.

Add broth:Add about 2 cup (480 ml) of the anchovy–kelp broth. Bring to a simmer and cook until the radish is tender but still slightly crunchy, adding more broth as necessary to keep the consistency brothy but not soupy, about 10 minutes. Season the soup to taste with salt and MSG (if using).

Add tofu:Slice each tube of sundubu in half and gently slide the tofu into the pot. Use a spoon to break it into large, irregular chunks. Cook, stirring very gently to avoid breaking up the tofu, until the tofu is heated through and the broth is at a hard simmer.

Finish and serve:To serve, add the egg(s) directly into the center of the stew. Scatter the reserved scallion greens over the top. Remove from heat. The retained heat from the soup should cook the egg whites through in a couple minutes. I like to leave the yolk whole as I eat, waiting until it's a little bit jammy. If you like your eggs harder, you can let them simmer in the soup over low heat until they are as set as you'd like. Serve sundubu jjigae with rice, fresh veggies, or other Korean banchan on the side.