What are you… Chicken?

I have this sinking feeling that I did not do my departure from Korea justice. If I can recall correctly, I simply gave one more recipe about bibimbap, then peaced out from that whole year of culinary, cultural, linguistic, social growth. It’s well past time – two months now back in the states – that I revisit Korea and its cuisine.

In a large way, my return to culinary Korea is based in my nostalgia. Now that fall is upon us, the last autumn I remember was full of hiking in a land where I read signs like a second grader and understood even less. I ate apples that I found in markets. I tried squash and kimchi almost every meal. Now, I’m sitting in a very comfortable coffee shop on the border of Clinton Hill and Bed-Stuy, sipping strong, delicious, cappuccino looking out into a rainy Wednesday with a large cooking day ahead of me, and a nice restaurant to play in until the wee hours. Is there a better scenario? Of course not – we learn from every day and every moment, but I’m just slightly nostalgic to the days where I ate spicy food out of necessity not out of choice, where I had to plan out what I’d say at the counter to order my coffee, where a run along the river attracted looks of “what is that crazy white boy doing?”, where grocery stores were a vocabulary exercise, where the food was out of control good and the homogeneity was diverse enough for me not to get through the whole cuisine in a year’s time.

One of the last, and best meals, my friend took me out to still haunts my memory in the best of ways. I’d love to tell the story in chronological order, but the food out was so good that I can’t wait.

We arrived in the pouring rain, threw our names up on the white board outside that listed the next tables available. There were five of us, and we’d love to sit on the floor – sure. Stripping wet boots and umbrellas from our immediate possession, we sat down and didn’t have to order, since this restaurant only offers one thing: the chicken with all of the accoutrement. See: kimchi, radishes, cucumbers, gochujeong, sujebi, buckwheat pajeon, and the chicken. The chicken is prepared by steaming it for hours on end with garlic and root spices, so the meat just falls of the bone with such flavor that it really will haunt your dreams for a while.

The sujebi, a perilla seed based-soup, had such intense, deep flavors that it could have been the stand out dish but nothing really comes close to the chicken. Perilla is a flavor akin to tahini, without the oil-factor. So picture this: a thick, gluttonous soup rich with pepper, sticky buckwheat noodle strips, all coated with the mild but deep flavor of tahini. Dunk your spoon in, and sink slowly into a comfortable satiated womb as you pick up another piece of chicken that will, if you’re not careful, fall from bone to plate atop your kimchi, next to the bowl of rice topped with a cut up cucumber with a touch of red-pepper-sweet-and-delicious-paste. Watch out, it’s all very dangerous, but what are you… chicken?

Now that the main stage has been filled by chicken, the journey there was hilarious. We all met up at exit two (I think?) off line three. It was raining. We all were prepared because, well, it had been raining for the past five weeks, so what was another day? This day, though, was a little more intense. Intense enough that the drains wouldn’t take any more sky water and as we tried to squeeze five people into one cab, we all got our socks damp and the cab driver wouldn’t even take us anywhere. For shame, sir.

Laura and I hopped into a different cab, and were eventually struck with the crude hard fact that our cab driver was not only deaf, but slightly blind, unaware of where he was, and ever so drunk. Driving up the mountain over to the northern side of Seoul, Laura and I realized that it might be a wild ride through the downpour. Stopping off to the side of the road twice, we had to harshly translate our final destination to him, pressing a cell phone to his ear so Jiyoung could really explain it, it was a meal that wasn’t just… easy. It was a struggle to get there, and as we exited from the car, Laura almost threw her shoe at the cab. It was so frustrating, but a perfect example of type two fun: not all that fun during it, but hilarious afterwards.

I wish I could debrief more on Korea, about how I miss it and how the people there are amazing. How I loved the food, and loved learning something everyday. How the clothes were cutting edge and how the mentality of hard-work was inspiring. How the kids there were just brilliant and how people really partied hard. How it was nice to relax with close friends and how it was comforting that I lived so far from what I knew. But, to put that in just one post, well that would be an insult.

Korea, I do miss thee.

Breakfast Made At Night; Lunch In A Hurry

Although the holiday season has passed, and now we all are revealing in the year that started out as a giant binary joke (see: 01.01.11), I still feel like I’ve been running around with a purpose. From weekends filled with new found adventures, to keeping dinner plan promises, to planning my next month, it has been all-in-all hectic. I’ve made my best efforts to relax, take a few deep breaths, and coincidentally slow my life down a bit, but I haven’t been able to record those precious moments of inner peace (see: I am a neo-hippy, if that has been lost in the posts in between now and then).

And despite my best efforts to fully describe all that a 20-something can do in the culinary and travel world,  this little ditty might be a bit short. Nonetheless, I have two inspired culinary moments that I needed to share on behalf of 20-somethings  everywhere. The first is a breakfast that I made at night. Last night, to be exact.

 

Coming home from a long day at work, I lusted for nothing other than a fiction podcast, my yoga mat, and some banana bread. Luckily all three were at my disposal. I had been neglecting the first two for some time now, and needed to sweep the tangible and proverbial dust off my refuges. The latter – the bananas – were a recent find on the soon-to-be-trashed section of the grocery store. Browning, squishy, and perfect for banana bread.

My only hang-up was the lack of toaster. See, my toaster oven is not actually my own. Rather, it’s on a semi-loan based program where I borrow it from a good friend here, and in return I bring some of the fruits of my labor to her the following day. Unfortunately, she required her own toaster oven a weekend ago, so I was left with banana bread batter – maxed out with four bananas – and no baking device. So what do I take to? The stove top. There’s no hint of sarcasm here, dear reader, my backcountry culinary tricks made their way to my Seoul-based apartment. Sitting over extremely low heat, covered with a larger pan, this bread was cooking surprisingly evenly. Every five minutes or so, I would flip the bread to make sure the outsides cooked to a crisp crust while the insides stayed nice and gooey.  All of this was soundtracked by Don DeLillo’s short story “Baader-Meinhof.”

What came of the experiment was what normally happens to my banana breads: it was gooey, crispy crusted, dense, and amazingly delicious. I guess there are other descriptive words to articulately tell you what it was like, or I could say: The bread is nearly gone, and it’s been only one day. I recommend this banana bread giant pancake to any in need of a baked good in a country without an oven.

The other culinary breakthrough comes at you, again, straight off that beloved shelf in the grocery store where the produce is on reduce because it’s about to kick the bucket. This time, I give you lettuce, green onions, and jalapeno peppers.

This dish was a quick-witted flick of the wrist. I had lettuce I needed to eat, and produce I needed to cook, so I thought back to the summer days when I’d grill something up, and throw it right on a bed of lettuce to have the two words combine in some freakishly healthy and savory dish. And yet again, I sat at my desk today on lunch break, scarfing down this Korean-inspired salad.

See: sautéed onions, garlic, salt, pepper, crisp green onions, baby bok choy, and jalapenos all simmered with red pepper strands.

See: a bed of fresh lettuce

See: a gochujan dressing, whipped up fresh with extra pepper.

See:

 

The holidays will slow down soon enough. And when they do, boy do I have some meals to tell you. Think wintery drinks. Think sweet coated mornings. Think hot hands and cold noses. Get ready, 2011.

 

Chaos and Order: The Eve Before Christmas

What is Christmas without the full spectrum of complex chaos and simplistic order?  Every Christmas I can remember is rose-tinted with memories of all gathered around a fire, opening presents, and sipping eggnog slowly, interspersing some coffee here and there. But let’s get real, we all know that in order to get to that couch, under that blanket, content as can be, there was a lot of preparation. See: stove flames nipping and four pots bellies, as the stove intermittently roars awake to keep the turkey, stuffing, and gravy-to-be cooking. See: my whole family running around trying to keep shoes out of the way as we set the table, open the wine, and wrap the gifts. See: serving everyone at the brunch table and making sure everyone has enough coffee, eggnog, wine, beer, water, milk, juice, the list continues.

But that’s exactly what this holiday is about, and despite my being fourteen hours a head of my family, Christmas was still a balance of rushing and relaxing. Struggling and burning my lip on one too many dishes tasted, and sitting on a warmed floor in Seoul, sharing a meal with good friends. It was Christmas.

Family has asked before about the nature of Christmas here in Seoul. I think a quick sentence can summarize it: Christmas is a holiday much like Valentine’s Day. To explain: it is a couple – not family – holiday that ensures many cakes gifted, a lot of city promenades to view the decorations of the city and no time off. Yes, just like my days in the Thai restaurant, I worked on Christmas Eve.

But that didn’t put a stop to the feast I was planning. Any opportunity I had to think about what I would pair together – see root vegetables, comfort food, Christmas treats – I would take advantage of it. In class, on sticky notes, during preparation time, in my journal before work, there are too many notes for this dinner. I was just trying to make it special in any and every way possible.

So as nine thirty rolled around, I had already clocked out and was on the first elevator down to the ground floor. I ran home, and threw on my pajamas (to get into the spirit, of course) and turned on the stove. Pulling every ingredient I had in my refrigerator out, I had amassed an enviable collection of produce. Greens, baby bok choi, 김닙, sweet potato, pumpkin, mushroom,   red cabbage, kale, onion, zucchini, and carrots. Those ingredients combined with a little Korean flavor (gochujan), and a little southern comfort (Annie’s Mac & Cheese so graciously gifted to me by a fellow Seoulite-expat, James), Christmas Eve Dinner was going to be right.

 

 

 

With the flames (just two…) roaring, people buzzing into my apartment, my knife flying through ingredients, and friends asking if they could help, I felt like I was home again.

 

After a short 45 minutes of cooking, our late night Christmas Eve Dinner began. Sauteed Spicy Greens with red pepper threads, onions and hints of sesame leaf, Pan-seared carrots, garlic and red cabbage, Roasted Winter Vegetable medley (pumpkin, sweet potato, onions), Gourmet Mac & Cheese (sesame leaf, zucchini), and a late-in-the-game mushroom and onion dish to round out the Earthly Flavors. And for drink? An Argentine Malbec or, if you are feeling the holiday spirit, homemade Eggnog.

Here’s to snow covered Seoul, and the Christmas Morning Brunch.

For Recipes, wait just a little longer. This meal isn’t over.