Tag: banchan

Recipe: Cilantro Kimchi
Cilantro Kimchi: A Forgotten Korean Recipe with Deep Roots
You’ve probably heard the claim: Koreans don’t eat cilantro. Many food blogs repeat it like gospel. They say cilantro—also known as coriander—has no place in Korean cuisine.
But what if that’s not true?
The Hidden History of Cilantro in Korean Food
Let’s look north. In North Korea’s Hwanghae Province, there’s a traditional Korean recipe known as gosu kimchi (고수김치). “Gosu” is the Korean word for cilantro. This dish features fresh cilantro fermented with radish and spices—just like other kimchi. That’s right: cilantro kimchi exists and it’s Korean.
Before the Border Split
Before 1953, Kaesong was part of South Korea’s Gyeonggi Province. After the Korean War, it became part of North Korea. Kaesong is famous for its cuisine. It was even the capital of Korea during the Goryeo Dynasty.
Food from Kaesong—including cilantro recipes—faded from view after the war. Much of North Korea’s food culture remains undocumented or hard to access.
Refugees Remember Cilantro Kimchi
Joanne Choi, a Korean-American blogger, shared her father’s memories of cilantro-rich dishes from Kaesong. She called cilantro “comfort food” for him—something he missed deeply. Sadly, she couldn’t find any cookbooks or recipes from that region, even in Korean bookstores.
Clues from North Korean Tours
In 2008, a travel blogger visited Kaesong and noticed something surprising: cilantro on the table. It stood out as unusual compared to food in the South. That detail backs up claims of cilantro being part of the northern diet.
South Korean Buddhist Temples Keep the Tradition Alive
Cilantro hasn’t disappeared entirely. In South Korea, Buddhist temple cuisine preserves many old recipes. At Sanchon, a famous temple restaurant in Seoul, cilantro is praised for enhancing flavor—especially with meat-free dishes.
The Language Tells a Story
Here’s another clue: Koreans use the native word gosu for cilantro. They didn’t borrow the word from English or Chinese. That suggests it’s not new—it’s been on the peninsula for a long time.
Where This Cilantro Kimchi Recipe Comes From
This version of gosu kimchi comes from a North Korean source—yes, really. The original website is blocked in South Korea, but I found the recipe through archived content and compared it to a South Korean version: Gypsy’s Gosu Kimchi.
Only the North Korean version provided detailed measurements. That’s what I based this recipe on.
June 2, 2023
Fried Seasoned Zucchini (호박볶음 hobak bokkeum)
Zucchini are coming into season in California now, and I received a medium-sized one in my community-supported agriculture package last week.
I could have again made 호박전 hobak jeon (zucchini pancake), which is always tasty. Another option was 궁중 떡볶이 gungjung tteokbokki, the royal ancestor of the spicy, warm 떡볶이 tteokbokki (rice cake stew).
Yet hobak bokkeum is a simple dish and once you make it, you can either serve it on the spot in banchan form, or you can set it aside and put it into your bibimbap.
The zucchini I used here was a little fat for bibimbap but it work well as a typical American side dish.
Hobak bokkeum 호박볶음
1 medium zucchini (about 10–12 ounces)
1 tablespoon grapeseed, rice bran or high-heat oil (recommend: non-GMO)
2 teaspoons fish sauce
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 scallion, finely chopped
2 tablespoons water
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1 teaspoon sesame seeds (optional)
Directions
1. Slice zucchini thin.
2. Heat a pan with the grapeseed oil over medium high heat.
3. Mix the remaining ingredients in a small bowl, creating a sauce.
4. Add the zucchini to the skillet, and cook for one to two minutes.
5. Add the sauce and cook for one to two more minutes, stirring well until the zucchini is softened and turns translucent.
6. Drizzle with sesame oil before serving.
October 27, 2013
Confessions of a Kimchi Craver
There was a brief stretch in my first month in Korea when I stopped eating kimchi. I blame culture shock.
I had not yet grown my Asian palate and had made the expat’s error of expecting certain colours and shapes to correspond to familiar tastes. I spent far too much time pondering the explosive flavours in my mouth. This was not a side dish to be gastronomically deconstructed – not for beginners anyway. Some of the best advice that fellow expats gave me was: “Just eat it, regularly, and you will start to crave it.”
I followed this seemingly-absurd advice and began to see why fermented foods were known to be addictive. It was only later, after the cravings took hold, that I allowed myself to appreciate the variety of flavours in the many kinds of kimchi on the Korean table.
I was never more ready, then, for the annual Kimchi Festival in Gwangju. Never before had I been able to so appreciate this superfood, to seek out my favourite colours and textures, and to order three different kimchi-filled lunches.
I was sorry to have missed the kimchi-making workshop, in which visitors learn to make kimchi and take home their handiwork, as well as the scavenger hunt held by the Gwangju blog each year. I spent my day at the festival sampling kimchi of every variety, and squeezing in among the connoisseurs at popular stalls.
All the lip-smacking, onomatopoiec muttering and nodding reminded me of a wine tasting. There was also a sophisticated craftsmanship being appreciated and celebrated. When I walked through the stalls selling kimchi ingredients, however, I spotted the difference. This was a craft intended to be accessible to all kitchen-commanders, while still preserving the quality of the final product.
The process is celebrated as much as the result, as many an ajumma (아줌마) produced batch after batch on site. Rubber gloves wrist-deep in pools of bright red chili paste (고추장) made for a gory image reminiscent of a butcher’s block. Kimchi never was for the faint of heart.
The Gwangju Kimchi Culture Festival runs annually in October. After filling your belly, you can check out the kimchi museum and steal a hug from a giant fluffy cabbage – if you can compete with crowds of adoring fans.

October 21, 2013
Recipe: Kale Kimchi
Recently, I joined a CSA (community-supported agriculture) farm affiliated with our local community college. Our CSA promises, “a share of whatever is ripe and ready to eat.”
Much ado about kale? Try turning it into a very spicy, garlicky kimchi. (Tammy Quackenbush photo)
That share recently included a small bunch of kale. Hubby is not a fan of kale, and I have never cooked with it before. So I was at a loss as to what I could do with it — really at a loss.
Initially, I thought I would make kale chips with it, given how ridiculously expensive store-bought preparations are compared with the simplicity of the recipe. To make kale chips, you remove the stem, chop the leaves into large bite-sized pieces, smear them with a flavored paste then dry the pieces in a food dehydrator or at very low heat in an oven.
However, I didn’t have all the ingredients in my pantry for the several Asian- and Korean-inspired kale chip recipes I found. For the paste, one recipe called for almond butter and another, tahini.
Those aren’t in my well-stocked Korean-style pantry. So I decided to use ingredients from such a pantry to make kale 김치 kimchi.
The following recipe for kale kimchi was adapted from the Week of Menus blog. Mostly, I cut the recipe in half, because my CSA kale bounty wasn’t as large as called for in the original recipe.
Don’t like the taste or texture of kale? The bold spiciness and garlic of this recipe might cultivate a kale craving. And salivating over this “superstar vegetable” is a good thing, according to dietician Kathleen Zelman:
One cup of chopped kale contains 33 calories and 9% of the daily value of calcium, 206% of vitamin A, 134% of vitamin C, and a whopping 684% of vitamin K. It is also a good source of minerals copper, potassium, iron, manganese, and phosphorus.

Kale kimchi
by Week of Menus
Makes about 2 cups of kimchi
1 bunch kale
1/4 cup fish sauce (or 1/8 cup fish sauce and 1/8 cup soy sauce)
1/8 cup mochiko (“sweet” flour from cooked sticky rice)
3/4 cups water
1 tablespoon sugar
3 tablespoons 고추가루 gochugaru (Korean red chili powder) (or 2–2.5 tablespoons of cayenne powder)
1/8 cup garlic, finely chopped
Wash the kale, trim the stems to the leaves and chop the leaves into bite-sized pieces.
Place the washed, chopped kale in a large bowl. Drizzle fish sauce over the leaves and toss them to lightly coat them with sauce. Set aside for about 45 minutes to allow the kale to wilt.
While the kale is softening, add rice powder, water and sugar to a small sauce pan over medium-high heat. Whisk and stir constantly, until mixture begins to thicken and bubble. Continue whisking for another minute after the bubbles form. Remove from heat and set aside to cool.
After kale has rested in the fish sauce and the rice flour mixture cools to barely warm, carefully drain the fish sauce in the bottom of the kale bowl into the rice flour mixture.
Finely chop a handful of garlic cloves by hand or in a food processor.
To rice flour mixture, mix gochugaru and finely chopped garlic, making a red paste. Mixture should taste salty, so add a bit more fish sauce, if necessary.
Using a spatula, mix the red paste with the kale, using a gentle folding motion, until all leaves are coated.
Pack the kale kimchi into a small wide-mouthed jar. Do not overstuff it; leave about 1/4 inch of space at the top for fermentation.
Leave the jar on the counter for about two hours.
Refrigerate the jarred kimchi. Periodically taste-test it for the level of fermentation preferred. Ours was ready in about three days.
August 23, 2013
Banchan pizza: A second life for side dishes
Typical of many Korean households, my refrigerator is stuffed with little containers of leftover 반찬 banchan. Many recipes for those side dishes are scaled to serve six to eight people, so the two of us always have leftovers. I can only eat so much 비빔밥 bibimbap.
Banchan pizza with sauteed carrots, cilantro kimchi and bulgogi ground beef (photo by Jeff Quackenbush)
While fretting about my bounty of banchan, I was insipred to repurpose those leftovers as pizza toppings. In my fridge, I spied sauteed carrots, cilantro 김치 kimchi and 불고기 bulgogi-style ground beef from some prior culinary creations.
I smothered a fresh-made buy-and-bake cheese pizza with leftover banchan, cooked the pie according to its directions and had a delicious meal.
Frankly, most any vegetable banchan bound for a bowl of bibimbap — such as spinach, mushroom, bean sprouts, kimchi — would find a place on pizza. (I don’t think canned corn counts as banchan or, frankly, as a topping.)
To me, it’s better to bury banchan in one’s stomach aboard pizza than in a food-waste bag, garbage disposal or landfill.
October 31, 2012
Restaurant: Kristalbelli, New York
The opening of “the next Korean barbecue restaurant” in midtown Manhattan by K-pop star and producer Jin Young Park has generated some controversy. Some think the restaurant’s aesthetic is too antiseptic to provide an authentic Korean experience.
Some reviews have viciously criticized the atmosphere, exemplified by the restaurant’s namesake crystal barbecue grills. Meat is cooked on a gas-heated, 99 percent crystal griddle in the “belly” of a golden Buddha-shaped frame embedded in the center of each table. The sloped griddle drains grease away from the meat into an under-table trap, and an exhaust fan incorporated in the griddle frame keeps much of the smoke of cooking meat from filling the restaurant and the clothes of patrons.
Reviewers claim the environment is overly elegant, even sanitized, in comparison to the more rustic feel of many all-you-can-eat Korean barbecue restaurants. To those people I would say, it’s not about you.
Kristalbelli does not indulge those who have a fever for the food of Korea’s third-world past of 50 years ago, or even a decade or two past. It’s for Korean food virgins and neophytes, many of who are non-Korean fans of JYP’s K-pop bands.
Readers of my restaurant reviews may remember that my family aren’t hardcore Korean food fanatics like myself and my dear husband. That’s why I enjoy taking them — they might say, dragging them — to Korean restaurants, especially when I really need the perspective of those with little to no understanding or appreciation of Korean food.
To make sure everyone would have a chance to pass some degree of judgment on it, we asked to eat each dish “family-style.”
This is the first Korean restaurant I’ve been to in a long time where the wait staff was eager to answer any and all questions about dish ingredients and preparation. And in a first for me States-side, I didn’t have to be the one explaining all the dishes.
And there was a lot of explaining to do, with multiple 반찬 banchan items (side dishes served with the meal), appetizers and main dishes. My father-in-law counted 50 plates of various sizes on the table for the five of us.
The spread was more typical of a leisurely dinner setting than a rushed work week lunch. If you are really craving barbecue, going at lunch vs. dinner won’t save you any money. But, satiating your craving earlier in the day may save you time. The restaurant wasn’t crowded when we went after the lunch hour.
Each of us received banchan. That included bamboo shoots, seaweed salad and pickled cucumbers. Interestingly, the pickled cucumbers had a pleasant combination of soy sauce, sesame oil and a slightly smoky flavor.
Also among the banchan were two kinds of kimchi: 배추김치 baechu (the most commonly seen kind, made from Nappa cabbage) and 총각김치 chonggak (ponytail radish). The ponytail radish was a little on the spicy side. Yet it was pretty fresh, no more than a couple of weeks old in my estimation.
The first appetizer tray brought to our table had delicately sliced raw tuna set on a bed of lime slices, dabbed with citrus sauce. The tuna was fresh and seemed to melt in my mouth.
The second appetizer was a small serving of rice wrapped in tofu skin and drizzled with a mustard citrus sauce.
The third appetizer was tempura-fried crab legs surrounded by squiggly trails of spicy mayonnaise and savory, okonomyaki-type sauce on the small platter.
For the main dishes, we ordered Wagyu 갈비 galbi (grilled beef, $31), 두부 잡채 tofu japchae (savory cellophane noodle dish, $13), 크리스탈 비빔밥 Kristal bibimbap with tofu ($15) and 두부 된장찌개 tofu doenjang jjigae (fermented-soybean stew, $12).
This japchae was somewhat unconventional. It had the typical mix of mushrooms, tofu and shredded carrots, but it also had shiitake (aka 표고 pyogo) mushrooms and asparagus. The flavors were balanced, none overpowering the others.
Japchae is a common item on Korean restaurant menus. Yet, I never know what I’m going to get, because it is pretty easy to mess up the delicate balance of bold flavors: sesame oil, soy sauce, garlic and black pepper. Sometimes, the soy sauce is dominant, and other times, it’s the sesame oil that terrorizes the tongue. One restaurant used a black pepper–forward sauce — unforgettable, not in a good way.
We asked for the Wagyu galbi to be grilled medium-well, basically between medium rare and well done. The meat was well-marbled and tender. The waiter cooked it, so we wouldn’t be distracted from our conversation with the task of grilling. The 쌈장 ssamjang (spicy, savory sauce spread on 깻잎 kkaenip/perilla or lettuce leaves wrapped around grilled meat) had a wonderful robust doenjang component, but it was not overly salty.
Accompanying the kalbi was a little dishful of Nagui sea salt. It’s an unrefined sea salt from harvested from filtered salt water at Docho Island in Korea. It has 20 percent less sodium than Guérande sea salt of France and three times its mineral content, according to the restaurant’s blog. Our waiter pointed out those attributes and recommended we dip at least one piece of galbi in the salt. It was a pleasant, new experience.
The bibimbap had the traditional mix of veggies, which we ordered with tofu. It also had two different kinds of seaweed:kim (aka nori) and seaweed stem called miyeok julgi, and yet seaweed flavor did not overwhelm the dish. Since we were eating the meal family-style, they were kind enough to bring out separate little dishes of gochujang so we could decide whether to spice up the bibimbap individually.
Korean restaurants in the States I’ve visited offer 고추장 gochujang (spicy red pepper sauce) separately, allowing diners to apply as much pain as desired. In keeping with the upper-scale setting, Kristalbelli also offered the sauce separately but in a small dish, rather than in the refillable plastic squeeze bottle of the typical barbecue house. This version of the sauce was sweet, as is common for bibimbap gochujang, but the amount of spiciness was milder that the conventional preparation.
The one adjective that circulated over and again through my mind during the meal was “balanced.” Balancing favors is really a difficult task, especially for Korean cuisine, which is known for its bold flavors. Kristalbelli does that well, maybe too well for some people’s tastes.
Yet, one can’t accuse Kristalbelli of false advertising. One of its goals stated on their website is to “to spotlight the delicate aspects of Korean cooking.”
When we entered the restaurant, it was hard not to notice the wine collection, prominently displayed near the front desk. It’s quite the wine list for a Korean restaurant, with wines from major wine regions all over the wine world: Oregon, Australia, the Napa/Sonoma region of California and Europe. We did not order any wine with our meal, so I would have to leave it to someone with more wine experience to judge the wine and food pairing experience.
If you’re up for it, Kristalbelli currently is hosting a food and wine pairing every Wednesday at 3 p.m. New York time, according to the restaurant’s Facebook page.
Kristalbelli’s second floor has a bar and lounge. We didn’t have an opportunity to go up there on this trip. Someday, I would like to try the 복분자 스테이크 Bokbunja steak ($23), described as a “steak with black raspberry reduction.” I think this is the first dish I’ve seen in a Korean restaurant using 복분자 bukbunjaju (black raspberry liqueur) for cooking.
Long-term success for this restaurant won’t be on the coattails of Mr. Park’s K-pop fame. Kristalbelli will have to win customers with great food and superior customer service.
The latter seemed to be a priority. My family’s relatively virgin palates were treated with respect rather than condescension. And it was the first time I’ve seen a Korean restaurant actively solicit comments via a customer-service survey handed to each of us at the end of the meal. For many diners, especially JYP’s target audience, the emphasis on service will cover alleged culinary faux-pas.
Kristalbelli
8 W. 36th St.
New York, NY 10018
(212) 290-2211
www.kristalbelli.com
Lunch: Monday–Saturday, 11:30 a.m.–2:30 p.m.
Dinner: Sunday–Thursday, 5–10:30 p.m.; Friday–Saturday, 5–11 p.m.
Lounge: Monday–Thursday, 5 p.m.–1 a.m.; Friday–Saturday, 5 p.m.–3 a.m.; Sunday, 5–10:30 p.m.
September 16, 2012
Recipe: Chamchi Jeon (Korean tuna cakes)
Many keep some cans of tuna in the pantry as an inexpensive source of protein. But for a number of Americans, the only purpose for canned tuna is tuna salad or cat food.
Veer from the deep-rutted tuna salad trail with this easy recipe for 참치전 chamchi jeon. These little, two-bite-sized tuna cakes are seasoned simply with salt, pepper, onion and a little garlic. That helps them pair well with bolder, spicier main dishes or kimchi banchan (pickled vegetable side dishes).

I used common canned tuna in my version of this recipe. However, if you are able to get your hands on the Korean canned tuna commonly sold for making kimchi jjigae, use it. It’s pre-marinaded in spicy gochujang and will add some spice and excitement to your tuna cakes.
If you want to eat them western style, you can serve them with tartar sauce, spicy mayonnaise or tzatziki. I served them with a couple of Korean dipping sauces: vinegar spicy pepper sauce (식초 고추장 shikcho gochujang) and vinegar soy sauce (초간장 cho ganjang).
Based on recipe by Naomi Imatome-Yun.
August 20, 2012
Banchan for charity: Would you buy it?
Banchan is as intrinsic to 한식 hansik (Korean food) as pork is to Spanish cuisine. It would be anathema to have one without the other. A Korean restaurant without 반찬 banchan might be called a Chinese or Mongolian restaurant by the culinary illiterate. Even if a Korean restaurant has mediocre banchan, the idea of not offering it at all would be an affront to all that is Korean. Charging for banchan is almost as heretical.
A recent Seattle Weekly restaurant review about Chan’s, a new “modern Korean fusion” restaurant in Seattle, brought the debate over charging for banchan back to the forefront of my mind.
The banchan spread at Brothers Korean BBQ in San Francisco, Calif., comes with the meal. (Tammy Quackenbush photo)
Normally, restaurant reviews are not the place for serious commentary about the future of Korean cuisine or talking points in the ongoing debate on how to promote hansik beyond that nation’s shores.
Last year, ZenKimchi Food Journal editor Joe McPherson and I wrote dueling editorials about charging for banchan. It was sparked by an interview in The Korea Herald with former restaurateur Cho Tae-kwon that included his advice for convincing non-Koreans to appreciate hanshik.
McPherson flat out rejected the concept at the time, dismissing it as silly. My knee-jerk reaction was very similar. I told KoreafornianCooking.com Facebook fans at the time, “Yeah charging for banchan is 바보 (babo, dumb).”
After my initial “You’ve got to be kidding!” I tapped into my inner Ayn Rand and wondered with words about a way to charge for banchan.
VIP Restaurant (aka Yang Bin restaurant) in Anchorage, Alaska, doesn’t charge for banchan either. (Tammy Quackenbush photo)
I thought at the time there was only one way a restaurant could convince customers to happily and willingly go along with it. If a restaurant were to inform patrons that as much time, effort and care went into sourcing ingredients for and preparing banchan as with main dishes, customers would learn to value banchan as highly as the chef does and be willing to pay accordingly.
In other words, banchan better be as good, or even better, than the main dishes for it to work. After years, even generations, of teaching people that banchan are gratis, convincing people otherwise would be an uphill battle.
According to Hanna Raskin of Seattle Weekly, Chan’s in Seattle may have found another way to convince people to buy banchan — one I would have never considered — charity.
“(Chan’s) won’t bring banchan to the table unless guests pledge three bucks to Korean Foster Care. That’s not a suggested donation: It’s the mandated price, listed on the menu. …
“Every nibble on the vegetable tray is attractive and fresh, but the decision to charge for the mini-spread is bound to flummox eaters accustomed to Korean traditions.”
So, it sounds like the banchan selection is carefully considered, made with fresh ingredients. A certain kind of customer can appreciate that attention to detail.
If you make your own banchan at home, you have a small idea of how much work goes into making it. (Tammy Quackenbush photo)
Would a restaurant have to extol the organic ingredients and artistic skill to get you to part with a few more of your hard-earned dollars for a first or second round of banchan?
Or is a simple tug on the heart strings enough to pay extra for banchan that would be included in the meal price at many Korean restaurants on either side of the Pacific?
What would your reasons be for paying more or not?
August 19, 2012
Korean Onion Relish
The onion does not have an ancient connection to Korean cuisine. But you wouldn’t know that, based on how popular the root vegetable is now in Korea. That’s in sharp contrast to the milder green onion, which has been a part of Korean cuisine for hundreds, even thousands of years.
Onions were introduced to Korea just over 100 years ago and were not grown on a large scale there until the 1960s.
This recipe for Korean onion relish is an excellent partner for your next Korean barbecue. Just grab a large piece of lettuce or a big 깻잎 kkaenip/shiso/perilla leaf, put a little of the onion relish on the leaf and top with a slice of your favorite Korean grilled meat (불고기 bulgogi, 갈비 kalbi, 닭갈비 dakgalbi, whatever).
If you aren’t on a low-carb diet, add a small spoonful of rice to absorb some of the vinegar brine. Any leftovers would have fun in a bowl of 비빔밥 bibimbap (mixed rice and vegetable dish with or without meat or dubu/tofu) or 김치볶음밥 kimchi boggeumbap (fried rice).
If you aren’t on a low-carb diet, add a small spoonful of rice to absorb some of the vinegar brine. Any leftovers would have fun in a bowl of 비빔밥 bibimbap (mixed rice and vegetable dish with or without meat or dubu/tofu) or 김치볶음밥 kimchi boggeumbap (fried rice).
August 9, 2012
My South Korean Mouth
A typical lunch in the ZenKimchi household (Joe)
EDITOR’S NOTE: This post is from our new contributor, Deva. Check out her profile at the bottom.
Most days, I eat lunch with a group of Korean women. We don’t share a language but, like most Korean people, we share food. Having only lived in this country for six months, dining with them has been an education to say the least.
To gain an appreciation of Korean food, I needed to learn a new language for eating–a new way of decoding the dinner table. When I first arrived in Korea, I didn’t understand any of the food I encountered. Most of it was unrecognisable, and tasting became detective work. Much of the time, I could not translate the food in my mouth (much like Ovid in David Malouf’s novel [amazon_link id=”0679767932″ target=”_blank” ]An Imaginary Life[/amazon_link]). Sometimes a mouthful offered a hint of recognition–an ingredient that I could use as a starting point on my journey to identify the dish. But mostly, familiar flavours were absent. Being vastly different to what I am used to eating, Korean food made no sense to me. It just seemed lacking.
Lacking in cheese
Lacking in cream and butter
Lacking in variety
Lacking in pastry
There was no salt on the table, no pepper, tomato sauce, or mayonnaise. Strange, I thought, that Koreans did not feel the need to modify the food they were served. In hindsight, I realised this was a rather naïve interpretation of Korean food.
I made a few rookie errors in my first few months here, including arriving at lunch on my first day without any rice. I avoided rice that day because I didn’t want any heavy carbs and there was an abundance of side dishes so I knew I wouldn’t go hungry. Young-Ju looked at me in dismay and, despite my protests, shared her rice with me. “It will be too salty”, she said.
What she was trying to explain was that my meal was simply not going to work. Rice is not just a tummy-filler but a base which is used to balance out the often intense flavours of each side dish. On another occasion, I heaped some dipping sauce–this one was an extremely salty mix of soy sauce, chili powder, and spring onions–onto my rice. You need only a tiny spoon of this to compliment the other tastes on the table, and I was none-the-wiser. I also tended to mix my rice and all the side dishes into a bowl each day. This worked fine on cafeteria trays, where there was a large section for rice, but I was baffled in restaurants, where rice is served in a tiny bowl. “Where on earth is the main plate?” I thought.
Once I came to learn the names of some Korean dishes, eating out felt like less of a minefield. I could hone in on the foods I liked and avoid those I had sparred with. Kimbap (김밥) was a new favourite, though I often dipped it in soy sauce as though it were sushi. Mandu (만두) was a great anytime food, and Bibimbap (비빔밥) was a reliable choice no matter how befuddling the menu. So I had some dishes under my belt. I was feeling comfortable and enjoying all these new gourmet adventures. But I still didn’t understand Korean food, least of all because I couldn’t read the menu. It was a while before I could comprehend that Korean food isn’t served as a dish. Koreans don’t order or serve one combination of ingredients, with perhaps an optional dash of salt or squeeze of sauce. This food is organised differently and eaten differently. I’ve grown a whole new palate in this country.
Anyone who has eaten Korean food knows it is served with many side dishes, or banchan (반찬). Banchan are not extraneous to the meal. In fact, a meal without banchan cannot even be classified as such, because it lacks fundamental aspects. A Korean meal cannot be broken down to any one core ingredient or dish. You would not find someone eating a bowl of plain rice, for instance. As I have learned from the women I share lunch with, a meal in Korea is a creative act. No two people have the same meal, despite sharing the same banchan. Each mouthful is a combination of rice, meat, edible leaves, sweet, salty, or spicy banchan and a dipping sauce. Mixing all these dishes on one plate would be a gastronomic disaster–an overload of tastes which don’t necessarily work together. Each taste is enjoyed in small servings and careful combinations. Lunch with these ladies may go as follows:
A spoon of rice and a smudge of ssamjang (쌈장)-–a soy bean and chili paste-–rolled up in a lettuce leaf.
A pinch of sweet and spicy anchovy, or myeolchi (멸치).
A mini omelette mixed with rice and gochujang (고추장), a chili pepper paste.
A bite of sour kimchi (김치) to balance out the grease.
A sprinkle of salted tofu on rice wrapped in a square of dry seaweed.
It often feels like I am having six meals in one. Ingredients and dishes are combined and re-combined with each mouthful, using a spoon, chopsticks, or your hands. There is no passive eating here. Each bite is tailor-made.
At first, I thought Korean people would be bowled over by some of the dishes I usually eat. The Western and African food available (the latter barely so) in Korea is often unimpressive and overpriced. Now, however, I think Koreans would probably find much of the food I am used to eating quite boring. It arrives all in one dish, with the same stock condiments available for adapting it to your tastes. And since it has no kimchi, they would probably find it, well, lacking.
July 26, 2012