Asian cuisine, and Korean food in particular, is notoriously difficult to pair with wine. Even wine-lovers agree that beer is easier on the palate, as it combats the ever-present chilli peppers and compliments the potent flavours without neutralising them. What’s more, wine doesn’t play a large role in Korean dining culture. Even locally produced wines (such as Majuang) are not always on offer in restaurants, and are usually enjoyed alone or with snacks. Most restaurants that serve Korean food don’t even keep wine glasses. That’s not to say that Koreans don’t drink wine. Western restaurants offer wine and wine bars are now cropping up in every city. At first glance, it seems that people either go out for western or eastern food and drink, and never the two shall meet.
With a closer look, however, it’s clear that the wine scene in South Korea is small, but thriving. There is also a growing global interest in pairing wine and hansik (Korean food), particularly in the US – where the large Korean/American community has fostered the spread of Korean restaurants. In South Korea itself, there are some wine-pairing pioneers that hope to educate wine connoisseurs about hansik’s potential as a great companion to some of the world’s favourite wines.
With this in mind, I decided to try my hand at pairing a new love – hansik – with an old – red wine. I thought it best to start modestly, following the advice of those who had gone before. Wine experts usually pair hansik with an off-dry Riesling or a Pinot Noir, the latter of which is more versatile than most reds. Picking up a 2009 Agustinos Pinot Noir Reserva Privada, I headed off to a restaurant in Daegu that specialises in Soondubu Jjigae.
As with most Asian food, hansik is usually shared. The table ordered four varieties of the jjigae: kimchi jjigae, mandu jjigae, beegi jjigae (with okara) and kopjang jjigae (with chitterlings). If pairing a wine with four dishes wasn’t difficult enough, Korean meals are always served with side dishes known as banchan. Our table was adorned with ramekins that offered intense flavours, as most banchan are very salty, sweet or spicy, and many are fermented, such as the ubiquitous kimchi.
While awaiting the jjigae, we opened the wine. The Pinot’s nose offered sweet aromas of vanilla and cherry, and so I was surprised when it tasted thin, albeit with a pleasant, slightly astringent, finish. My South African palate was longing for the Hermitage/Cinsault in the Pinotage hybrid, but I reserved final judgment until the end of the meal.
A spoonful of kimchi jjigae blasted over my tongue and erased all memory of the banchan or the wine. Uh-oh, I thought. This experiment may fail. The next sip of wine only confirmed these fears, as the tannins only enhanced the gochujang (a chili-pepper paste omnipresent in hansik). I felt like there was a battle for dominance being waged on my taste buds. Perhaps I had chosen the wrong wine?
Thankfully, the beeji jjigae came to the rescue. The dubu was smoothly mixed with okara, producing a nutty and creamy flavour which toned down the gochujang and yet retained a strong edge. After a spoon of this, I sipped the wine again. This was a far better pairing: the wine wasn’t lost, nor did it eclipse the jjigae. With a bite of japchae (a noodle dish) to cleanse my palate, I was ready to pair it with a new dish. The wine stood up to the mandu jjigae beautifully, and I began to appreciate the Pinot’s versatility. Overall, the wine’s tannins boosted the spice of the jjigaes and added to the warmth of the meal, which makes it a great pairing for winter. I wouldn’t recommend this pairing in the humid Korean summer, but it was a hearty combination in the icy January weather.
One of the best things about Asian food is that there is always a variety of combinations available on any given table. You are never stuck with a single pairing of tastes and textures, and can always cleanse your palate with a bite of mulkimchi (a milder, watery kimchi) or danmuji (pickled radish) and start again. A host of variables awaits the diner, who is free to customise their meal and select flavours that suit the wine. Who says Korean food doesn’t like wine? Next time, I’ll ditch the Pinot and get more adventurous. Hansik can handle it, of that I’m sure.
For more information on Korean food and wine pairing, see:
Twitter makes it so much easier to “eavesdrop” on conversations of random strangers, which I do via a list of search terms related to Korean cuisine. For every person who asks a question, many others have the same one bouncing around their minds. Even random comments that don’t ask a question, but should ask a question, sometimes catch my eye.
#Soju can be sold in Calif. and New York, but it can only contain 25% alcohol or less. In #Japan and #Korea it contains 45%.
Mr. Chappell replied,
@SylviaKoss Then it’s not Soju. It’s watered-down Soju. #Soju #Japan #Korea
Is that shared soju experience the same in Seoul as it is in LA or NYC? (Leana photo, creative commons license, flickr)
Yet neither asked, “Why is the alcohol content of soju imported into the United States lower?” It’s another one of those answers that doesn’t fit well into a 140-character tweet. It has to do with whether you consider soju and Japanese sake as a rice wine or as distilled alcohol. (Some soju is made from sweet potatoes, tapioca and grains in place of or in addition to rice.)
The U.S. Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau considers soju a distilled alcoholic beverage. In August, a 42-year-old Virginia soju importer pleaded guilty to smuggling, money laundering and tax evasion for claiming soju was “rice wine,” avoiding nearly $102,000 in excise taxes on $2 million worth of shipments. Under U.S. law, distilled spirits are taxed at $13.50 per proof gallon, while wine is taxed at $1.07, $1.57 or $3.15 a gallon, depending on alcohol content.
But in 1998, the California Legislature gave soju the same status as beer and wine. The state’s Alcoholic Beverage Control Act Section 23398.5 limits what can be sold as “soju” under the more permissive on-premise beer and wine liquor license. It can’t have more than 24 percent of alcohol by volume. That’s the basis of Koss’ tweet to Chappell.
Additionally, soju “wine” must be made in Korea, so there’s no such thing as an American soju. Even Ku soju, one of the most marketing-savvy soju brands, is imported from Korean liquor chaebol (conglomerate) Doosan.
New York state adopted similar provisions in 2002.
Korean food culture is closely tied with consumption of alcoholic beverages, largely soju, 북분자주 bukbunjajoo (blackberry alcohol) and beer. Sharing a meal with friends without alcohol is virtually anathema, absent religious abstention.
California and New York both have large Korean-American communities and lobbied hard for the relaxed legal definition of soju. That allows Korean restaurants to sell soju without the bureaucratic burden of procuring a hard-liquor license first.
But there was a catch. Producers had to reduce the alcohol content in U.S.-bound bottles from 45 percent to 24 percent, just a little more than the kick of sweet, fortified wines such as Port.
After these laws passed, non-Korean restauranteurs discovered they could also take advantage of the loophole. In California, a hard-liquor permit can cost $6,000 to $12,000. To avoid those high costs, restauranteurs set their sights on soju as a less expensive alternative to jumping through all the hoop necessary to obtain a spirits license. They could sell cocktails made with soju instead of tequila or vodka.
Rather than “watered down,” U.S. soju’s lower alcohol content and lower caloric content of soju cocktails — about half the alcohol of vodka — is a marketable selling point for many bars and restaurants.
Keep in mind when you travel between the two countries. Several bottles of “American soju” don’t pack the same punch as the equivalent volume of Korean soju. Those two or three bottles of soju that leave you blissfully buzzed in L.A. might leave you puking your guts up on the sidewalks of Seoul.
Wine Korea’s Joshua Hall is an interesting cat. He’ll take a $50 bottle of wine to a simple Korean dive because the pairings fit.
I had the pleasure of sharing this German Riesling with him at a hole-in-the-wall pajeon joint in Yeoksam-dong last week. The wine was W34,000 (cheap by Joshua’s standards), and the mixed jeon was W7,000.
The effed up thing about this is that it worked. It actually worked. If you want to know more details about the wine and such, read all about it on Wine Korea.
Something new I found from those Dream Cacao folks. This is a wine-flavored chocolate. According to the insert inside the container, it’s infused with powdered Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon. Even though, of course, there’s no alcohol in them, they do taste a little alcoholic–a little winey. If you gave them to me and hadn’t told me they were wine infused then I’d think they were raspberry, as in Korean Bokbunja Raspberry Wine. They’re not too bad, really. I’m looking forward to having them with those strawberries.
A thought… can you imagine the uproar if they came out with something like this in America?
Twitter user victorology has spotted some Taco Bell construction in Itaewon. To those outside of Korea, I know this is not big news. But really, as hair metal gods Cinderalla said, “Don’t know what you got til it’s gone.”
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.
