Ingredient

Gochujang

Gochujang is a fermented Korean paste of chilli, glutinous rice, soya beans and salt. It is thick, deep red, and — this is the part people miss — as much sweet and savoury as it is hot. It is not a hot sauce, and using it as one is why dishes made with it sometimes taste strangely flat.

What is actually in it

Four things, and each contributes something distinct. Chilli powder — gochugaru — gives colour and a moderate, fruity heat. Glutinous rice gives body and, crucially, sugar. Fermented soya gives savouriness. Salt makes the whole thing keep.

The rice is where the sweetness comes from. Enzymes break its starch into sugars during fermentation, so gochujang is sweet the way a malt is sweet, from the inside, rather than because sugar was stirred in. Many commercial versions also add sweetener on top of that.

It then ferments — traditionally for months in earthenware pots outdoors. That is what turns four raw ingredients into something with the depth of a good miso and the colour of paprika paste.

How it compares to the pastes it gets confused with

Sriracha

A sauce, not a paste. Thinner, vinegary, garlicky, sharper and much less savoury. Not a substitute — it will make a dish sour where gochujang would have made it deep.

Harissa

North African, oil-based, with cumin, coriander and caraway. Warmer-spiced, not fermented, not sweet. Different cuisine, different job.

Doubanjiang

Chinese fermented broad bean and chilli paste. Salty and savoury like gochujang but not sweet and far less rice-thickened. The closest genuine relative.

Miso plus chilli

The standard emergency substitute, with a little honey or sugar and some chilli powder. It gets you savoury, sweet and hot in roughly the right proportions and misses the specific fruity gochugaru character.

Doenjang

The other great Korean paste — soya and salt, no chilli. Savoury and funky rather than hot. Frequently used alongside gochujang rather than instead of it.

How to use it

The rule that makes gochujang work: it is a seasoning with sugar in it, so it burns, and it needs diluting.

• Thin it before it goes anywhere. Whisk it with soy, vinegar, sesame oil and a little water or stock. Straight from the tub it is too thick and too salty to distribute.
• In a marinade for pork, chicken or beef, thinned with soy, garlic, pear or apple juice and sesame oil. The sugar in it browns beautifully — and burns quickly, so grill it a little further from the heat than you think.
• As the base of a bibimbap sauce, loosened with sesame oil, vinegar, sugar and a little water into something pourable.
• Stirred into stews and braises — jjigae, or any Western braise that wants depth and warmth rather than sharpness.
• In a glaze for roasted vegetables, especially aubergine, cabbage wedges, sprouts and squash, added in the last few minutes so it does not scorch.
• Whisked into mayonnaise, butter or a dressing, where a small amount does a great deal.
• Add it early to liquid dishes and late to dry ones. In a stew it needs time to lose its raw edge; on a hot surface it will burn given the chance.

How hot is it, really

Less hot than its colour suggests, and more variable than most jars admit. Korean packaging often carries a heat scale printed on the tub, running from mild to very hot, and it is worth reading because the range across brands is wide.

Even at the hot end, the heat is moderate by the standards of a bird's-eye chilli sauce, and it arrives slowly and broadly rather than sharply. What tends to overwhelm a dish is not the heat but the salt and the sweetness, both of which are considerable.

The practical consequence: taste before you add any other salt, and reckon on gochujang as one of the sweet elements in a dish rather than a neutral one.

Common questions