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
I flew Asiana Airlines to Taipei this time, which called for a stopover at Incheon Airport on the way to/from LAX. I took this opportunity to hop outside of Incheon Airport for a quick 48 hours to take a first glimpse at Seoul and spend some time with old schoolmates Rina and Myung who now live and work in Korea. Here is a look at my 48 hour whirlwind in the capital city of South Korea.
My first bite of food in Korea (not counting the donuts I scarfed down at Incheon Airport) was from this harmonious plate of kimchi tofu. Kimchi tofu is a type of anju, or Korean drinking snack, that pairs two major Korean staples together onto one plate. When the tofu and kimchi meet in your mouth, the smooth, velvety, mild flavor of soft tofu engulfs the crunchy, tangy, spicy bite of stir-fried kimchi in a way that I can only parallel with my exhausted body collapsing into my pillows and comforters at the end of a long day. Kimchi and tofu together makes as much sense as mashed potatoes and gravy, and it brings the same kind of soothing comfort to your soul. I chased my first bite of dubu kimchi with a refreshing shot of Chamisul. Ahhh... my first taste of Korea.
It didn't take long for the highly anticipated haemul pajeon to arrive. This crackling seafood pancake is one of my favorite foods of all time, and to have the opportunity to enjoy it as part of my first meal in Seoul was just so insanely satisfying. Various bits of seafood are mixed into the thinly grilled batter, which means that each piece varies from bite to bite. The first bite might contain tender calamari... the next bite might contain a smidget of succulent shrimp... and the subsequent bite might contain clam meat or a jiggly octopus tentacle. But no matter what sea creature you discover in your piece of pajeon, every bite contains a web of sliced green onion, which not only provides sweetness but holds the entire pajeon structure together. Dipping it in a soy sauce mixture (sometimes simply called pajeon sauce) and then chasing it with more alcohol made the pancake taste better with every subsequent bite.
There was no way the meal was complete without more soju and tteokbukki (stir-fried rice cake). But by this point in the meal, I wasn't sure if I was more drunk from the dozen shots of soju and many sips of makgeolli or from the cyclone of spiciness of the rice cake. But to make certain it was the former and not the latter, we paid the bill and made our way through the streets of Seoul to a hof, a Korean style pub where the many more shots of soju confirmed that... yes, I was drunk from alcohol and not from spicy food.
In the midst of all this food talk, I have neglected to say that my newly assimilated Korean pal Rina had led me down some narrow, dark alley in Insadong for this first meal of various anju. But a single file trek through an unfamiliar territory is just mind over matter if there is hope of good food and chilled soju at the end of it. Dangle some seafood pancake at the end of a dark tunnel, and I can almost guarantee you that I'll walk down that path.
After a dozen blocks through Seoul's spirited streets and a couple of pit-stops at the batting cages and local arcade, we made our way up a few flights of stairs to the hof of choice. Rows of wooden tables in dim lighting with second hand cigarette smoke drifting through the rafters, intermittent roars of laughter and high pitched feminine squeals broke the constant drone of K-pop over the restaurant's loudspeakers. The most prominent noise that truly broke the muffled off-key karaoke was the clack of the soju glass as it was pounded on the wooden tables by hof's many night owls. The feel was similar to the environment in Korean bars like Crazy Hook in LA or Min Sok Chon in San Diego.
The first item we were served was a complimentary bowl of fried macaroni chips. Okay, so I made that name up, but I have no idea what they are actually called. The crunchy, edible Styrofoam peanuts got dropped on the table immediately upon arrival, and shortly after the little hollow chips were plopped down, everything became a blur... really. Other than the preliminary rounds of soju and beer, the remainder of the night was a complete haze... and it didn't help that no one else could piece the night together. So if I didn't actually remember anything, did it still count as a memorable first hof experience in Seoul?
When I woke up, I was enshrouded in bedsheets, and my left elbow was supporting my bruised face on a strangely warm tile floor. A couch or perhaps just some pillows would have been nice, but I was just thankful that the floors were heated and that I didn't wake up on the streets of Seoul like these other party animals.
Luckily, Seoul has many options for curing hangovers. Rina led the way down some alleys in a neighborhood near Hanyang University to a restaurant that requires its guests to slip off their shoes before stepping inside. After walking in I saw the many low sitting tables with individual cushions placed where the chairs would typically be. Sitting crossed-legged on the wooden floors sounded like fun. And just in case I keeled over from my hangover sweats, I'd already be closer to the floor. Nice.
The hangover remedy placed in front of me was yukgaejang, a spicy beef soup simmered in red pepper, green onions, and bracken fern. I didn't realize there was a fern in my soup until I researched it later. I thought it was a token leaf that fell in from one of the banchan on the table. But never mind that. The spicy and fiery yukgaejang did a good job battling the burning residual alcohol that engulfed my head and stomach.
When I was finally ready for some solid food, I jumped in on the ojingeo bokkeum, squid stir-fried with vegetables and spicy red pepper paste (gochujang). The sauce in the dish, made of spicy yet sweet gochujang, paired beautifully on top of steamed white rice. The meaty squid, crunchy onions, and tingly green onion were cut to the similar length and size, and the red sauce that was drenched all over made my mouth water. The radish kimchi was crisp and refreshing. Its inner juices that burst with each bite were cool and sweet, and it helped clear any lingering spice on my tongue. I completely forgot about my hangover by then. It looked like Rina picked the right place for breakfast.
But what was for lunch? After an obligatory touristy stop at Gwanghwamun gate and Gwanghwamun Square, we strolled through the hip streets of Samjeong-dong and stopped at a chocolate shop before we taking respite at a hole-in-the-wall kimbap store. If you don't already know what kimbap is, the best way I can describe it is the Korean version of sushi. Whereas Japanese sushi is mostly rice and raw fish, Korean kimbap focuses more on the vegetables. Another difference between kimbap and sushi is that meat is second in importance to the veggies, and the meat is almost always cooked.
The two types of pickled daikon, carrots, spinach, beef, and imitation crab meat rolled into this kimbap made for a perfect ten tummy tickling pieces of bite-sized heaven. Yum.
Where there's rice, there's also noodles. And I love noodles. So I ordered a big bowl (big bowl is a bit of an understatement) of kimchi ramen. The wavy strands of fried instant noodles dripping with kimchi broth led to a symphony of euphonious slurping noises... euphonious for me but more likely cacophonous for Rina and her good friend Hannah. Granted, this was packaged ramen... the same packaged Shin Ramyun that we can get in the States. But it was good. And I became quite the chipper fellow.
Breakfast was soothing, and lunch was pleasing... but dinner was just plain magnificent. No one comes to Korea without having its world famous barbecue. And no one leaves without a taste of its amazing pork belly. Don't get me wrong... kalbi and bulgogi are great, but springy little pieces of pork and its fat never tasted so good. The sight of that gorgeous pork belly still raw sprinkled with just a touch of sea salt got my juices flowing. It made for a great starting point for a night of memorable KBBQ.
If a piece of raw pork could make my mouth water like that, imagine what the cooked version of it with grill marks and crackling bubbles of oil could do. Add a side of grilled onions, roasted garlic, and salt and peppered sesame oil for dip... and you can forget about all the beef on the table. Really, forget beef. Pork belly can solve the Korean's aversion to imported American beef. You heard it here first.
Stuffed to the brim with barbecue pork belly, we made our way through the streets of Seoul (yet again, this seems to be a recurring theme) to Hongdae Park, which is where I had one of the most interesting people watching experiences of my life. On this warm but breezy Saturday night, Hongdae Park was packed with college age young'uns in hoodies and baggy jeans rapping freestyle (in Korean, might I add) around a boombox. There were girls with primped outfits and pressed hair sipping beer through straws (while their boyfriends held onto the cans and their designer hangbags). But of all sights to see, what most surprised me was a throng of music fanatics jumping and dancing silently in front of a DJ booth wearing massive headphones... Hongdae Park gave me a first hand look at a silent disco.
In the video posted above, the first section is a group of young rappers (both aspiring and recreational) passionately practicing the love for their music. Further back toward the right side of the shot is the silent disco. Music lovers listen to the DJ's tracks with their own individual headphones. The rhythmic music is a mix of the beats from the boombox and the music playing across the park, but it is not the same music that the DJ is spinning. Music from the silent disco can't be heard until a set of your own headphones are put on. I was quite intrigued to see a mass of people jumping up and down to silence and screaming, oohing and aahing whenever the DJ spun a fan favorite.
Fast forward through alcohol in plastic bags, shots with 151 set on fire, and beer galore to... midnight munchies! The kids in Korea were craving Taco Bell (and yes, there is a Taco Bell in Seoul), but Taco Bell had closed by the time we left the bar and lounges. Lucky for me, we found a Korean shop that was open late. This was my chance to dig into some famous Korean dishes... a hearty tofu stew (soon dubu), rice cake soup (tteokguk), and bibimbap, which I employed as my alcohol sponge for the night.
The next morning I was awakened by an earth shattering phone call from Myung, a roommate from college who had relocated to his motherland for work. He treated me to what I can only describe as the cleanest, purest and most cleansing morning meal I've had in a long time. It was a simple bowl of udon paired with a delicately formed onigiri... nothing spicy, nothing red, nothing oily or greasy... just Japanese influenced, petite culinary detox.
After a short visit with Myung, Rina and I visited Myeongdong for some dak galbi and a few final shots of soju. The chicken was barbecued on a large round griddle along with onions, carrots, sweet potatoes, green onions, cabbage, and gochujang... all of which became folded with rice, eggs and sesame oil into an avalanche of fried rice at the very end of the meal.
Soju was brought back into my system as quickly as the clear udon broth flushed the alcohol out of my body from earlier that morning. My final meal of my 48 hours in Korea completely negated the cleansing detoxifying meal from earlier in the morning. But go big or go home, right? Or... go big, and then go home and rest.
48 hours in Seoul (half of which was blurred by soju-toxication) was truly not enough time to experience the sights and sounds of everything Korea had to offer. I resorted to eating famous noodle dishes such as jjajangmyeon and naengmyeon at Incheon Airport while waiting for my transfer and home bound flights. I will be back, Korea... there is much more pajeon to be had. Until next time, let's all get S.O.F.A.T.
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.
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.
