I came home from work one day last week to see a package in styrofoam and cellophane (the usual way to pack things in the produce section) that said “Chile Pepper Leaves” in Korean. These were dried and looked like dried sage.
I didn’t know you could eat the leaves. Then again, why not?
The next day, Eun Jeong soaked the leaves in water. This took around two days, and she changed the water whenever it got dark and cloudy.
To cook, she first made a sauce of pounded garlic, soy sauce, sesame seeds, and sesame oil in a mortar with a pinch of sugar.
She drained the chile leaves and stir-fried them in oil over high heat, adding the sauce last, cooking it through. Garnish with finely chopped green Korean chiles.
The taste was surprising. Eun Jeong didn’t expect me to like them, but I was impressed. The garlic makes the dish, and the leaves themselves taste herby — like lavender and sage. They’re even better chilled the next day.
This dish is obviously considered a winter food. I can imagine a harsh winter when the food was running low and someone got the idea to cook the leaves from the dead chile plants in the garden.
So, I guess you can try this at home by taking the leaves off those chile plants in your garden and drying them like herbs.
This is a simple potato side dish that Eun Jeong whipped together one night and has been making frequently since then. It’s a good garlicky peppery addition to any meal. Jorim, or Jorida (the verb), means to cook a food in a way so that steam and pressure force flavor into it.
She cooked some roughly cut potatoes with sliced onions in oil.
She added a sauce of red pepper paste (gochujang), red pepper powder (gochugaru), a lot of garlic crushed in the mortar, some soy sauce, and a little sugar and corn syrup. She added a little water. She covered the pot and let the water and sauce do its magic.
Garnished with sesame seeds, it’s a great side dish to any meal, served hot or cold.
NOTE: This is the “Dead Body Soup” that Andrew Zimmern tried on Bizarre Foods. This name comes from an urban legend of Korean students in Germany making the soup and the German neighbors calling the police, fearing that there was a dead body in the apartment. To know more about the filming of the South Korea episode, the foods and the restaurants, click here.
One of my favorite aspects of Korean cuisine is the stinky soybean pastes and soups, including Doenjang Jjigae, Ssamjang, and CheongGukJang 청국장. I had been wanting to figure out how to make this at home for a long time. I recently purchased some Korean cookbooks and thought I’d take the task of making a stinky soup. Besides, I finally had made my dashi.
Earlier in the week at the store, I had found this package of extra stinky soybean paste in what looked like a yogurt container. The cashier laughed when she rang it up and showed it to her fellow cashier, saying what I’m sure was, “Look what this crazy foreigner is buying.”
This is a blurry picture of what the inside looks like.
Since I finally was going to make this soup, I made it special by cooking it directly in the bowl — another cool whacky Korean idea. I put some dashi in the bowl and set it on medium flame. I then added some chopped onions.
When it started to boil, I added some kimchi.
Then maybe three tablespoons of CheongGukJang paste.
After smoothly boiling it for a while, I finished it off with some mushrooms, chopped green onion, and tofu. You can add salt to taste, but the CheongGukJang paste and kimchi add a lot of salt to the soup already.
I carefully placed the boiling soup bowl on my commemorative “Dokdo is Ours” towel on a tray. This soup/stew is so strong, you need a bowl of rice to balance it. It’s funny because it has no meat in it (unless you count the anchovy essence in the dashi) yet it tastes like a meaty soup, like a chili or cheese soup. I am far from being a vegetarian, yet it feels wholesome to not need a greasy slab of flesh with every meal.
ADDENDUM: I told my girlfriend about my soup. She suggested to also add a dab of gochujang (red pepper paste), and throw in some thinly sliced hot peppers and garlic at the end.
The famous “dead body soup” from Korea (no dead bodies invoved–infact, it’s vegetarian)
Many times I have asked my girlfriend how to make a certain Korean food. Most of the time she replied, “First you need dashi.”
“Dashi?”
“It’s seaweed with water and…”
“A soup stock?”
“I guess.”
So that’s why she has kept large leaves of seaweed and dried anchovies in my freezer for the past year.
I consulted with her and the internet on how to make this stock. I knew it would be a weekend project. It turns out that dashi is a Japanese word for kelp stock. I don’t know if there’s a Korean word for it, but the Korean on the seaweed package said “dashi.”
I experimented by taking the advice from others and adding traditional Western touches to see what would turn out.
1. I toasted some dried anchovies and large kelp slowly in a pan. This large kelp I have seen at Asian markets back in the U.S., along with dried anchovies. I hear dried sardines also can work. 2. I then added water and some coarsely chopped onions and garlic. Now this is where it strays from Western stock-making techniques (real chefs, correct me on this). Don’t boil the stock. Boiling turns the kelp into slime. It has to heat slowly. So I waited. And waited.
I was dreading a nasty fishy smell to take over the apartment, so I vented. Instead the stock made the apartment smell like the beach. The wait wasn’t so bad because it was also its own potpourri.
3. The protein from the anchovies and kelp made foam on top, so I skimmed it off.
4. When the kelp started to float to the surface, it was time to take it out.
5. I then strained the stock.
6. And I really overdid it. I have way too much, I think. I froze some in containers and made ice cubes out of the rest.
Budae Jjigae 부대찌개. It’s a melodic name for what is, in essence, a concoction birthed in desperation and survival but evolved into a culinary celebration of resilience. It’s more than spam and hot dog stew. It’s a story. In English, it loosely translates to “Army Base Stew.”
From what I’ve gathered from different sources, it was created during and soon after the Korean War, where the locals used U.S. Army surplus meats (notably spam and hot dogs) in their traditional stews. It sounds disgusting, but in the twisted culinary alchemy of survival and necessity, it has to be the best recipe for spam in the world.
Another story is that it was created as a cheap familiar-tasting food for American and Korean soldiers off-base. This is likely why the Uijeongbu area near the U.S. Army base in Seoul is known for having the best Budae Jjigae. And it tastes very American. Very, very American, in the way that only an outsider’s perspective can capture America. It’s comfort food.
Think about it. It was one of the first East-West fusion dishes. It was created from America’s involvement in its first Asian land war. How can it not be included in Independence Day, Memorial Day, or Veteran’s Day festivities?
Imagine the Korean military base workers, weary from their work, gathering around this cauldron of flavors, mingling the familiar taste of hot dogs and spam with the exotic zest of gochujang and garlic. It’s as if they were crafting a new identity for themselves, a blend of East and West that would be a testament to a shared history.
Making it is pretty simple. It’s a dish born from limitations, so it doesn’t ask for much, but it gives back in abundance.
Start with a base of gochujang (Korean red chile paste) mixed with minced garlic and onion. Feel the intensity of the chili as you stir the paste, almost like you’re awakening the spirit of the dish.
Add water, but not too much. Turn the heat to high. The heat should be as intense as the memories this dish conjures.
Add chopped onion, garlic, and chiles, and bring the fiery hell broth to a boil. Include some sliced leeks if you have some. Let the flavors marry and fight, let them argue and then come to a peaceful understanding.
At this point, add the meats in bite sized pieces. The tradition is hot dogs and spam. Yet who says you can’t throw in some more premium items like kielbasa, bratwurst, and smoked Virginia ham? Any store bought meats. Really, a few sites and forums say that you need spam in it to make it taste authentic. But we’re not aiming for mere authenticity here; we’re aiming for soul.
Keep boiling. Now it’s time to add the vegetables. I think these are chrysanthemum greens in the picture, but throw in any hearty dark green veggies like kale, turnip greens, or collards. You can also do the traditional thing and toss in some baked beans and tofu. Watch them float and dance, a playful medley of East and West.
At the end of cooking, toss in some noodles. Ramen noodles (Korean: Ramyeon 라면) are popular, as are clear Korean japchae noodles and Korean rice cakes (ddeok 떡). If the water is low, add more. Throw in a dash of soju if the mood strikes you. The noodles absorb the essence of the dish, each strand soaking up years of history and struggle.
Serve the stew bubbling with plenty of rice to counter the intense heat and flavors. The bubbling is like the whispers of the past, telling tales of hardship and camaraderie.
Wash it down with a good beer and soju. Feel the heat and the chill play on your tongue, a game of contrasts that reflects the very soul of this dish.
Watch some fireworks. They are like the sparks that ignited this dish, the flares of inspiration in a time of darkness.
Enjoy your Fourth. You’ve earned it. You’ve tasted history. You’ve communed with a culture. You’ve embraced what it means to make something out of nothing, to create magic from the mundane. And you’ve done it with a dish that is as humble as it is proud, as unique as it is universal.
Budae Jjigae. It’s more than a stew. It’s a culinary adventure. A taste of history. A tribute to resilience. A celebration of fusion. It’s a dish that tells a story, one that resonates across borders and time. It’s a story of people, a story of war, a story of survival, and ultimately, a story of triumph.
It’s a dish that invites you to explore, to understand, and to celebrate. It’s a dish that says, “Come, sit, eat. Let me tell you a story. Our story.” And like a good story, it lingers long after the last bite, leaving you richer for the experience.
I have mentioned samgyeopsal many times in the past. It’s a simple concept that has become one of my favorite foods. Samgyeopsal is basically bacon, pork belly, without curing. It’s fresh pork with a great balance of fat and lean.
I found out recently part of the reason it’s called samgyeopsal. The ‘sam’ stands for ‘three,’ as in three strips of fat and lean. At restaurants and butchers, you can find the more expensive ogyeopsal. The ‘o’ means it’s five layers. In restaurants and homes, samgyeopsal is cooked at the table on a special pan designed to let the fat run off the sides. I like to put vegetables on this fat stream on the pan to give them that extra flavor. Until I actually go out and get a real samgyeopsal pan and a portable gas burner, I make it on the stove in a regular frying pan. I then add thickly sliced onions, kimchi, peppers, and whatever else I want to throw in. Tonight, I had some leftover tofu, so I fried it with some sesame oil. It’s a bit of a trick to handle samgyeopsal in a frying pan without it getting too greasy. I just picked them out one-by-one with tongs and let them drain before serving them. Being bacon, this meal takes very little time to cook — as long as it takes to cook breakfast.
Resist the Western urge to season the meat while cooking. It kills its sweetness and makes it too salty when combined with kimchi and other sauces. A sauce I like to make that is served in restaurants is a simple combination of sesame oil blended with salt and freshly cracked black pepper.
Samgyeopsal, like other grilled Korean foods, is eaten like fajitas at your local T.G.I. McChilibee’s. Instead of tortillas, we wrap them in lettuce leaves and use kimchi, garlic, onions, rice — whatever toppings we want. My favorite is a special paste made for samgyeopsal out of fermented soybeans and red peppers mixed with other ingredients called ‘Samgyeopsal Ssamjang.’ It’s ripe and stinky and so good, I have actually eaten it off my finger like peanut butter.
This is a pretty simple shrimp grilled in salt. This method crisps the outside so much, you can actually eat the shrimp with the shells on.
INGREDIENTS Shrimp with shells on Salt (large grained) Seasoning (optional)
NOTE: This is better done outdoors because it creates a lot of smoke. 1. Line a pan with aluminum foil and place a thick layer of salt on it. 2. Place the pan on a hot fire. 3. Place shrimp on the salt and cover. 4. Remove the shrimp as soon as they turn pink.
I love it when Eun Jeong cooks. When we first started dating, she told me that she couldn’t cook. I later figured out it was a ruse to make me cook for her more often. She makes some great Korean food.
This little recipe for Janchi Guksu 잔치 국수 is simple and honest food. I’ll present this as a traditional recipe rather than use my usual stream-of-consciousness journal style. Eun Jeong served it in four separate parts: noodles, dashi stock, condiments, and yangnyeomjang 양념장 sauce
INGREDIENTS Noodles Guksu noodles (thin wheat noodles) Water (duh!) Green onion, chopped
Condiments Kimchi, chopped Cucumber, peeled and sliced into matchsticks 2 Eggs, scrambled like an omelette, rolled, and sliced into thin strips Muchim
YangYeomJang Sauce 1 tsp. Sesame seeds, toasted in a dry pan 2 cloves Garlic, chopped 1 Green onion, chopped 1 tsp. Gochugaru (Korean red pepper powder)* 2 tbsp. Soy sauce Salt to taste
1. Make the YangYeomJang sauce by crushing the sesame seeds in a mortar. Add and crush the garlic, green onion, and gochugaru. Gradually mix in the soy sauce until there is a hearty paste. Season with salt, if needed. Sprinkle more sesame seeds on top.
2. Boil the dashi with the sliced onion and zucchini for two minutes.
3. Prepare the condiments in separate dishes or in one big dish.
4. Boil the guksu noodles lightly. They don’t need as much time as Italian style pasta. Put them in individual bowls and garnish with green onion.
5. Serve the noodles, dashi, condiments, and YangYeomJang separately. The diners build their own soups from these ingredients to their liking.
*Cayenne pepper may work as a substitution for gochugaru. Maybe.
This is something simple Eun Jeong made one night that was used in a later recipe. But it is great by itself as a side dish. It’s a spinach garlic stir fry called sigeumchi muchim 시금치 무침.
She trimmed some fresh spinach and blanched it by putting it in boiling water for less than a minute. She then stir fried it with a pinch of salt, two or three cloves of chopped garlic, and some sesame oil.
Summary: After tasting other people’s Kimchi Jjigaes and introducing some of my more western preferences, here’s my latest recipe for Kimchi Jjigae. Like my chili recipe, it’s constantly evolving.
Ingredients
1/2 lbs. Bacon or Samgyeopsal (fresh pork belly), thick sliced, salted or unsalted
1 Onion, sliced
1 Tbsp. Ginger, minced
Handful of Garlic Cloves, smashed and whole
1/2 lbs. Kimchi, preferrably old
2 Tsp. Sugar
Salt to taste (depending if you have salted or unsalted bacon)
Fresh cracked Black Pepper, lots of it
Rice Vinegar (optional)
1/2 bottle of Soju (Korean traditional liquor)
Instructions
Brown the Bacon in a hot wok. When it is brown, move it to the side.
Brown the Onions in the bacon grease.
Add the Ginger, Kimchi, and Garlic. Stir fry for a while.
Fill the wok with water until it’s covered the ingredients. Boil for five minutes. You will end up with a rich red broth.
Add the Sugar and Black Pepper and taste. Adjust the Sugar, Vinegar and Salt until a nice balance of salty, sweet, and sour is achieved. The Kimchi should give it enough sourness, but vinegar should be at the ready just in case.
Throw in 1/2 bottle of Soju to give it that extra kick. Drink the rest with due caution.
Let it boil for a few more minutes. Serve it hot or boiling (if possible) with steamed rice to balance the strong flavor of the stew.
Variations
You can also substitute a can of tuna for the pork. Not only is it healthy, it’s a surprisingly good tasting alternative. Something magical happens with Chamchi (Tuna) Kimchi Jjigae. It’s sweeter and has good depth.
