"Horo-Buta" Made with Liquid Shio Koji and Bag Simmering: Why Ryuji Calls It "the Most Delicious Chashu I Can Make"

Ryuji says the most valuable thing in home cooking is food that is "delicious and low-effort," and positions this recipe as the ultimate example of that. Simmering takes an hour and a half to two hours, but all you do is put the seasonings and meat in a bag and simmer, then leave it alone. According to Ryuji, if you want fall-apart tender pork, you need to put in about this much time.

Ryuji first came across liquid shio koji when using it for a manufacturer's promotion. It has the effect of tenderizing meat, and Ryuji goes so far as to say pork made with it is "the best in the world." Ryuji also shared an anecdote about a former staff member who was moved after eating it.

The cut used is pork loin, and Ryuji makes a generous batch with two pieces, about 800 g in total. You can also use pork belly, but Ryuji recommends loin for its good balance of fat and meat, while also noting that loin has been expensive lately. When choosing, look for meat with fat running through the inside, because those sinewy parts turn out fall-apart tender.

Ryuji says that if you can't get 800 g you can adjust the amount, but since it's so tender you could practically "drink" it, a family of three should make about this much. Even for two people, it keeps well, so it's better to make it ahead; Ryuji strongly recommends it, saying you'll regret making only one piece.

Use a separate bag for each piece. Dividing it up makes the meat cook through more easily and lets the sauce soak in better. Accordingly, the seasonings are combined in a measuring cup first and then divided between the two bags.

The sauce is made with 2 tablespoons soy sauce, 2 tablespoons liquid shio koji, 2 tablespoons mirin, 2 teaspoons sugar, and about 1/2 teaspoon kombu dashi. The ginger can be grated or chopped, and Ryuji says chopped will probably appeal more to ramen lovers. The ginger is split evenly between the two bags. Combined, the sauce comes to about 100 cc, with 50 cc going into each bag.

Asked why shio koji is included, Ryuji answered, "It makes it overwhelmingly tender," and explained that liquid shio koji also has strong umami. When a staff member asked whether shio koji is sweet, Ryuji replied, "It's super salty." Asked whether it could be substituted, Ryuji answered to the effect that with a substitute, the meat won't turn out fall-apart tender.

According to Ryuji, regular chashu uses a lot of seasoning. Recipes casually call for hundreds of cc of soy sauce, and using 200 cc alone costs hundreds of yen. Many people dislike that, so Ryuji aimed to make it with the bare minimum of seasoning. After much thought, the method Ryuji arrived at was simmering it in a bag. Inside the bag, even a small amount of sauce covers the whole piece of meat, so the amount can be kept to a minimum. The liquid shio koji also penetrates the meat well. Ryuji also cited as an advantage that the meat becomes tender without even needing to poke holes in it with a fork. A staff member was convinced: "I thought you could just put soy sauce in the pot and simmer it, but putting it in a bag is why you only need a little."

To show how to seal the bag, Ryuji demonstrates a personal method developed recently. Flatten the bag, push the meat up close to the opening, then slide it along to push the air out. If that's difficult, you can also submerge the bag in water and let the water pressure push the air out. A staff member says this is the method they usually use. A Ziploc is fine as long as the air is removed, but it's hard to get the air out. Ryuji uses soft kitchen bags or I-Wrap. If you're worried about the bag tearing against the bottom of the pot, double-bag it.

What Ryuji emphasized here was a caution about double-bagging. If you loosely wrap the bag containing the meat in an outer bag, trapping air inside, and tie it shut, it will fail. A staff member didn't understand why that was a problem. Ryuji explained that if air gets between the bag and the meat, it forms an "air barrier," since air conducts heat poorly, and the meat won't cook through. If you double-bag, either layer the bags from the start, or if you add the outer one afterward, make sure to thoroughly remove the air from it too.

If even the staff didn't know this, many people probably don't either, Ryuji said. Reflecting that it had been taken for granted that air conducts heat poorly, Ryuji said, "I need to go back to basics." Ryuji's videos grew because they carefully explained things like this, and cooking channels that proceed on the assumption that "everyone knows that" don't grow. They grew because they were made for people who couldn't cook at all, and Ryuji had forgotten that—such was the self-reflection. Ryuji also said it's not okay to think, "I said it in a previous video, so you'll understand."

The bag can tear if it touches the bottom of the pot while simmering. Ryuji placed a small plate on the bottom of the pot before adding the bags. You don't need to touch it while it simmers, but since the bag can tear, it's best to check on it occasionally. Discovering it has torn after simmering for an hour and a half is a big shock.

A staff member wondered, "Is the plate okay with the heat?" Ryuji explained that ceramic is heatproof to begin with, so it's no problem, but plastic plates should be avoided because they'll melt against the bottom of the pot. This led to a conversation about how having a staff member who's a cooking beginner helps catch points where viewers are likely to stumble.

As for the amount of water, all that matters is whether the pork is submerged; there's no need to fill it to the brim. If the meat is submerged all the way to the top and there's a plate underneath so it doesn't touch the bottom of the pot, it's "perfect." Bring it to a boil once, then lower the heat and place a drop lid on top. The target is just a few bubbles rising from the bottom, a constant gentle bubbling, which Ryuji calls "medium-low heat." If it boils vigorously, the plate rattles around and it boils over. Simmer in this state for two hours.

When taken out after two hours, the bags had some air in them. Even so, Ryuji says it was fine because the bottom part was in close contact with the hot water. No water got into the bags; the only liquid inside was the juices released from the pork and the sauce. Because it's heated inside a single bag, the meat's flavorful juices don't escape, and Ryuji explains that it develops more umami than ordinary boiling.

The meat was tender enough to tear by hand, and the knife glided through without catching. A staff member was amazed—"This in two hours is incredible"—and Ryuji said the liquid shio koji also played a big part. Simmering longer would make it even more fall-apart, but then it would become like pulled pork. This, Ryuji says, is the ultimate chashu Ryuji was after. A staff member compared it to Jiro-style ramen chashu.

When eating, dipping it briefly in the cooking liquid helps the flavor soak in. Store it submerged in the cooking liquid as well. Because the sauce is low in salt, it won't become too salty even if left in the liquid indefinitely, and it won't dry out even if sliced before soaking. If anything, the flavor soaks in even more. That's why Ryuji says it's important not to throw away the cooking liquid.

Partway through filming, a visitor arrived, and the meat sat for a while before being reheated in the microwave, but it was still jiggly and tender. When it cools, the white fat solidifies and doesn't taste good, so it's better to eat it warm. Ryuji adds that if you have a torch, searing it is even better, and you can also roast it in the oven.

What Ryuji emphasized during the tasting was the contrast in texture. The fat melts, but it's not overly melty. It falls apart, but it isn't mushy. Ryuji wants viewers to enjoy this contrast. Ryuji also stressed not to compare it to the earlier microwave chashu, as it's something entirely different.

After tasting it, a staff member reacted, "It's not the melty type," and "I get what you mean now." Ryuji shared a personal view that chashu so melty it falls apart just from picking it up with chopsticks isn't truly good chashu. That kind of chashu results from simmering for hours, but with this one, the meat becomes properly tender in two hours. Ryuji doesn't think much of ramen-shop chashu that crumbles with chopsticks, preferring chashu that's tender while retaining a bit of texture.

Versatility was also mentioned as an advantage of this firmness. If it's too fall-apart, all you can do is eat it as is, but this can also be used in things like chashu fried rice. Even a staff member who dislikes chashu ate this one.

Ryuji's recommended variation is a negi chashu rice bowl. Cut about 100 g of long green onion in half lengthwise, then slice it into thin strips. This led to a discussion about how this isn't shiraga negi. Shiraga negi is made by removing the core, rolling up the outer layers, and slicing them thinly along the fibers; Ryuji isn't a big fan of it because it doesn't use the core, and Ryuji wants to eat the core too. A staff member brought up the green onions at the ramen chain Yamaokaya.

Because the green onion is pungent, soak it in water. Ryuji thought a few minutes would be enough, but changed the water partway and soaked it a bit longer, ending up with about 10 minutes. If you don't like spiciness, you can soak it even longer. Asked about methods other than water, Ryuji answered that stir-frying it wouldn't make it a negi chashu rice bowl, and microwaving it would lose the crunch.

Cut about 150 g of chashu into large cubes. Many chashu rice bowls use thinly sliced chashu, but since this chashu is jiggly and delicious, Ryuji says cutting it into chunky pieces is best.

There's also a reason for the order of seasoning. Put the green onion, squeezed of excess water, and the chashu in a bowl, and first toss them with 1 tablespoon sesame oil. Coating the green onion with oil first keeps it crunchy. Then add umami seasoning, 1 tablespoon chashu sauce, 2 teaspoons soy sauce, and about 2/3 teaspoon doubanjiang, and toss. A staff member said this alone would make a good snack with drinks. Serve it over 200 g of warm rice, and it's done.

The staff who ate the negi chashu rice bowl praised the heat of the doubanjiang, and one even said it was better than any ramen shop's chashu. Ryuji responded that it could hold its own in a restaurant—that it was better than a restaurant's. A staff member said they had thought melty chashu was better, but found it impressive that this falls apart yet keeps its shape.

According to Ryuji, getting this balance right is difficult. If you make it too fall-apart, the fat renders out, so two hours is the time set to cook it so that just the right amount of fat remains. The flavor isn't too strong either, so it works on ramen or in fried rice.

Finally, Ryuji said Horo-Buta is probably a recipe Ryuji will keep making forever. Describing it as a dish that takes advantage of liquid shio koji's meat-tenderizing effect, Ryuji closed the video by encouraging viewers to try making it.