Tag: Food

Trending in Seoul: Bagels
According to the JoongAng Ilbo, bagels have really hit it big in Korea. In the expat-o-sphere, we’ve been noticing more bagel shops pop up over the years in our group Restaurant Buzz Seoul. The New Yorkers and Montréalers pooh-poohed most of the offerings. Not chewy enough. Too much cream cheese. Trying to make them as sweet as doughnuts. Or just not understanding how a bagel should be sliced before applying cream cheese.
I have two indicators for when a food has become a big trend. One is when I see a type of food in an area that is not that adventurous–like the suburbs I live in. I was surprised last year to find gourmet $5 doughnuts and really good patisseries in my culinarily conservative neighborhood.
The other indicator is when my non-adventurous Korean friends say they want to try a certain food that I’d been hearing buzz about. Years ago, I knew the ribs with cheese thing was blowing up when my rice-and-kimchi-every-meal (RAKEM?) friends said they wanted to try them. This past weekend, one of them said she wanted to go to Anguk-dong to stand in line for bagels.
Really?
I knew of one bagel place in Anguk-dong that’s always closed when I’m in the area, but I’m usually there in the evening getting ready to lead the Dark Side of Seoul Ghost Walk. I’d never tried it. But if my suburban RAKEM friend who almost never goes into the city wants to journey there early in the morning to wait in line for one–hmm… something’s happening.
The eatery in the JoongAng newsletter is Brick Lane Bagel, based in London.
London? Bagels? A little discordant there.
Turns out, TIL, that Brick Lane has a respected history with “beigels” since 1974. As someone who was born that year, it’s troubling to read articles that treat that as ancient history.
Shamelessly ripped from the JoongAnge Ilbo 요리레터, where the author waited 2.5 hours in line for these bagels
Where the London versions seem to be massively stuffed with meats and pickles, the Korean way is to load them down with cream cheese.
Why are bagels hitting it big?
Korea doesn’t have a significant Jewish community–only 1,000 or so. Bagels have been introduced by Koreans studying, working, or growing up overseas bringing what they loved from those places to the Land of the Morning Crowds.
According to the newsletter, it was COVID. Korea started really getting into bread about as much as western countries were getting into home breadmaking. Korean consumption of bread went up 68% between 2018 and 2022. For semantics sake, I’m doing the Korean thing here and including pastries and anything made with dough and baked as “bread.”
The Korean style bagel is characterized by not being as chewy as the North American versions. This I find surprising, as the Korean palate leans towards chewy textures (tteokbokki, chewy bacon, chewy Jeju black pork, savory jellies–I could make a big list and another post about this). They’re also moister.
Korean ingredients, like buchu (Chinese chives), raw garlic, and sweet red beans are mixed with the cream cheese an loaded on.
As for me, I’ve fallen in love with another pastry that’s gotten big lately: Salt Bread (Sogeum Bbang 소금빵). Supposedly, they were invented in Japan as Shio Pan (again, “Salt Bread”). They look like croissants, but they have the texture of Thanksgiving dinner rolls with an airy pocket. The outside is brushed with salt water, which produces a crispy shattering crust. They’re just salty enough with no sweetness, which is a rarity in a country that loves to turn every bread product into candy.
My grouchy expat cynicism in check, I have been thrilled to see this new phase of Korean baked goods emerge. Ketchup-laden sugar-garlic pastries are giving way to more sophisticated and positively localized fare. It’s an exciting time to be here.
May 26, 2023
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
Korea’s Collective Belly
The best food and travel writers have taught us that regional cuisine is one of the ways in which culture is made manifest. Food is never simply fuel; it’s ritualistic by default. The way that it is prepared, served and eaten can reveal much about a nation’s histories and hierarchies.
In South Korea, where collectivism is central to culture, food serves as a means to develop and fortify relationships. Eating together is one of the pathways to jeong – the Korean word describing a connection between people. In Korea: The Impossible Country, Daniel Tudor describes jeong as a feeling of attachment and a bond of “deep interdependence” between individuals or groups.
For the foreigner in an untranslated world, sharing food may be one of the few ways to experience a sense of jeong. Without a common language or culture, the offer of a meal serves as an invitation to be part of a group. Likewise, gifts of food are often a way to communicate affection and friendship.
One of the best ways for foreign guest to form relationships in Korea is to try as much hansik (Korean food) as possible and be willing to engage with unfamiliar foods. Hansik is fundamental to Korean culture because eating rituals reinforce shared values, and embracing Korean cuisine shows a keenness to learn about Korean life.
When modestly declining a second piece of cake, you may come across the saying ”한번 정없어 두번 정이써”. There is no direct translation for this phrase, which roughly means that if someone takes only one piece or slice of food, there will be no jeong. Taking two or more, on the other hand, will encourage a spirit of togetherness. This may mean that polite restraint is the enemy of jeong, as one should relax and eat as much as one likes. In doing so, she or he is not only accepting food, but friendship.
You may also be asked to “please eat a lot”, a literal translation of “많이 드세요” meaning “help yourself”. Usually there really is a lot to eat. The Korean table is brimming with dishes large and small. Just as the periods of poverty in the nation’s history have shaped the flavours of its cuisine, so has the country’s relatively recent economic growth allowed for substantial meals.
Tables are also filled to ensure that no one is left wanting, as food is usually shared. Two or three large dishes will be chosen for the table, with all present being able to taste a little of each. When drinks are ordered, diners pour for each other. This prescribes a level of trust in your fellow diners, and makes for a dynamic in which individual needs and desires are secondary to the group experience. Your cup is not yours to fill; your belly not yours to govern. These social mores write jeong into the fabric of the meal, and foster moments where you can show your affection and respect for others – no words necessary.

June 27, 2013
Edible Curios: Ice in my Noodles
Credit: egg(tm) on Flickr (cc)
The cicadas are screaming, parasols abound and mould is creeping out of every corner. Summers in my city, Daegu, are oppressive. Today’s high is at 35 degrees Centigrade, and we can expect 93% percent humidity around midnight. Right now, we are squatting between the three hottest days of summer in Korea, known as 삼복 (sambok) or 복날 (boknal). The first day, 초복 (chobok), fell on July 18 this year, the second is 중복 (jungbok) and the last, 말복 (malbok), falls on August 7.
To maintain their stamina and replenish their energy levels during this period, Koreans eat 보양식 (boyang sik/food). Boyang translates as soothing, and enriching, and these foods are believed to help the body recuperate during the intense heat. Dishes considered to be boyangsik include the popular 삼계탕 (Samgyetang)–a chicken and ginseng soup–and 냉면 (naengmyoen), buckwheat noodles served cold.
On hot, breezy summer nights like these, I love walking around my neighbourhood and eating cold noodles for dinner. My favourite boyangsik is 콩국수 (kongguksu).
Like most Korean dishes, kongguksu seemed anomalous to my African eyes at first. I had never seen anything like it before coming to Korea.
There were ice blocks floating amongst the noodles, julienned cucumbers, and a hard-boiled egg that flavoured this dish. I took a bite, and my mouth filled with a creamy, grainy taste. That was the soymilk. It threw me completely, and I loved it immediately.
Rather than fighting heat with heat, as fans of samgyetang do, I savour cold teas, salads and desserts in hot weather. I was delighted to find a culinary gem like kongguksu to add to my menu. As restaurants fill with patrons ordering samgyetang, I will be sneaking into a kimbap joint and slurping away the dog days of Korean summer.
July 29, 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
How to Avoid Jail Time Over a Restaurant Review
Any food blogger worth his/her salt has to be careful and make sure their salty commentary doesn't cross the line. (Elisabetta Grondona photo via Creative Commons license)

ATaiwanese blogger with a family name of Liu was sentenced to 30 days in jail, two years of probation and was ordered to pay roughly $6,900 in compensation to a restaurant owner (named Yang) over a review, according to The Daily Mail of London.
Three of her comments were the focus of the legal action:
1. The beef noodles, which are supposed to be the specialty of the restaurant, were “too salty.”
2. The restaurant had cockroaches and was, therefore, unsanitary.
3. She called the owner of the restaurant a “bully” because he allowed customers to park their cars “haphazardly” in the parking area, causing traffic jams.
According to the article, Taiwan’s High Court, which heard the case on appeal from a lower court, found that Liu’s criticism about cockroaches and the parking situation at the restaurant was a narration of facts, not intentional slander.
The High Court’s main objection, surprisingly, was that Liu painted too broad of a brushed when she criticized the restaurant’s “salty” cuisine because she only eaten only one meal and paid the restaurant only one visit before publishing her review.
All food bloggers — even ones in the U.S., where legal thresholds for libel and product disparagement are much higher — are one caustic comment away from a lawsuit. Without the deep pockets of a large newspaper or magazine paying the free-speech attorney fees, a blogger can face bankruptcy from even the most frivolous slander or libel suit. Restaurateurs, and businesses in general, can worry just as much about what a blogger may say on the Internet about their product as they are about a review from a respected food writer in their local newspaper.
Blog posts can live on long after publication. Reviews in traditional media also are getting longer shelf lives online. Discovery, via the right search terms, is just a mouse click away. One can even find reviews easily for restaurants long since closed.
I discussed this story with several food and beverage bloggers. All said the court’s decision was over-reaching. A restaurant review, whether on a blog post or in a high-revenue commercial publication, is understood to be simply a snapshot in time, the opinion of one person on one day at one meal. Readers understand that and take note accordingly.
In the U.S., a libel or product disparagement lawsuit can bring even far more attention to the unfavorable review than if it were allowed to go into obscurity. Marketing-savvy businesses simply post a rebuttal comment with the original review and let readers decide whether the review’s conclusions are warranted. Bloggers and traditional publications worth reading — i.e., managed by staff mature enough to welcome criticism — will approve the rebuttal comments. (Print media often publish the rebuttals as letters to the editor.)
The First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution offers far more protection than the free speech codes of other countries, including South Korea. However, there still are lessons for American food bloggers to help avoid trouble.
1. Take a lesson from reviewers of durable consumer products, such as electronics. Reviewers will contact the manufacturer with a list of complaints or problems and ask for clarification or help. Sometimes, the problem is the reviewer’s, and sometimes it’s a defect. In other words, if you suspect a problem with a dish or service. Verify that the problem actually exists and wasn’t a fluke (a tragic accident killed one of the staff, leaving them short-handed during the lunch or dinner rush) or a matter of personally preference (salt or spiciness sensitivity).
2. During those visits, pick a different entree each time.
3. If you can’t go more than one time because of time or monetary restraints, invite a few of your family, friends or co-workers with you so you can sample more dishes and also get an opportunity to see how well they serve your larger table.
4. Never, ever, forget your camera. If you witness health code violations or something illegal, such as cockroaches, rats or “recycling” of banchan, take photos at that moment.
  In the U.S., truth is an absolute defense against libel, although there is no defense against costly, fruitless legal battles.
  In other countries, such as South Korea, this may offer only limited protection. Some protection is better than none.
5. Sometimes, the most appropriate venue to complain about health code violations is the local health department, rather than a paragraph in your food blog, accompanied with snarky adjectives and flowery prose. If the local agency takes action, then report on that action. At that point, it’s part of the public record.
6. Criticizing for an issue outside a restaurant’s control, such as how badly their customers park their vehicles, may create cute quips, but it mostly fails to provide constructive criticism for the proprietor or decision-making direction to the potential patron. Perhaps, the restaurateur could take corrective curbside action, if the problem actually existed.
Now, having said that, Mr. Yang, the restaurant owner seemed to have earned his “bully” moniker by taking her to court in the first place. The most damning accusation she made against the restaurant — visible cockroaches — actually was vindicated by the High Court. Yang took Liu to court, got her thrown in jail for 30 days and received nearly $7,000 in compensation for his “injury” over her comment that his cuisine was “too salty.”
Koreans call a stingy person “salty” as in 넌 너무 짜 nuhn nuhmu jja, “You’re too salty.” This restaurant owner seems to be “too salty” because of his own over-reaction to the original blog post.
The Taiwanese court’s decision to penalize this blogger so harshly for such a facile opinion has brought real disrepute on Taiwan, far more disrepute than Liu’s blog post brought on Yang’s noodle restaurant.
Food bloggers based in the People’s Republic of China have more freedom of speech than their Taiwanese counterparts.
“… man and we thought our speech was limited over on the mainland…. We find this pretty frightening. God knows we at Shanghaiist have written more damning things than that a dish was too salty. We hate to think what would happen if we were called Taipeiist instead.” —Tiffany Ap of Shanghaiist, commenting on the case
When people in the PRC have greater freedom of speech than the Taiwanese, that is a sad day for Taiwan’s standing in the free world.
June 26, 2011
How to celebrate Pesach (Passover) in Korea in 2011
The Hebrew word chametz includes yeast and other leavening products and bread products made with those products, such as bread, tortillas, cakes and scones. Chabad of Korea can help you deal with these items appropriately. (Tammy Quackenbush photo of Yuja Marmalade Butter on buttermilk buscuits)

If you’re of the Chosen in 조선 Joseon (a Jew living in Korea) and wondering what to do and where to go for פסח Pesach (Passover, which begins the evening of April 18), contact Chabad of Korea. The Jewish outreach organization has been in Korea since 2008.

Matzah is the Hebrew word for unleavened bread. It's a simple mix of wheat flour and water that is baked within 18 minutes after the flour and water come together. (Jeff Quackenbush photo)

Through Chabad you can order מצה matzah (unleavened bread eaten during the seven-day festival), sell your חמץ chametz (leavened and leavening items such as bread and yeast) and sign up for a seder (Pesach observance meal) so you can celebrate Pesach with other Jews.
Rabbi Litzman of Chabad Korea said, “There is no deadline at all,” for putting in your order but be realistic and put in your order as soon as possible to have it in time for Pesach.
April 13, 2011
Review of Korean taco truck Seoul on Wheels
I found Seoul on Wheels at the Eat Real Food Festival in Oakland, Calif. at Jack London Square. Julia Yoon was serving up a truncated menu of Beef, Chicken, Pork or Tofu Korean tacos and spicy chilled noodles.
We tried the chicken and beef Korean tacos. They were very good. The charcoal grilled beef and chicken BBQ was served on a corn tortilla with chopped romaine lettuce, sliced daikon radish and topped with sour cream and spicy gochujang. The bulgogi taco had the right amount of sweet and savory that one expects from bulgogi and the grilled chicken was a good kind of spicy. A small amount of sour cream kept the spice balanced.
The best part of our visit to Seoul on Wheels (besides trying their food) is an impromptu interview I did with a young man who was trying Korean food for the first time. Check out his reaction to his first bite at 2:03.
Seoul on Wheels has a Twitter account with more than 3,700 followers broadcasting their whereabouts. You can also find them on Facebook.
March 28, 2011
Honey Cuisine Sushi & BBQ, Rohnert Park, Calif.
Honey Cuisine Sushi and BBQ is located in the Wolf's Den shopping center near the south entrance of Sonoma State University. (Photo by Tammy Quackenbush)
Honey Cuisine Sushi and BBQ is just a stone’s throw from Sonoma State University. Since the restaurant opened May 2008, its patron mix has been 50-50 college students and locals, according to restaurant owner Hyun Kim. Most of the diners on the two nights I visited didn’t appear to be of Asian descent.
Kim said they’ve been blessed with busyness from day one, even though they opened just after the start of the recent U.S. economic recession in December 2007.
The restaurant is a newcomer to the sparsely served north San Francisco Bay area Korean food scene. Two Korean restaurants in Santa Rosa — one focusing on barbecue and the other on fusion fare — opened and closed in the past decade. Traditional-leaning Bear Korean Restaurant in the Sonoma County accordion capital of Cotati also opened in that timeframe and remains open under new ownership.
Honey Cuisine has traditional Korean selections at the back of the menu. But as sushi in the name suggests, much of the menu features a number of Japanese dishes, mainly sashimi, sushi, tempura and intriguing mixtures of the three, including baked sushi. So Honey Cuisine deserved at least two visits to sample the spectrum.
On our first trip, we focused on Korean standards.
Honey Cuisine’s bibimbap has the traditional elements, as seen here before one pours a lake of gochujang on it and puts the bibim (mixed) to the bap (rice). (Photo by Jeff Quackenbush)

My husband ordered 돌솥 비빔밥 dolsot bibimbap with chicken ($10.95). The hot stone bowl featured a mix of mushrooms, carrots, onions, zucchini, spinach, grilled chicken and sunnyside-up egg. Adding a familiar Korean restaurant touch, a squeeze bottle of 고추장 gochujang on the table allowed for do-it-yourself spiciness.
The barbecued chicken was brought on a hot iron plate, just as the bibimbap was brought out in a hot stone bowl. (Photo by Tammy Quackenbush)
I ordered barbecued chicken ($12.95). It included some zucchini, mushroom, carrot and jalapeno peppers mixed into the smoky, spicy sauce. Barbecued menu items, which include beef and pork, come with kimchi and steamed rice.
This was the first time I tasted Korean barbecued chicken with a strong smoke flavor. The use of smoke as a flavor ingredient is commonly thought of as an European-American trademark.
The kimchi was the only banchan on the menu, and it's only offered with the Korean barbecued dishes. (Photo by Tammy Quackenbush)
Honey Cuisine does not overwhelm customers with the typical Korean practice of covering the table with small-dish appetizers, called 반찬 banchan in Korean.
Even the classic spicy cabbage kimchi (배추김치 baechu kimchi) is not king in this Korean restaurant. Our server asked me, “Do you want to try some kimchi?” Of course, I did. Honey Cuisine’s baechu kimchi had the balance of sweet, spicy, sour and salty one expects from this Korean staple.
White daikon contrasts well with the green seaweed. The delicate crunch of the daikon went well with the more chewy texture of the seaweed. (Photo by Tammy Quackenbush)
I also ordered seaweed salad ($4.95). The seaweed was thinly julienned and piled on a bed of thinly julienned, slightly pickled daikon radish and drizzled with sesame oil dressing.
The 911 Sushi dish featured spicy tuna sashimi and seaweed, tucked in a wrapping of white rice and topped with avocado and a couple of different spicy sauces. (Photo by Jeff Quackenbush)
One the second visit, I had to try something from their extensive sushi and sashimi menu. The sushi that caught my eye was called 911 Sushi ($9.95). This spicy sushi featured a spicy tuna center rolled in 김 kim, or the rolled seaweed wrap the Japanese call nori. A layer of rice circumferenced the kim and tuna core.
A top view of the 911 Sushi dish shows the decorative plating with two sauces, pickled ginger and wasabi. (Photo by Jeff Quackenbush)
Avocado covered the top along with a playful sunbeam-like painting across the plate with a spicy, creamy sauce and a savory oil. The spiciness slowly sneaked up on me, causing a light sweat and a little drip from your nose. It’s not “I dare you to eat this” spicy.
Honey Cuisine’s japchae seems to be a fusion of the traditional Korean noodle dish and teriyaki-style stir fry. (Photo by Jeff Quackenbush)
My husband ordered chicken 잡채 japchae ($9.95), which seemed to be a fusion dish of japchae and chicken teriyaki. The dish arrived on a plate had white rice on one-third, and on the rest was a mound of chicken strips grilled in a teriyaki-style marinade as well as lightly steamed and stir-fried onions, zucchini, broccoli and carrot. Peeking out from underneath the chicken and veggies were cellophane noodles, appearing dark golden brown from the sauce.
Japchae can be a bellwether for attention to detail in Korean cuisine because of the subtle balance in the noodle sauce among pungent sesame oil, salty soy sauce, strong garlic, zesty black pepper and sometimes a touch of sweetness.
Honey Cuisine’s japchae sauce tasted heavier on soy sauce and light on sesame oil, garlic and pepper. I’ve had successes and failures in achieving that balance when making the dish myself. And even Bear Korean’s japchae has been soy sauce–heavy at times.
The noodles were left uncut — i.e., more fork-friendly than chopstick-friendly — and had a more rubbery texture than we’ve tasted to date. The appearance of food-only scissors when food is served can be off-putting to foreigners visiting Korea, but it is a hallmark of hospitality to serve food that one can eat with chopsticks and without cutting. Yet the ethnic mix of Honey Cuisine’s clientele mentioned earlier explains the restaurant’s place setting with fork, steak knife and bamboo chopsticks, rather than the traditional Korean setting of chopsticks and spoon.
Here are some additional pointers:
- On a busy night (Friday and Saturday, especially) exercise some patience in getting your meal, and expect a 30 minute wait for your meal.
- The restaurant seats about 40 people inside and accommodates small parties.
Honey Cuisine Sushi & BBQ
1712 E. Cotati Ave.
Rohnert Park, CA 94928
(707) 795-9700
Hours: Monday–Saturday, 11 a.m. – 9 p.m. Closed Sundays.
October 18, 2010
Faster fermentation: Does kimchi primed make kimchi before its time?
Do you jump-start the kimchi or let nature take its course? The choice is yours. (Photo by Jeff Quackenbush)
Chef Hector Marroquin of Pupusa Griddle in St. Helena, Calif., continues to perfect his kimchi recipe.
He sent me this message on Sept. 13 from Facebook:
I made about three gallons of kimchi…. I used about a cup of the older kimchi juice I had as a starter. I was surprised how quickly the fermentation process started.
Then he asked me an interesting question — interesting to me anyway:
Have you ever seen anybody use old kimchi juice as a starter?
If you save the juice from your Lactobacillus-fermented kimchi, you can either make it into stew or save a cup or two to jump start your next batch. (Photo by Jeff Quackenbush)
I told him that natural-foods advocates often use starters. Koreans often use the leftover kimchi to make 김치 찌개 kimchi jjigae, or kimchi stew, and start the pickling process from scratch.
The Weston Price Foundation is an American nonprofit organization that advocates the nutritional superiority of natural foods and old-fashioned cooking and preservation methods. That includes naturally fermented foods such as kimchi, pickles, sauerkraut and yogurt. The foundation’s 1999 slow-food classic Nourishing Traditions: The Cookbook that Challenges Politically Correct Nutrition and the Diet Dictocrats is in my library.
Chef Marroquin’s question was well-timed. The Washington Post (free subscription only) in a Sept. 14 article called “Fermentation: A wild way to make food come to life” detailed ways to expedite vegetable fermentation (emphasis added):
Depending on your time and temperament, there are three ways to go about it. Sealing the food in a simple saltwater brine is the most traditional method; the wait for the finished product is usually several weeks. Jump-starting the process with whey from a dairy product, or liquid from any live ferment, can produce the desired result within several days. Powdered starters also do the trick.
How will using a “liquid from any live ferment” such as kimchi juice effect the final product?
I asked Master Food Preserver Delilah Snell of Project Small how such liquid starter as kimchi juice could affect fermentation.
“I think using the old juice adds a little more flavor and it has more of the ‘good bacteria,’” she wrote. “Starting from scratch, you have to make your own [good bacteria].”
Use of a starter also helps control the sourness of fermentation, she added.
If you like a sour, more developed kimchi, start the new batch with some juice from a prior pickling. Using a starter may also help create a more consistent kimchi more quickly, which is crucial for a restaurant or catering business.
However, if you prefer a fresher, more subtle kimchi, start each batch from scratch.
Leo Tolstoy said, “The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.” He could have been talking about the art of making kimchi, because patience and time are keys to the good stuff.
September 17, 2010