I had the privilege Friday evening to spend a short but glorious evening at the pub located in the basement of the British Embassy in Seoul. It’s closed to the public, but if you know someone you can get your name on the list. It’s only open on Fridays unless there’s a British holiday on a Friday, where it’s moved to Thursday. Embassy staff man the bar. I hear that the diplomats themselves sometimes pour the pints back there.
Inside is a who’s who of the Seoul community. I got to see some folks that I only see at big functions. I also got to meet a couple of people who are legends in my mind, particularly Tom Coyner, author of Mastering Business in Korea.
I subscribe to Tom’s email list, the Korea Economic Reader. He’s almost always dead on with his analyses of North Korea and Korean politics.
Back to the pub.
It was certainly my kind of atmosphere. Dark, not too loud but great conversation. Great selection of beers, ales and spirits. The pub grub changes each week. That night it was meat pies and sausages from Gavin’s. The crusts were firm but perfectly matched my Guinness. Filled up on those before heading home.
I’m not a very good restaurant reviewer. I think it’s because I worked in kitchens through college, and I study classic techniques and keep up with all the new-fangled stuff. Gimmicky restaurants don’t dazzle me. I see through the tricks and know the shortcuts. I’m of the mind that it doesn’t matter how pretentious and high class you make your restaurant–if the food doesn’t deliver in taste and satisfaction, it’s crap. It’s even worse crap if people have to pay extraordinary prices for it. I’d much prefer to get some rib-sticking Kongbiji Jjigae at a cramped blue collar diner.
I get asked to check out many restaurants these days. And I have to come up with ways to not totally trash them, even if they’re horrendous, so I tend to put code words in reviews. Note that if the atmosphere and dining ware take up most of the review, it’s best to stay away. But I do find many great restaurants on these hunts. It just hurts and gets me a little angry when we get the bad ones and the grossly incompetent ones, especially when there are so many great restaurants that are struggling, dying off or not even getting off the ground.
Because of my day job schedule and the fact that I live in an outlying suburb of Seoul, I’m not that plugged in to the Seoul dining scene, though I’m trying to remedy that. Eun Jeong and I are frequently doing research. But it always seems things fall through, and I end up cramming a bunch of reviews on the weekend before deadline. I hate this because nothing ever goes smoothly.
A couple of years ago, I decided to do a theme article on restaurants on the green subway line. We researched and headed out on the coldest day in January, hunting for these places that were unique and raved about. Most all of them had closed down. One god awful place was an American-style fusion sushi cafe that served one dish of raw fish in melting ice water and reusable plastic flowers as its garnish–not the most sanitary thing to place atop of raw food. What makes it even more frustrating is that a lot of publications are cheap and won’t reimburse for restaurant reviews, will reimburse for maybe one entree or just won’t take any negative reviews. So we have had to foot the bill for bad restaurants that were unreviewable.
Luckily, my current gig reimburses–as long as there’s an article attached. And they help find restaurants in Seoul. So the plan has been to find four romantic spots for the February issue. I had done two of them, and they were good. There was an Italian restaurant in Bundang that had been suggested to me for a long time, but I found that it had just closed down. While walking down the street after eating at one restaurant, I spotted a sign for a creperie. I thought, “Oh, that could be romantic. Have a nice dinner and a delicate crepe afterwards.”
I had to check out this one new Korean restaurant. The creperie was in the neighborhood, so it made sense to try it afterward. Good ole Paul “Ajosshi” Matthews joined me for lunch at the Korean restaurant, which was one of the few Korean joints in the Itaewon tourist zone. Despite being in the tourist zone, this place didn’t have English menus. Paul and I can read Korean, and Paul is very fluent, so that wasn’t a problem for us. It was questionable why a restaurant in the tourist zone would only cater to Koreans. It was really nice in atmosphere. But at its heart, it was really just a grill house. The prices were pumped higher than your average place, and the portions were much smaller. What made us really scratch our heads was the pitiful banchan that was put out–kimchi, shredded leeks, marinated garlic and marinated sesame leaves. That was it. No other side dishes. No lettuce for wrapping. Not even ssamjang paste. Just a little salt and sesame oil, upon request. I don’t think they understand that one of the selling points for Korean food is the massive number of free side dishes.
The meat and the few side dishes were fine, but my mind kept wandering to the concrete floored place in Mapo-dong I like with much more meat and sides at a cheaper price–which actually tasted better.
It then dawned on me.
Since certain streets in Itaewon are getting the reputation for being upscale restaurant areas, this must be a place that is trying to make fine dining Korean food–and is totally missing the point. It’s the Gaon all over again. It’s made to impress other Koreans, despite being in the heart of the tourist zone. I’ve seen this many times. They see that fine dining in the western TV and movies has nice plates, bottles of wine and snooty waiters–so they copy those aspects while sacrificing the enjoyment of the diner. Some people are impressed by this crap. If they are, they deserve to waste their money.
Photo by Paul Matthews
Having spent twice the money on half the food, Paul and I left, still hungry. We were looking forward to some crepes. We walked over to the place that said “Creperie” on its sign and sat down. Paul thumbed through the menu.
“Joe, I’ve looked through this once. I’m going to look through it again, but it looks like they have no crepes here.”
It dawned on me. Oh, no. It’s Korea! Just because it says “creperie” on the front, you can’t assume they sell what they advertise.
Paul talked to the server, and the server got the owner. The owner did that nervous laugh that Koreans do in awkward situations that infuriates westerners–to our ears it sounds condescending even though that’s not the intention. She explained that her little tortilla pizza cafe (yes, coffee and pizza–the classic combination) was part of a franchise, and a couple of the restaurants did serve crepes, but not hers. She then went on about how she was confounded that foreigners would come into the shop expecting crepes.
Paul explained maybe it was because she was in Itaewon, where people can read “creperie” and expect crepes. It’s like walking into a place called Burger Shop and the owner is surprised that you want a burger.
She gave that laugh again. She spoke so fast that I couldn’t parse the Korean that well, but I heard the word “English” regarding the sign. I think she was assuming that since there were Roman letters on her own sign that it was in English–not French. She apologized and left. Paul and I looked at each other. I couldn’t review a creperie that had no crepes. So we moved on.
That’s the maddening thing about some Korean businesses. They’re not even aware of what’s on their signs. They don’t even know or care what their own businesses are about. It makes you wonder how they’re getting the money to open up. The sad thing is that places like this that totally miss the point end up surviving while good places die. Note the line that is always wrapped outside the door of Smokey Saloon.
Paul lives in the area, so he came to the rescue and tried to find an emergency replacement for my last review, since the Italian restaurant and creperie were no-goes. We walked around Hannam-dong, but most every place was closed since it was the weekend after New Year’s. Luckily, we did find a German-themed bakery and cafe, Passion5, that more than made up for the duds. It was impressive, even to my negative jaded self. The place had high prices, but each dish was a treat. I have no trouble paying a little extra if the dish is good enough to become a lasting memory.
The star was the Chocolate Chou–a 10,000 won hot chocolate. But it wasn’t a cup of hot chocolate, it was a three-stage dessert. I ordered the dark version, and they came out with the gorgeous rich thick liquid. The server gave us instructions on how to drink it (yes, I know–just follow me). When we were half finished we put these chocolate-covered strawberry confections in our cups and stirred them until they melted, creating a whole new level of richness. Then with the powdery grounds at the bottom, we were given vials of kirsch and rum with big eyedroppers. We washed our cups down with our choice of alcohol. I’d say that justified their price–at least Paul and I made sure we got our money’s worth.
I had to head down to Bundang by the time we finished, so I said goodbye to Paul and jumped into a taxi with Dan Gray of Seoul Eats to take a bus down there. We met Joshua Hall of Wine Korea. He was on the same mission I was–finding a good wine spot for his magazine deadline. Josh knows a lot about wine–or he’s the ballsiest bullshit artist I’ve ever met. He was trying to see if there was a wine scene in Bundang. We met at a little cafe restaurant that someone suggested to him. I was still in my post-creperie negative mood. I’ve come to not trust cafe restaurants.
This place was known for its burgers and paninis. We didn’t see much on the menus we were given, so we asked the owner about the burgers and paninis. He trotted out some other menus, which had good selections–overpriced but intriguing. Unlike Smokey Saloon, this place at least included fries in its price–and good ones at that. I wanted a little drink to start the night but noticed not much alcohol on the menu. They did have a sangria and a mojito. I had said that they were likely virgin juice drinks. Josh asked about the sangria, and the owner verified that there was wine in it.
Oh, there’s alcohol? I’ll get the mojito then.
Nope. It was a 10,000 won glass of juice.
The three-cheese burger was pretty good, though. It had a good kick of gorgonzola. The avocado-fish panini creeped everyone out. I didn’t get to try it, though. The place was okay, but not worth returning unless they lowered their prices a bit. Let them gouge the naive.
When we walked out, we walked right by a franchise of the infernal creperie place. This one was done up as a French bistro. The food looked good. Dan and Josh went in to check to make sure, though–confirmed–no crepes. I think the restaurant was following me around, taunting me.
We took a bus to this central area, hunting for these wine bars Josh found in his research. It was the “eating on the green line” article all over again. Just because it’s on the internet doesn’t mean it actually exists in real life. We trudged around in the cold. I amused myself with finding awkward English on signs.
"you can have our fill of genuine chinese food at this restaurant"
Funny how the omission of one letter can change the meaning of a hole sentence.
We were having little luck in finding a wine bar–especially one that was open on a Saturday night (it makes sense somewhere). We stumbled upon a wine shop, and Josh was in paradise. He spent over thirty minutes going crazy over the wines there.
“You don’t understand. I haven’t been wine shopping for three weeks. My fridge is empty.”
And people think my obsession is strange.
While waiting for Mr. Wine to stock up, the rest of us came to the conclusion that the fractions of burger and panini did not a dinner make. Rather than going to a wine bar, we considered just going to a Korean grill joint. There was one across from the wine shop (Chaljin Gogi 찰진고기 031-711-5040). The wine shop ladies said that they allowed us to open the bottles there.
Sweetness!
We went to the restaurant, and the owner said the wine was cool. It was one of those butcher-restaurants that I like so much. You’re able to get quality meat there, and they feed you well. The wine shop tossed in some really nice crystal glasses for free, so we broke those out. The restaurant lent us a corkscrew.
We went through one bottle pretty quickly.
After some great pork we decided to go for a little Hanu beef. Josh had just the wine, but he said it was a little too cold. He needed to warm it up somehow. So what do you do when you need to warm up a bottle in a flash?
I think the wine term for this is “nutting the wine.”
After the wine was properly nutted, we enjoyed some beef. Then a few rounds of beers. And we were the last ones to leave, long after the serving staff had clocked out. This was a great place and a great time.
Josh and I both had frustrations in our research. But both of our missions turned out successfully.
Just watch out for any restaurant that advertises itself as a creperie.
To commemorate Chuseok, here’s a little something I wrote a couple of years ago for Seoul Magazine:
What makes family holidays special? Besides celebrating a certain event, they are markers for people to reflect on the past, relishing in dusty memories, and delighting in the innocent enthusiasm of children. When families reunite, it reminds them of how much time has passed, which intensifies the desire to pass traditions to the next generation in a cycle where parents and grandparents want their children to share the same memories they had when they were younger.
The foods people eat during these times are the most traditional because they ignite the two most abstract and most personal of senses, taste and smell. These are intensely influential in our memories. It is one thing to watch old home movies of Christmas past with Bing Crosby playing in the background. Yet the smell of freshly cut pine instantly transports one to cozy times in front of a Christmas tree. The film Ratatouille illustrates this example when the dish of the same name converts the jaded antagonistic food critic by transporting him back to his childhood.
This holds true for Chuseok. It is the biggest family holiday in the Korean year. Koreans jam traffic and even fly half-way around the world to be with their families during this time. Even though there are general dishes that are staples for Chuseok, each family has its unique recipes, and each person has that one particular food she is fond of.
Eating Local
“Jeon 전,” declares Dohee Kim, talking about her love for the Korean style of pan frying ingredients with flour and egg coatings, which are considered party food. Her father’s hometown is in the mountains, “So the people in that area live on vegetables.”
She points out that different regions make different jeons. Her husband’s family is from the coast. Their traditional jeons contain seafood.
Nolstalgia Soup
Eun Jeong Lee, at first, declared that there were no unique foods her family made for Chuseok.
“In Korea, Chuseok foods are standardized. You are supposed to prepare certain foods in a certain way and arrange them exactly so for your ancestors.”
When pressed harder, she relented. She said that when she was a child, her family got up at five in the morning to head to her oldest paternal uncle’s house. Her mother prepared a breakfast of sogogi guk 소고기 국(spicy beef soup). She hated getting up early and eating the soup.
Yet at a recent trip to a local theme park, she ordered a bowl of sogogi guk, and the flavor brought her back to her childhood. She became more nostalgic. Even though she did not like getting up early for Chuseok, she still had fond memories of family and simpler times. All from a bowl of beef soup.
Songpyeon Takes a Bow
The stars of the show during this time are songpyeon 송편. Generally they are chewy rice dough filled with sweet fillings. The little packages are then steamed with pine needles.
It is a favorite of Hyewon Chun and CheongAh Kim, known as the “Kimchi Girls,” a popular podcast based in Korea.
“Aunts and the children all sit around in the kitchen or living room with all the ingredients to make songpyeon,” declares Ms. Kim, ”And all enjoy making it. They say that the prettier you make the songpyeon, the better looking wife or husband you will have. Just a fun superstition. So we all try to make it as pretty as possible into nice balanced half-moon shapes.”
This is one of those holiday treats that are personal in the sense that people who grew up eating it love it. Outsiders who didn’t experience this traditional snack as children sometimes love and sometimes avoid it. It’s like growing up and craving those controversial holiday foods such as fruitcake, mincemeat pies and lutefisk. In order to truly understand and enjoy them, you need to have had them as a child.
Mediocre songpyeon can turn someone off of it for life. Yet when songpyeon is good, it’s addictive.
The best treat for a non-Korean during Chuseok is an invitation for a meal at a Korean family’s home late in the holiday, after all the ceremonies have finished. There is a good chance to try old and special recipes handed down for generations. Maybe it’s a good time to break out the special reserve of kimchi that has been aging a year or more. It is very strong. Yet like a well aged wine or cheese, it has a complex flavor and actually tingles on the tongue.
If you are indeed an outsider looking in on Chuseok try to experience what you can of it. You may not “get it” at first. Yet the memories tend to adhere and grow with each passing year.
I wanted to make a gumbo this weekend. It took all day today. I burned one roux and had to start all over again. It turned out pretty good in the end. I cleaned up the house to get ready for Eun Jeong to return from her mother’s. Our “trash can” for food is a plastic bowl that could be doubled for tupperware (though we don’t do that).
I got into the elevator to dispose of the food garbage. On the ninth floor, an old lady joined me on the elevator. These moments are a little embarrassing because I have my garbage out for all to see… and smell.
She looked at me and looked back at the door. Then she turned around and said, “That smells tasty.”
That’s pretty cool when the neighbors say that even your garbage smells good.
Actually, I’ve just returned from spending the night on my friend Yeong-chol’s farm on the Imjin River, which is on the edge of DMZ territory–as in down the road there were signs warning of land mines.
The area out there is pastoral and gorgeous. I think the added threat of danger heightened the senses enough to make the colors more saturated.
Since I’m on vacation, I got lazy with the pictures. Do I have to take pictures of everything I eat?
Well, I did eat this. More on that later.
Yeong-chol called me Sunday and asked if I’d like to head out there Monday. I had been wanting to get out into the country this summer, so I accepted. We went down there with his family. Even though it was just for a night, we did a lot of stuff. Here are some highlights.
One of the best Subway sandwich shops in Korea. It’s located in Dongducheon, near Camp Casey.
Helping harvest some deer antlers. The farmers tranquilized a deer and sawed off its horns. It’s a humane procedure, considering that the deer would get into fights and lose its horns anyway. It was my job to carry the horns themselves. They were surprisingly warm. The base end was like bone, but the tips were surprisingly soft. Since the bones are covered in fuzz, the harvesting produces some blood. My other job, then was to help quickly bottle a solution of stomach medicine and ten percent deer blood, freshly mixed, before it coagulated. I was coaxed into downing a paper cup full of it. Tasted like minty Maalox. Funny, my stomach was very relaxed the rest of the evening.]
Got to see the mountain that Yeong-chol owns. He’s fighting the government to keep it. It’s getting designated as a historical site for what sounds like conveniently political reasons–it’s where the Koreans defeated the Chinese in a major battle that led to Korea’s expansion. There’s a political spat between Chinese and Korean historians over Korea’s historic borders, so this sounds politically timed.
Sharing a pitcher of beer, a bottle of wine, and two shots of North Korean liquor while enjoying the peaceful quiet night on the deck.
Note to brother: the farm’s accountant is cute, young and single
Country breakfast of stout all-Korean bean tofu fried in oil (tasted like pancakes) with a rich doenjang jjigae, some deer meat and fresh water kimchi.
Making potato chips in the farm’s restaurant kitchen.
Enjoying the foot massage machine/robot
Being the only men in an all-ajumma cooking class–talk about being the center of attention!
Sleeping with the window open out in the country with only the sound of the river in the background.
The sushi restaurant near Yeong-chol’s house in Seoul. Amazing omakase.
Hairtail roe wrapped in shiso leaf–a new exotic flavor with a new exotic texture
Two sea urchins (Yeong-chol gave me his just to watch me make those gutteral noises again)
A fermented fish dish similar in style to Edo zushi and the original forebear of sushi itself. Extremely intense flavor that caused cramps in my salivary glands and made me cry. Not pretty but good stuff.
We had actually planned to go to a DMZ lookout point and check out some horses, but obviously we ran out of time. So, how was your weekend?
Chef Hu-nam Kim of Star Chef fame invited a small group of us to an annual cookout he and his friend Yeong-chol were having at Yeong-chol’s family farm north of Seoul. We have yet to lose our minds enough to purchase a car and risk driving in Seoul, so we met Chef Kim at his restaurant early Sunday morning. He was packing for the picnic, which included a whole rib loin primal cut, packs of German-style sausages made by a local university, and loads of scotch and other booze. I used that as the opportunity to deliver his copy of the Bizarre Foods DVD from Tremendous Entertainment.
Eun Jeong and I helped load his car, and we were off and coasting north. We were going to a small village called Yeoncheon 연천. I noticed as we went that we passed a U.S. Army garrison and increasing numbers of tank obstacles. Yeoncheon, I discovered, was snuggled right next to the DMZ. The farm itself was two kilometers away from North Korea, right on the historic Imjin River.
We met Yeong-chol and his family and friends, who had made a great spread of fresh vegetables and fruit.
There was also a nice little dog there name Jjoo Jjoo 쭈쭈.
I took over the job of opening the packs of sausages, which were high quality, and scoring them for the grill. Chef Kim proceeded to slice the primal into steaks.
Poor Jjoo Jjoo.
Then they started the charcoal. They used a chimney starter for their natural wood charcoal. They thankfully didn’t use any lighter fluid. But that didn’t make it any less manly. Especially when they had a high-powered butane torch.
Wasn’t any more efficient than using newspaper, but looked like a lot more fun.
The steaks got to grillin’, and we got to chillin’.
A good bit of booze started flowing. A nice meaty wine from Chile. Microbrews stored in unlabeled plastic bottles straight from the kegs. A little side note, up until 2006, bottling microbrews and brewing at home was illegal in Korea. Since it’s been lifted, the microbrews have been getting a passionate following from connoisseurs and is spreading. According to Rob of Homebrew Korea, the Korean homebrew clubs are rapidly growing. This can only mean good things for Korean beer. My new Korean friend in the blue shirt, whose English name is Chris, agreed with me that Japan has been making great strides in its microbrew market, and Koreans want to catch up and surpass them.
Good news, indeed.
The microbrews were strong. Eun Jeong, Eun-hak and I strolled into Star Chef the night before, and Chef Kim gave us a couple of bottles for our table. The three of us got pretty buzzed off of just sharing one bottle. And the flavors were complex. Homebrew Rob, you gotta try this shit.
Beer from the night before. Can you believe it's Korean?
We enjoyed the most succulent steaks, hearty sausages and fresh grilled vegetables, along with smooth libations and bright salsa. We even had some sweet and peppery dandelion kimchi.
The good times were flowing. Then Chris, who is vice president Korea’s Scotch Malt Whisky Society, broke out the amber gold.
We started with glasses of Glenmorangie. I did mine on the rocks to start out with. Like I’ve said before, candy for grown ups. I started to understand what was special about single malt, and I told that to Chris. He gave a sly grin, reached into his bag and pulled this out.
I don’t know what “cask strength” means, but I do know what 58% alcohol means.
“Oh boy…”
Chris said it was “peaty.” I took a sniff. To me, it smelled like hardwood smoke. Strongly. I took a sip. I couldn’t feel the alcohol at all. It was an explosion of smoky barbecue and a little ocean salty mist. That’s the best I can describe it. One of the guys joked, “One shot!”
Chris looked horrified.
“No, no! Slowly.”
This wasn’t something to drink. It was something to taste. I spent much of the glass just letting the liquid coat my lips and tongue, not even taking real sips. I wanted to make it last as long as I could.
The men headed up the ridge, by the Imjin River, to enjoy our scotch.
So, I think the DMZ is just over that hill, if I got right what they were saying.
By then, I think a few of us were getting thoroughly toasted. Not intentional. The scotch really sneaked up on me. Back at the party, people were sucking on some chilk 칡, which is a type of mountain root that’s supposed to give you energy and other magical properties. It makes really good naengmyeon noodles.
By itself, it’s like chewing on house insulation, like sugar cane, while tasting the most bitter of Chinese medicine, unlike sugar cane. And Eun Jeong preferred this to the scotch?
Since we were drunk and had food around, Yeon-chol and I went into the kitchen, which is a professional kitchen attached to a small dining room for tourists, and cooked up some fresh asparagus he had found at a market. He sauteed his in butter. I boiled mine in salt water and dressed it in lemon. They were both good. Oh, oh, so nice.
I helped Eun Jeong with her golf swing, and then the part I dread about Korean get togethers started–the required bout of competition. The small green that Eun Jeong’s on here doubled as a small soccer field. So it turned into old guys versus young guys.
“Oh, I’m gonna get my ass kicked.”
Actually, I did score a goal and slightly injured one person while sliding towards the ball. Then I saw people giving Eun Jeong money.
“Now we’re making it interesting.”
It was a close game, but the old guys won. They used their winnings to pay the hosts of the party for their food. Great system going on there.
The clouds got heavier, and a small rain drizzled. Yeong-chol showed me his artwork and took me on a tour of the greenhouses. That’s a cool operation.
A note to any English-speaking foreigners in that general area: Yeong-chol is looking for someone to help out part-time for student groups that tour the farm. It’s an idyllic setting. Did I mention they have elk?
The party started winding down. We all had had a good time. We finished the day off with some Korean comfort food.
A little Mae-eun Tang with catfish. Some complained the catfish was muddy. For an Alabama boy like me, it was a disguised taste of home.
We hitched a ride with Chris and his wife back into Seoul. His wife didn’t drink, so she took the wheel. I fell asleep, preposterously satiated.
I went there once a couple of years ago. The burgers were okay, but they were too expensive, especially since even the fries were a la carte. I agree with Mr. Metro that the Wolfhound burger is much better. Man, I’ve been craving that for months now. I need to get my lazy butt to the ‘Twon.
Joshua from An American in Geoje and his friend Michael recently had a very ZenKimchi experience dear to my heart. They went to what seems like a makkoli bar and randomly tried the food there. Makkoli bars are shamelessly traditional–to the point that the guys were served Beondaeggi 번댁기 (Silkworm Larvae) in lieu of peanuts when they sat down.
And get this… they weren’t too squeamish about them. Michael seemed to enjoy them. They then ordered something random off the menu. They can read Korean but are still learning what the words mean. So they had already started eating their order before Joshua bothered checking his dictionary to find out what it was.
Here’s a little interesting article from The Korea Times about a former chef for the Blue House, the South Korean Presidential residence. An excerpt:
When Cardinal Kim Soo-hwan was invited to the presidential house, he suggested the main kitchen use Korean wheat, recalled Lee. “But Korean wheat is low in gluten, which makes it very slippery. They even used to say that Chong Wa Dae kalguksu is served with a spoon.”
The dedicated cook said the entire kitchen was on a search for the nation’s top kalguksu experts to improve the noodle dish, which was former president Kim Young-sam’s all-time favorite.
“We got some in-house tutoring by veteran kalguksu makers and I was even hospitalized for straining a muscle from using the roller so much,” Lee said. “But all the hard work we put in is what made the simple dish become so famous.”
