Post 93: Pork Belly Octo-nom (LA: Koreatown)

When I decided to dedicate the month of October to the most pleasurable portions of pork, the first thing I thought about was pork belly.  Not bacon? What a shock.  Ah, pork belly... it is a luxuriously thick slab of fatty pork that, at least for me, gives me more exhilaration than eating just basic bacon no matter how smoked, cured, or maple syruped it has been.  One of the most memorable meals of delicious pork belly that came to mind was the eight courses of decadent grilled pork belly from Palsaik Samgyupsal Korean BBQ in Koreatown.  Palsaik, meaning eight colors, specializes in BBQ of pork belly.  There is beef on the menu also, but most patrons select one of two multi-course set meals of pork.  The first selection on the menu, the one we ordered, is an ample amount of food for three people with moderately large appetites.  The meal comes with other grilled vegetables, a salad, seafood stew, fried rice and side dishes... all of which can be refilled by the server with the push of a glutton.  Er... button.

The eight different flavors include (in order of suggested consumption)... wine marinated, original, ginseng, garlic, herb, curry, miso, and spicy gochujang.  There is even a ninth flavor of smoked pork belly.  It is left off the classic palsaik, but it can be ordered a la carte by the strip or by the tray.  The restaurant stresses the healthy aspect of eating the pork belly, which is laughable at first.  But after exploring the health benefits of the eight flavors posted on their website (ginseng stimulates metabolism... herbs alleviate stress... curry helps prevent Alzheimer's and certain cancers, etc.), it is understandable as to how each ingredient can be good for you... those healthy ingredients should probably be consumed without it being slathered over slices of fatty pork belly.  Speaking of which... each cut of the fatty pork belly has been scored so that the supposedly healthy marinades can permeate the protein more easily for the utmost of flavor in each bite.

The first cut is wine flavored pork belly, which the server tells us has been marinated in a red wine overnight for eight to 12 hours.  Having the wine break down the proteins in the meat for that many hours allows for a texture that is tender and succulent.  I have not figured out why the wine marinated belly gets served prior to the original flavor yet... although I speculate that the remaining seven cuts of belly are not as tender as the wine marinated.

Following the wine marinated cut is the original pork belly.  It is the cut in the purest form without even a sprinkling of salt or pepper...  Returning from the tenderness of the wine marinated cut, this is a reminder of what unaltered pork belly tastes like.  It's crispy... it's fatty... it's juicy.  It is around this time that I notice the many things happening on the table at once that it is difficult to focus on only the pork belly.  I am distracted by the seafood stew that is still boiling away... and mesmerized by all that is gleaming on the table.

After the original flavor is one that has been rolled in ginseng.  The ginseng flavor is extremely smart because it is almost a palate cleanser.  It is a bit unexpected but not unrealistic to have contrasting flavors to help cut the grease of fatty pork belly, which there is a lot of exuding from the strips of glistening pork.  Tilting the grill pan is another method of helping to cut the grease.  All the extra fat runs downward into a convenient hole at the bottom of the tilted grill.  What is not captured by the black hole helps to fry the kimchi and spicy soybean sprouts.  That goes without saying that kimchi fried in lard is quite delicious. 

The last of the first four is garlic pork belly with actual sliced cloves of garlic.  The pairing of meat and garlic is very natural.  It is one of the first items in the kitchen that cook will grab to cook or marinade with.  The fragrance and aroma of the garlic is powerful, and it becomes even more potent after it is grilled.  It may even help induce an orgasmic climax during the meal.

Of the final four, herb marinated is next, with dill as the predominant tasting herb.  None of the herbs are thought of as typically found in Asian cooking, so it was surprising to taste these flavors marinated into the pork belly.  I appreciate the break in seemingly Asian flavors knowing that curry and miso were coming up.  More than halfway through the meal now, food coma may start to set in.  I found myself zoning out and staring at all the cuts of pork belly sizzle away on the grill.

Curry tasted like a blend of Southeast Asian curry flavors more like the taste of Malaysian curry rather than an Indian or Japanese curry.  It was a little heavy for my taste, especially because I was expecting something a bit lighter like Japanese curry, but it was still good.  The Southeast Asian curry uses its somewhat more exotic spices to provide more of a punch.  Because it is one of the heavier tastes it is nice to wrap it around some radish paper or have a bit of the pickled japaleños and onions to cut the heaviness.

The penultimate flavor of pork belly was miso paste.  There were no surprises here.  The miso flavor provided the saltiness that I expected from eating pork belly, which gave it more of a bacon quality.  I especially liked this flavor because the miso paste crusted up really well on the grill.  It has a great grilled color and crisp texture on the exterior.  Yum.

Hot/spicy was a favorite for all at the table.  It was flavored with gochujang, a spicy Korean chili paste.  Although the red glow from the marinade warned of the impending heat, the slight sweetness of the gochujang does not overpower your taste buds with overwhelming heat or bite.  There is a smoothness to the spice that allows you to continue eating it until there is no more.  It really was the best ending to all of the flavors... understandable why they saved the best for last.

Our eight colors of pork belly was quickly followed by a boiling cast iron pot of seafood stew.  From crab to shrimp to mussels to octopus to tofu to udon noodles, we eat everything until just the little dregs were leftover... but there is just enough stew to reduce down into some intense flavor that is perfect for making fried rice.  The server arrives to cut and fold the leftover kimchi and soybean sprouts into the rice along with remaining onions, mushrooms, and seaweed.  If the pork belly has not already made your stomach full, the last of the fried rice will.  In the couple of times that I have dined on Palsaik's eight flavors, we have never finished the last of the fried rice.  No matter... when the rice is done, we dig in.

We are full and satisfied from the eight, delicious flavors of pork belly.  This meal has inspired me to make my own pork belly octo-nom.  I am convinced that my collection of eight pork belly flavors are going to result in mouthgasms across the land just like Palsaik's incredible palate of eight has done for us.  So until then (when I wow you with my pork belly octo-nom), let's all get S.O.F.A.T.

ML - 20120811

Post 77: Fun Size Korean School Food (LA: Koreatown)

My roommate recently introduced me to School Food Blooming Roll, a restaurant that makes food that Korean students would typically bring in their lunch boxes to school.  This concept is quite unique, so I was eager to gather some friends for some famous Korean fare.  We ordered School Food's two most popular dishes, a super spicy tteokbukki and an epic platter of nine different kimbap. 

The rice cake typically used in tteokbukki are tubular and cylindrical, but School Food serves their version in a shape more similar to marshmallows, tater tots or fun size Snickers bars.  It's as if the restaurant purposely cut the size of the rice cake down so that elementary school children would enjoy their lunches more.  Who doesn't like miniature versions of everyday food?

The flavor profile is not just spicy but a melange of sweet and spicy together.  The thick, crimson sauce from the first taste of the tteok is sweet, but the peppery spice penetrates the taste buds soon after.  This wasn't the spiciest tteokbukki I've ever had, but it was pretty damn close to it.  We all know that gulp after gulp of water doesn't help, but I think that the spiciness led to a bit of temporary insanity because that's all I did to relieve the pain of the spice.  It wasn't until I munched on the kimbap and the accompanying sweet mayonnaise that my tongue calmed down and my ears stopped ringing.

Our massive platter included the following types of rice rolls: beef, garlic and bacon, anchovies, squid and squid ink, smelt roe, Spam, tuna, spicy anchovies, and kimchi.  And just like the tteok, the kimbap were bite sized too.  Korean style rice rolls are usually bigger than Japanese style sushi, so it takes more than one bite (depending on the size of your nom) to munch on the entire thing.  Luckily, these itty bitty kimbap were junior sized, which meant that popping a rice roll into your mouth didn't require much effort.  Hmm... is this the lesson we want to be teaching in schools?

My favorite kimbap were the ones that had tuna, Spam, and squid ink wrapped inside.  The tuna and Spam weren't anything out of the ordinary, but the saltiness of canned tuna and canned lunch meat really complemented the neutral flavor of the white rice well.  Japanese sushi relies heavily on the freshest raw fish to taste good, and since Korean kimbap focuses on ingredients other than raw fish, I found that the stronger the flavor, the more I ended up liking the kimbap.  

The squid ink kimbap, on the other hand, didn't quite have a strong flavor.  In fact, the squid was subtly sweet, and the flavor of its ink didn't really shine.  We all liked it just because the rice was black, and it seemed almost like a novelty food item.  It was unique, and we have the evolutionary bodily function of a certain cephalopod to thank for it.

After seeing the dishes, I could really imagine Korean school children carrying the fun size versions of tteokbukki and kimbap to class.  The food wasn't amazing delicious, but it was definitely fun to eat.  It was almost like revisiting the school cafeteria to have some of those nostalgic chicken nuggets, fish sticks... or for those of us from AUSD... crispitos! By the way, where can we find crispitos? Simply reminiscing about those school lunches from the good ol' days isn't going to cut it for me.  I'm going to need to munch on some real crispitos real soon.  But until then, let's all get S.O.F.A.T.

ML - 20120225

Post 35: Finishing a Very Korean September with Gamjatang (LA: Koreatown)

Tick... pop... crack.  

As I continued to chew I wondered what was making the firecracker sensation in my mouth...

M: "What are those?"
K: "Sesame seeds."
M: "No man, they're black.  I think those are poppy seeds."
G: "Dude, my co-worker failed a drug test 'cuz she had a poppy seed bagel..."
M: "No way... that's an insignificant..."
K: "I'm telling you... they're sesame seeds"
A: "Wait.  What's wrong with poppy seeds?"
M: "Opium."
J: "What?"

The ticking, popping, and cracking black seeds were actually ground and toasted sesame seeds.  Grinding them up and toasting the seeds cause them to look round and black, allowing them to mask as poppy seeds.  They were floating around happily amongst white sesame seeds and bright green sesame seed (perilla) leaves in a deep red soup brewed from the bones of the pig's spine.  In addition to the tender, still-on-the-bone pork, the many variations of sesame seed, chunks of starchy potato were lodged at the bottom of the steel hot pot.  Hmmmm... so this is gamjatang (감자탕).

Kimmy, my token Korean friend from high school, volunteered to be our Korean food hostess for the weekend.  We call her Kimmy (her real name is Grace Kim) to highlight her Korean-ness.  Forget the fact that we have a million friends named Grace... it's her Korean-ness that allows us to call her Kimmy.  But I digress.  Kimmy, our Korean cuisine hostess extraordinaire, led us to Gam Ja Gol in Koreatown where she was about to show us some true blood Korean food... the non-BBQ, non-tofu, non-soju type of true blood Korean food.

Kimmy introduced us gamjatang, a savory stew made with the bones of a pig's spine, the earthy potatoes, and an abundance of enticing and somewhat exotic leaves of the sesame seed.  The soup was deep red.  Deep, deep red.  But it wasn't insanely spicy.  Just enough to cause droplets of perspiration to form on foreheads around the table.

In between bites of the soft pork, slurps of the savory stew, and glances at the banchan spread, I looked up every so often to ask Kimmy a question or two about the Korean food that we were having.  Gamjatang, translated literally, means potato (gamja) soup (tang), but Kimmy warned, "it's not really about the potato..."

Apparently not.  It was all about the soft and tender meat... it was about the savory and addicting soup... it was all about the fragrance of the perilla leaves... it was all about the way the gamjatang was poured into my bowl with heart, soul, and pride in the Korean culture.  It was about the complete destruction of a pig's spine... the bones looked as if they were leftover from a Velociraptor's meal.  And it was all about the second course of the meal...

As we the gamjatang slowly dwindled to its last remaining drops, the server arrived to wisp away the steel hot pot... only to refill it with white rice, chopped kimchi, and an assortment of ingredients.  I followed the sounds of the sizzle and crackle to the corner of the restaurant where it was cooking.  And as I peered into the popping pot, the server exclaimed from behind me, "chao fan!"

Bewildered, I spun around.  The supposedly Korean server used Mandarin to tell me that it was fried rice.  I didn't quite know just what to say.... or even what language to respond in.  So I just sat back down at the table, which is when Kimmy informed me, "she," pointing at the server, "told me that you looked Chinese."

I found out later that she was ethnically Korean but was born in northeastern China, so she learned to speak Mandarin growing up.  I guess that's where she learned to tell non-Koreans apart from ethnic Koreans.

But does that mean I like fried rice? Well, I sure as hell enjoyed this one.  In the little time it took to cook the fried rice, the grains of white rice had absorbed the remaining gamjatang... it was bursting with spicy and savory flavors... only a hint of which came from kimchi.  I was absolutely stuffed, and there was not a single section of spine left for us to pick at.  But I kept wanting more.  

The gamjatang rice was almost a drug.  If I had to take this drug every 8 hours for a course of 2 weeks (with food), I wouldn't have any problem with it.  In fact, I wouldn't have a problem with gamjatang or the fried rice being an intravenous drug.  Mmmm... this stuff is good.  Shoot it straight into my veins.

The gamjatang was an awesome Korean food experience.  What made it even better was that I learned and tried something I never knew existed.  Kamsamhapnida, Kimmy.  Solid meal.

Until another true blood experience, let's all get S.O.F.A.T.

ML - 201000926/20101006

Post 34.1: Korean-Chinese Food, Part 1 (LA: Koreatown)

Just recently Wade introduced me to Appetite for China, a blog whose writer has much of her attention directed towards the many facets of Chinese cuisine.  What fascinates me about her posts is that she doesn't just focus on the eight classic schools of Chinese cuisine (Cantonese, Szechwan, etc.) or just any random Chinese dish or restaurant that she finds.  According to her About page, she highlights some of the hyphenated styles of Chinese cooking such as Portugese-accented Macanese, Peruvian chiffa, and Indian-Chinese.  What sparked me to write a post was her feature on Korean-Chinese cuisine, a type of food that Rose took me to try at Young King in Koreatown.

So what exactly is Korean-Chinese cuisine? Simply put, it's Korean style Chinese food. 

Still hard to grasp? Well, in America we have American style Italian food... I'm sure you've had the BBQ chicken pizza from CPK.  We also have Mexican-Chinese here in Los Angeles... the wonton soup with a splash of lime juice and chili oil from China Cafe at Grand Central Market is slightly bewildering, enormously tasty, and incredibly unforgettable.

 In Japan and Taiwan, there is Japanese-Italian... have you ever had squid ink pasta or teriyaki chicken pizza topped with seaweed and mochi balls?

 

And in Korea, there is Korean-Chinese.

The common explanation is that this Korean style of Chinese food was developed when northern Chinese, most likely from the Shandong region, emigrated to Korea and brought their style of cooking with them.  Over the course of many generations in Korea, what was originally Chinese cuisine became adapted to the tastes of the Korean tongue using local ingredients.

Another difference between Korean-Chinese food and traditional Chinese cuisine is that Korean-Chinese is served with kimchi and the raw onions with black bean paste.  Typically, the rest of the banchan is excluded from the meal.

Most of the Koreans I know agree that the three most well-known (and arguably best tasting) Korean-Chinese dishes are:

(1) Jjajangmyeon (Korean: 짜장면, Chinese: 炸醬麵): noodles smothered with a gelatinous black bean sauce and shredded cucumbers.  Korean jjajangmyeon is similar to the Chinese zhajiangmian in that the foundation of both stem from black bean paste.  However, jjajangmyeon is distinctly different from the zhajiangmian from China or Taiwan in that it uses not only onions but also caramel in the sauce, which zhajiangmian does not.  At first sight, it is clear that Korean jjajangmyeon is creamier; the texture and feel reminds me of shampoo.  Shampoo?! Yes, next time you have jjajangmyeon, see for yourself.  It's like having Pert Plus in black bean fragrance on your noodles sans the bathroom product offensiveness.  (Apologies if I have ruined the noodles for you.)  And it has a much darker color (almost black), and the Chinese version has a brown hue.

(2) Jjambbong (Korean: 짬뽕, Chinese: 炒碼麵): a mix of seafood and noodles in a spicy stew.  Although the spiciness of the dish makes it my favorite Korean-Chinese food, it is also the spiciness and wavering kimchi taste that makes me question how Chinese this dish actually is.  I've asked many of my Korean friends to translate jjambbong for me.  I hoped that the result would sound similar to the Chinese words so that I could correlate the two dishes (like jjajangmyeon and zhajiangmian), but to no avail. Jjambbong is simply a slang Korean word meaning mixed-together, a mess, or hodgepodge.  Even the menu's translation of jjambbong to chaomamian by Lunar Restaurant is nowhere close to anything remotely Chinese that I know.

(3) Tangsuyuk (Korean: 탕수육, Chinese: 糖醋肉) sweet and sour meat, typically pork but can be prepared with beef.  While Chinese sweet and sour pork is typically stir-fried, the Korean version is deep fried with a thicker breading.  Here the sweet and sour sauce is served on the side.  When I bit into the tangsuyuk it oozed with fattiness and reminded me of a softer version of a pork rind.  The excrement of oil was fascinating for my tongue and detrimental to my heart, but thankfully, Chinese food is always served with hot tea.

But unthankfully, it is damn diggity hot in the restaurant.  No joke.  Eating at Young King was no different from eating in old school Chinese restaurants as a kid in the early 90's.  Really.  Old, shaggy, dirty carpet.  Loud, noisy kitchen.  Waitstaff in unkempt white blouses and black restaurant shoes.  You know the rubber-looking black shoes with black shoelaces in the shape of Twinkies that all Chinese restaurant staff wore in the 90's? Yeah, they still wear 'em here.  Oily tabletops.  Oh, and it's hot.  Sweaty hot.  But no one seemed to mind.

Plate after plate of tangsuyuk arrived at every single table.  It was so freshly prepared that I could see the steam billow from the plate of tangsuyuk three tables away.  Damn.  And bowl after bowl of what I can only imagine as jjajangmyeon and jjambbong arrived at every single table.  Including ours.  Four bowls, actually... one order of each noodle, split into individual bowls for the two of us.  Why? Cuz we're fatties.  And because almost every Korean I know has a hard time deciding between jjajangmyeon and jjambbong, as evidenced by jbih's blogspot.

Since many Koreans have learned of the origins of this special cuisine and order it in the Korean-Chinese restaurants they grew up with, this type of Korean-Chinese is regarded as Chinese food.  However, since many Chinese and Chinese-Americans have rarely, if ever, come across this version of Chinese food, they consider it Korean food simply because it's not the kind of Chinese food they grew up with.  Some Korean-Americans designate jjajangmyeon as Chinese (hey, it sounds like zhajiangmian), while the same ones who throw the black bean noodles in the Chinese category may question how Chinese jjambbong is.  Whether it's really Korean or really Chinese whittles down to pure opinion.  One thing is for sure though... Koreans definitely have a special place on their palate for jjajangmyeon.  Ask any Korean you know.  I'd like to meet the one Korean who doesn't like jjajangmyeon.

The only way anyone is going to appreciate the food for what it is... is to simply take the food for what it is.  Don't think about whether the food is actually Chinese or Korean... don't compare jjajangmyeon with zhajiangmian or even think about whether you like one over another.  Don't think.  Just eat.  Bae go pa.

Thanks to Wade for the link.  Funny... he's Chinese and gets mistaken for Korean all the time.  Even in China.  

Until the next meal, let's all get S.O.F.A.T.

ML - 20100915/20100313

Post 32.2: Kalbi from the Korean Countryside (LA: Koreatown)

When most people think of Korean food, Korean BBQ is probably one of the most common thoughts that pop into mind.  Images of sizzling pieces of tender meat on a cast iron plate or smoke produced from meat over a charcoal grill are what come to mind.  Scratch that.  What used to come to mind.  I've recently come across so-called Korean comfort food from Seongbukdong in Koreatown, a restaurant that specializes in Gyeongsang cooking.  After reading about this style of home cooking in C. Thi Nguyen's LA Times article and experiencing what she calls the "trinity" of the three most popular dishes, images of steamed kalbi rather than grilled kalbi now permeate the inner thought cavities of my brain.



There's nothing more than can be said about steamed short ribs (galbi jjim) that hasn't already been said by Nguyen, The Thirsty Pig, or Stuffy Cheaks.  The meat is so tender that you don't even feel like you're chewing.  It's not the same as gnawing on grilled kalbi and working your teeth around the bone.  Here, the meat has already been stripped from the bone by the service staff upon setting the porcelain bowl down on the table.  It's hard not to have just one chunk of beef.  The salty and sweet (soy sauce and sugar perhaps) flavor combination keeps you from putting your chopsticks down.



The braised mackerel is what made it really hard to put my chopsticks down.  But unless you're amazingly adept at grasping chopsticks, fish, and bones simultaneously, you have to put your chopsticks down in order to get all the bones out of the spiny fish.  The mackerel is blanketed by a mound of kimchi... the flavor is rich, salty, and spicy... and absolutely amazing-delicious. 




On the two separate occassions I've visited Seongbukdong, I've also ordered the rice soup (gook bap) and kimchi stew (kimchi chigae).  The gook bap is great to have with the spicy braised mackerel and the salty and sweet steamed short ribs.  It gives you the warmth of chicken noodle soup but the heartiness of a tomato soup (although neither chicken, noodle, or tomato are amongst the ingredients used to prepare the gook bap).  I felt almost cleansed with each spoonful of gook bap.  The gook bap washes the sauce from the braised mackerel's kimchi away like the way the rain takes the pollution from the sky.  Mmmmm... this would be great to have on a rainy day.  Or... great to have any day.  Both Karin and one of the staff say that gook bap is one of their favorites.



The kimchi chigae is not my favorite here because it's more sour than I would like, but the service staff say that Seongbukdong is known for their kimchi chigae.  It tasted authentic, and Tiffany didn't mind it, but I still enjoy a kimchi chigae that's less sour and more spicy.



Some of my favorite banchan are the pepper with fermented bean paste, the sweet red beans, and of course, the huge chunk of steamed egg.  But I still can't get over the mackerel's fatty meat enshrouded in the little quilts of kimchi.  It's not everyone's favorite, but it's definitely mine.  Based on the reviews on Yelp and comments from other bloggers, I'm definitely coming back for the marinated spicy pork.  I'm dreaming out it already...

Read the post on Seongbukdong from The Thirsty Pig here.

Read the post on Seongbukdong from Stuffy Cheaks here.

Read the post on Seongbukdong from Food Pants here.

Until next time, let's all get S.O.F.A.T.

ML - 20100901