Four Seasons at the Dinner Table
Whenever he goes abroad, complains one member of the National Assembly, all people ever want to discuss besides North Korea is dog meat. Korean food is undoubtedly as misunderstood and underappreciated as its country of origin. Yet Korean cuisine is rich and varied beyond what one might expect from the peninsula’s small geographical area, and its most celebrated dishes easily become addictive to those who accustom themselves to the strong and sometimes fiery flavors.
The reputation for spiciness is perhaps overstated, however. Dishes like dakdoritang (a kind of chicken soup with vegetables) and kimchi jjigae (kimchi stew) are indeed on the hot side, but traditionally, Korean cooks use only one particular spice for heat: red pepper. More important to the Korean culinary experience is the practice of fermentation. No Korean kitchen will be without gochujang, doenjang, and ganjang—three fermented condiments that are to be found in a vast range of meat, seafood, and vegetable dishes. Similarly, Korea’s most famous representative food—kimchi—is a fermented vegetable. This method of preserving food has been part of Korean cuisine for millennia, and foods based on fermentation are as ubiquitous as rice, the staple food of Korea that comes with most meals.
Foundations
The principle of balance is also fundamental, and, accordingly, the Korean meal is never about one single dish or one single flavor. The proper culinary experience derives from multiple dishes that offer harmony in respect to each other. Thus, a meal will include various separate platters and bowls containing vegetables, meats, and soups, for instance, each offering variety and contrast in temperature, spiciness, saltiness, and so on. At a particularly lavish meal, the number of banchan—side dishes—may go into double figures.
According to Han Young-yong, a restaurateur, food columnist, and author from Jeolla (the province considered to be the home of the best cooks), there should also be “four seasons at the dinner table.” Korea’s climate is variable: cold and crisp in the winter, hot and humid in the summer, and warm and clear in between. The average temperature in Seoul during January reaches well below zero degrees centigrade. The types of vegetables that can be grown naturally vary by season, so then how is a balance to be achieved? The answer is, through fermentation. Vegetables like spinach, eggplant, and bean sprouts have long been enjoyed in this way. Mr. Han points out that fermented food is even suggested in Korea’s creation myth. Ungnyeo, a bear who became a woman after remaining in a cave for a hundred days, subsisted for the entire period on cloves of garlic and mugwort given to her by Hwanung, who later became the father of her child, Dangun—the legendary founder of Korea. In order to last for such a long period of time, the garlic must have been fermented, implying that the concept of preservation by fermenting would have existed at the time of the story’s creation, and probably predated it. Perhaps the taste for seasonal balance stems from this tradition born of necessity.
Kimchi
The most famous of such fermented foods in Korean cuisine is undoubtedly kimchi. This pickled vegetable dish is probably the most recognizably Korean thing in existence. Indeed, kimchi has become a byword for Korea in itself, to the point where cliché-loving outsiders refer to the country as Kimchi-land. And many Koreans themselves will tell you that a meal not accompanied by kimchi simply feels wrong. If one were to stop ten people on the streets of Seoul and ask, “What can Korean people not live without?” probably at least seven would instantly respond, “Kimchi.” When going on business trips, executives commonly take boxes of kimchi and noodles with them, in order to avoid the relatively disappointing fare on offer at the restaurant in their five-star hotel.
The most common kimchi is spicy cabbage, which is instantly recognizable through its pungent aroma and red coloring, imparted by red pepper. Yet this is only one of the roughly two hundred varieties of pickled vegetables that are labeled kimchi. Nabak kimchi, for instance, a mixture of radish and cabbage allowed to ferment in red pepper, garlic, and onions, comes in water and is thus very refreshing. Another type is oi sobaeki kimchi, cucumbers stuffed with seasonings, and left to ferment for one or two days. As with many fermented foods, with kimchi it is a case of “try it once and hate it, try it ten times and love it forever.” At first, Korean parents may have to force their children to eat kimchi, but once the taste for it develops, a lifelong passion is born. Thus, even in pizza restaurants, it seems natural to Koreans to offer pickled Western vegetables as an accompanying side dish.
When non-Koreans express distaste for kimchi, often it is because of the spiciness of some of the most popular varieties. Classic cabbage kimchi is smothered in gochujang, a red-pepper based condiment, before it is left to age in large stone pots. Many varieties of kimchi are similarly peppered. However, other kinds are much lighter in flavor. Yeolmu mul kimchi (water radish kimchi), for instance, is very mild, and considered most suitable for the hot summer months.
Jang
Of the three fermented condiments on which Korean cuisine relies, gochujang—a mixture of red pepper, fermented soybean paste, and salt—is the one most responsible for giving Korean food its spicy reputation. However, seen through the lens of this country’s long history, it is a relatively recent invention. Its base, red pepper, was brought over by Japanese invaders in the period known as the Imjin Waeran, the attempted conquest that took place between 1592 and 1598. According to Mr. Han, it was the peasant class that popularized its use: the brutally cold Korean winters could be very hard on the poor, who found the heating effect provided by this foreign import so attractive that, soon after its introduction, red pepper was being cultivated by everyone and used in every meal. Tobacco was also introduced to Korea during the Japanese invasion. By the time Westerners began settling in Korea in the late nineteenth century, Korean food was spicy and majority of the population smoked pipes.
The fermented soybean paste used in making gochujang is important in itself. Known as doenjang, this condiment is the base for a number of popular dishes, such as a brothy soup called doenjang jjigae. Doenjang jjigae, which is somewhat similar to Japanese miso (Korean chefs claim that the latter was originally inspired by the former) can be eaten with rice as a meal in itself or found as an accompaniment to more complex meals, such as the so-called Korean barbecue so beloved by patrons of Koreatown restaurants in the United States. For many, including this author, Korean-style barbecued pork or beef simply does not taste the same without a bowl of doenjang jjigae—and of course, a side dish of kimchi.
Last is ganjang, essentially a kind of soy sauce and also made from fermented soybeans, which is used as a base for dishes like jjimdak, a braised chicken stew with noodles and vegetables. Ganjang is a product of the same process that produces doenjang. Soybeans are boiled and ground and then compressed into blocks known as meju. Meju are allowed to dry for a week and then fermented in brine in a pot. This produces a liquid and a solid residue; the former is ganjang, and the latter doenjang.
Besides these three major condiments and red pepper, a variety of other condiments, herbs, and seasonings are found in Korean kitchens. Sesame oil can be used as an ingredient in cooking but also as a dip for barbecued meats. Garlic is very common in the preparation of various types of kimchi as well as more complex dishes like stews. Ginseng is occasionally used in foods considered beneficial to health, such as samgyetang, a chicken soup. Ginger is also sometimes used in marinades and in the making of refreshing after-meal drinks, such as sujeonggwa, which also features cinnamon. Sugar is found in some gochujang-based dishes (such as dakdoritang), tempering the spicy flavor, and salt is used in the cooking process to bring out the flavor in most recipes but not placed in a shaker on the table.
Meats
Among non-Koreans, barbecued meats such as galbi (pork or beef ribs) and samgyeopsal, are the most popular Korean dishes. A charcoal grill at the center of the table is used to cook the meat, which can then be wrapped in lettuce leaves along with ssamjang, a sauce based on a mixture of gochujang and doenjang. An optional bowl of rice—the staple that goes with just about anything—can provide for a more filling experience if desired.
One of the best parts of this kind of meal is the collective experience that it provides. Except perhaps for the rice and sauces, everything is placed in the middle of the table. The meat, the doenjang jjigae, and lettuce leaves, for instance, are all communal, as are the assorted bowls and plates of kimchi. Many non-Koreans find the fact that everyone can dip their spoon into the same bowl of soup distasteful. However, those who can overcome this feeling may be rewarded with a sense of greater closeness, from participation in Korea’s culture of sharing.
Surprisingly, Korean barbecue dishes such as bulgogi bear strong foreign influence. During the Shilla and Koryo dynasties (668 onwards), Buddhism held sway, and the prevalence of Buddhist ethics resulted in a reduction in the consumption of meat. It was not until the Mongol invasions (1231–1270) that grilled meats came back into fashion, due to the marauding northerners’ more red-blooded culinary tastes. Mandu, a kind of meat or vegetable-stuffed dumpling, is also a Mongolian import. Throughout Central Asia and beyond, cousins of this dish with similar names—manti, for instance, which can be found as far west as Turkey and Armenia—testify to the astonishingly widespread influence of the khans.
Mandu, barbecued meat, and red pepper are far from alone as examples of political developments changing Korean food culture. The practices of individual rulers sometimes also had a powerful effect. King Yeongjo, the son of King Sukjeong and his concubine—a former water maid—had extremely spartan tastes. To honor his mother’s humble background, he would eat only three banchan (side dishes) with his meal, and rarely consumed meat. His asceticism set off a period of austerity in the national diet, for if the king himself could limit himself to three banchan, there was no reason for anyone else to consume more. Thankfully, King Yeongjo’s influence over Korean cuisine has since diminished.
Seafood
Surrounded by water, Korea is a paradise for seafood enthusiasts. Though the squeamish will probably not want to try san-nakji (live octopus), there is a wide variety of fish dishes, such as hwai (which is comparable with sashimi), clams and shrimp from the extensive mudflats found especially on the west coast, eel, and grilled mackerel, which can be enjoyed by anyone. Grilled mackerel is a particular favorite among patrons of pojang macha (street tent bars) in the Yeouido financial district, who like to wash it down with soju after a long day’s work. A visit to a fish market in seaside cities such as Busan or Sokcho ensures the freshest and finest seafood. There, one may choose a live fish from a vendor’s stall and watch as an ajumma (middle-aged woman) grabs it and expertly lines it up on the chopping block, severs its bewildered head, guts and slices its body, wraps it up and then puts it in a bag—a feat completed even before the unfortunate creature’s gills have stopped ventilating.
Lee Jin-ho is a young, European-style chef who, despite being just in his twenties, has his own segment on a breakfast TV show as well as magazine columns on cuisine. Lee speaks fondly of the surprising diversity of seafood available in Korea. On a visit to a coastal town named Uljin, he recounts, he bought a fish that was identified only as japeo—which simply means “caught fish”—because no one knew what it was. Yet, “it was so great,” he enthuses. “It tasted as good as monkfish.”
Most visitors would probably fail to muster the same enthusiasm for hongeo, a fermented fish from Jeolla Province that tastes strongly of ammonia. Just one piece is enough to completely overwhelm one’s nostrils, mouth, sinuses, and tear ducts. Of all the different kinds of food on offer in this country, hongeo has to be the most extreme: “if you enjoy it,” you may well be told, “we should just give you a Korean passport.”
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Chicken dishes are plentiful, too. One personal favorite of the author is dakgalbi, a spicy chicken dish served in a hot pan with vegetables such as onions, cabbage, and sweet potatoes and a sauce based on gochujang. This is just one of several chicken casserole–type recipes. The one considered most hearty is samgyetang, in which a whole chicken is stuffed with rice and cooked with ginseng in a broth. Served piping hot, samgyetang is considered best on boknal days (the height of summer). Koreans tend to like sweating their heat out, hence their fondness for this tradition as well as their love of hot springs and saunas. One can observe Koreans eating piping-hot samgyetang in the sweltering heat and exclaiming, “Ah, shiwon-hae!” (“Refreshing!”), much to the puzzlement of foreigners who have not been in Korea very long.
There are also fusion dishes, such as budae jjigae. Budae means “armed forces,” and the dish comes from the sad days when the only people with enough good food to eat seemed to be the American soldiers stationed around the country. It is a gochujang-based stew but can contain such incongruous GI leftovers as spam and macaroni, and, though South Koreans are now thankfully light years beyond needing to eat such an odd mixture, they have acquired a taste for it. In fact, Spam—an object of ridicule in the West due to its cheapness and association with Monty Python sketches—is so well regarded in South Korea that people give special gift-wrapped boxes of it to friends on national holidays.
Some of the best Korean dining experiences can be found at the cheapest end of the market. An entire nationwide street-food culture is based on little vans and kiosks that sell snacks like ddeokbokki, a simple dish of rice cake and odeng (a kind of fish cake) served in a gochujang-based sauce. Ddeokbokki, along with dak-kkochi (grilled chicken sticks) and sweeter treats like hotteok—a kind of pancake filled with sugary syrup—draws long lines of evening commuters looking for a quick bite to eat on their way home. Another common Korean snack is kimbap, which consists of rice and vegetables rolled up in seaweed. As a quick, filling bite for those in a hurry, this hand-rolled meal might be compared to the sandwich.
Bibimbap and the Problem of Recognition
According to Mr. Han, the food that sums up the Korean culinary experience most of all is bibimbap, a dish concocted of various vegetables of different colors, rice, meat (in some varieties), and gochujang for flavoring. The ingredients are laid out in neat piles within a single bowl, and the diner mixes them together himself with his spoon (the word bibim means “mixing”). It makes a good representative dish for Korean cuisine as it features a balance of spice, vegetables, and rice, and as such, it is the food most commonly chosen as in-flight food by airlines flying in and out of Korea.
Bibimbap tastes great, but within that bowl of mixed vegetables and rice may lie the reason for Korean cuisine’s relative lack of worldwide fame in comparison to other Asian cuisines, such as Japanese, or Thai. Once the ingredients are mixed together in the bowl, bibimbap looks ordinary and unimpressive in its presentation. As Lee Jin-ho observes by way of example, compared to Japanese food, Korean food is not presented elegantly. “We don’t know how to make food into a product,” he argues. The result is that Korean food remains a niche in world cuisine, despite numerous government initiatives and even bibimbap advertisements being placed on a number of occasions in papers like the New York Times.
Lee Jin-ho continues: “‘Food as art for the eye’ is not a concept in Korea.” While holding that Korean doenjang jjigae is the inspiration for Japanese miso soup, he feels frustrated that superior Japanese presentation skills have resulted in the latter becoming world famous, while the former remains unknown to the vast majority of non-Koreans. “Korea doesn’t have a culture of serving yet. People just say, ‘Hello, what would you like?’ We don’t appreciate that 50 percent of getting a Michelin star is about service and presentation. Even in the Zagat guide to Seoul (his emphasis), none of their top ten restaurants are for Korean food,“ he laments.
Lately, a few Korean chefs have begun addressing this problem. Edward Kwon (Kwon Young-min) is probably the most famous of these. He has enjoyed a career working in hotel restaurants in Seoul, Dubai, and San Francisco. He also presents a TV cooking show called Yes, Chef! based on the Hell’s Kitchen series starring Gordon Ramsay and has achieved a high profile in the United States, having cooked for former president George W. Bush. Kwon has made it his mission to further “the globalization of Korean food,” describing his food as using Korean ingredients for “a flavor profile created with global techniques.” His restaurants elevate the notion of service and presentation and will probably do more to promote Korean food worldwide than any number of government initiatives.
The Obligatory Section about Dog Meat
Yes, dog is part of traditional Korean cuisine. The fact is, though, that Korea is far from alone, with other Asian countries including China, Vietnam, and the Philippines being notable consumers of this controversial meat. All of these nations have a long history of cooking with dog meat and regard breeds raised for their flesh as entirely different to those raised as pets.
Typically, in Korea, dog is seen as something that old men eat once in a while. Rarely will you find a young man, or a woman of any age, who consumes it. People will tell you they had it a few times when they were children, with their parents telling them what this soft meat (which tastes a little like greasy beef) really was only after they finished their bowl.
The manner in which dogs are killed, however, can be very cruel. The old-school method, still used in the countryside, is to beat them to death, in order to flood the meat with adrenaline, which is believed to make it taste better. For this reason—as well as basic affection for man’s best friend—many people will not touch the meat. It is unfortunate that one of Korea’s least popular dishes sometimes seems to command the most attention, based entirely on the controversy it generates. Those who are wary of Korean cuisine due to the dog meat image should go to their nearest Korean restaurant and try some barbecued meat with doenjang jjigae, or a hearty bowl of bibimbap.