Seoult and Pepper

Bungeoppang, fish bread.

March 27, 2012

Bungeoppang (붕어빵) stalls are a common sight on the wintertime streets of Seoul. They’re usually plastic sheeting and tarpaulin affairs, jury-rigged to keep out the biting wind and snow. And they serve bungeoppang, literally fish bread, in reality they’re fish shaped pancakes filled with sweet red bean paste. Some stalls sell different fillings like cream, imitation of course, but in this case it pays to stick to the original. They’re made in a fish shaped mold, built like a sandwich – batter, red beans then more batter – before the fish-shaped lid is put on and more heat applied. The best versions have light dough with crisp edges and plentiful sweet pat (팥, red bean), a combination that keeps your hand diving into the paper bag until the last one is gone.  The worst and half-cooked faded dreams of fish. Against all odds, the best are even good cold. Some think that they’re even better eaten cold. These baked fish have even spawned a range of fish-shaped waffle ice cream sandwiches, complete with a red bean layer. The bungeoppang of summer, for when the real deal vanishes from the streets.

It would be remiss to write about these treats and not mention some of the other shapes available. Yes, this concept isn’t confined to fish, but stretches to … shit. Ddongppang (똥빵) are just like Bungeoppang, but are cooked in cartoon poo shapes. Yep, that’s a thing in Korea. Regardless of presentation, these treats are a memorable and lovely taste of winter.

Bungeoppang
붕어빵

Available from street stalls throughout Seoul during the cooler months, October – March. From 1,000 – 2,000 won for 3 fish.

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Seoult and Pepper

Strawberries

March 18, 2012

The fruit selection in snow-bound Seoul is limited, understandably, frustratingly. South Korea is small and even its deepest south only barely grazes the loosest definition of sub-tropical. Domestically grown summer fruit is luscious, an abundance of peaches and nectarines. Winter fruit is monochromatic, orange. Jeju island is famous for its oranges, tangerines and mandarines, and justifiably so. This fruit is bountiful, affordable and succulent. But compared to Hanoi and Australia, one variety of fruit just isn’t enough. Sure, there are imported bananas and apples of indistinct provenance and age, but neither addition satisfies. Then there are the strawberries.

A common problem when grocery shopping in Korea is the issue of sheer bulk. Some shops pre-pack fruits and vegetables, so you can’t snap off a few bananas, you must buy the whole hand. Imagine the average expat English teacher, living in a one-room studio with a mini fridge. They’ll be eating multiple bananas a day just to ensure their investment isn’t wasted. And don’t even mention toilet paper. The smallest many shops sell is a 30 roll behemoth, that’d make a noticeable imprint in a one-room. The strawberries here are beautiful, fat works of art, packed into punnets (500g) or boxes (1kg) with a price tag to match. 3,500won (~$3AU) is acceptable for an Australian 250g punnet, but would you pay 7,000 for a box that probably won’t even fit in your already overstuffed fridge? I wouldn’t, especially as, in my limited and meagre experience, they’re usually a facade. Big, fat, soft and sweet fruit, with barely a ripple of identifiable strawberry flavour.

Bypass these strawberry replicas on the shelves and head for the streets. Seoul has enviable street-corner sellers and back-of-a-truck provedores, hawking fresh and dried seafood, freshly roasted nuts, tofu, vegetables and fruit. Yesterday a strawberry display caught my nose, half way down the street, first. These berries are tiny, marvellously perfumed and packed with flavour. Yet another vote to leave the supermarkets for the markets and itinerant sellers of Seoul.

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Seoult and Pepper

Two bowls of Udon in Hongdae

March 15, 2012


Udon at Kanemaya, Hongdae.

Food articles with the premise “it’s freezing dot dot dot soup” are as vacuous as “it’s summer therefore ICE CREAM”. Lovers of ice cream eat ice cream whatever the weather, if you can trust one thing you should trust that. And if you believe that winter and soup are conjoined twins, you’ve never experienced the joy of a steaming bowl of pho on a sultry Ho Chi Minh morning. Yes, soup will warm you up when it’s frosty outside, but probably not as thoroughly as your indoor heating will. That said, judging by the fat dawdling snowflakes it is still winter, and this story is about soup. Not just any soup, but a pair of peppery broths, with a surfeit of noodles and flavour.


Kanemaya.

Being no expert on Japanese food, this is not about authenticity, simply about quality of ingredients, flavour, affordability and enjoyment. Kanemaya sits in the backstreets of Hongdae next to Hongik University, the prices reflecting its student popularity. This place is simple, two options for soup, one hot, the other cold, plus a few sides. The room is concrete, with cute paintings on the floor and roof. Big windows let in light and a view of graffitied alleyways. The hot option (4,000 won) is all thick chewy udon noodles in a peppery, meaty broth with wok blackened spring onions and a dispensable sprinkle of fried tempura batter. A side order of tempura prawns and exceptional fried chicken (5,500 won) is both necessary and satisfying.


Fried sides at Kanemaya.


Chicken soba at Kyushu Jidori Udon.

The next, Kyushu Jidori Udon, is a noodle shop with a gimmick. All the sizes, from large to double extra bucket large, are the same price. But beware, if you order a larger size and don’t finish it, you have to pay more. You can get chicken, beef or tofu, with udon or soba, in soup or dry. The chicken soba (8,000won) is peppery hot and flecked with char from the generous portion seared spring onions. The small nuggets of chicken are chewy but in a pleasurable way, and incredibly flavourful. Beef options don’t have the same smokiness, and are bulgogi-sweet. All the noodles are deftly prepared as you’d expect in a noodle house.

Kyushu Jidori Udon is deservedly popular, at peak times there can be queues down the alley. But unless you’re starving and poor, don’t line up, head to Kanemaya.


Small chicken soba and medium chicken udon, Kyushu Jidori Udon.

A pair of soups, both affordable and satisfying in the backstreets of Hongdae. The long, humid summer is coming and these dishes are too enjoyable to be written off as winter-only affairs.

 

Kanemaya


서울 마포구 서교동 360-10
Google Maps

Hours: 11:30 – 21:30
Order: Udon and fried chicken

 

Kyushu Jidori Udon
큐슈 지도리 우동

서울시 마포구 상수동 316-3
02-325-8555
Google Maps

Hours: 11:30 – 22:00
Order: Chicken udon or soba.

Posted in Hongdae, Japanese Food, Seoult and Pepper | 1 Comment
Seoult and Pepper

Hotteok, revisited.

March 13, 2012

Hotteok (호떡) appeared on the streets about the same time it became necessary to wear woolen socks and a minimum of 4 layers in Seoul, sometime last October. I somehow missed these sweet warming treats my first winter here and therefore have been making up for it by tasting them at any opportunity. As described previously (here) these pancakes have myriad variations, but recently I discovered a new-to-me style. The healthiest yet.

On one particularly frigid and clear Saturday morning, I smelled the unmistakable cinnamon-caramel scent of hotteok. But the only snack-truck parked on the windswept boulevard sold balloon-like puffs. Luckily the sign agreed with my nose, so we bought a pair. A crunchy shell with a wholesome flatbread or cracker vibe, the inside lacquered with caramelised sugar and cinnamon like it was built with some crazy science fiction vortex. These are served cold, completely grease-free and light, a pillow of sweetness, if your pillow is as hard as the mattresses mostly are here. They were a lovely sweet and spicy distraction from the cold, and would perfect with a bowl of vanilla ice cream and no spoon.

Spotted outside Yonsei University, and never again.

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Seoult and Pepper

Chinese food in Korea – Koreanised Chinese Restaurants.

February 21, 2012

This is the first post in a short series about Chinese food in Korea, what’s available and where to get it.

Chinese food in Korea is not what you’d expect. South Korea is so close to mainland China, merely separated by the small issue of the impermeable North, and this physical divide is reflected in the food. Chinese restaurants abound, but most of them are Koreanised to the point of becoming something new. Despite their names, these aren’t Chinese restaurants, they’re Korean-Chinese restaurants. Just as small town Australia has it’s own brand of Chinese takeaway, and Chinese food in India is often flavoured with subcontinental spices. That said, more genuine Chinese food is available if you know where to find it (more on this later) but the fact that Koreanised Chinese food isn’t legit, doesn’t make it any less enjoyable.

Australianised Chinese food has honey prawns and Mongolian lamb, Korean Chinese food has it’s own favourites. Set on a backdrop of more expensive, elaborate dishes featuring exotic ingredients, the following are the basic and affordable staples of the Koreanised Chinese restaurant.


Jjambong

Jjajangmyeon 자장면 is the Koreanised version of the Chinese dish zha jang mian. A viscid sauce, black as night, so gelatinous the few shards of onion and shreds of pork present are suspended. It is flavoured with a black soybean paste, called chunjang, a different beast from the varieties used in the original. Use your chopsticks like salad servers to mix this gloop through the noodles. Sometimes there are more vegetables and meat, or seafood, and matchsticks of raw cucumber serve as a much needed textural contrast. The jjajang sauce is a also served with rice for jjajangbap. Jjajang sauce often presents as over salty, unusually textural and mysterious to beginners, me included.

Jjambong 짬뽕 A blow-your-head-off hot soup, fiery with chilli red concealing a school of seafood. Mussels are usual, as is squid and octopus. The more extravagant translations can have prawns, fish, sea cucumber and unidentifiable creatures of the deep. The best are ripe with vegetables and hand made noodles, the worst are lonely with onions and carboardy starch.

Tangsuyuk 탕수육 Sweet and sour pork. Sometimes crisply fried with a tangy sauce, good beyond belief. The sweet and sour sauce ranges from artificial tang to light and bright, thin to gelatinous gloop.

Bokeumbap 볶음밥 Fried rice, generally white with cubed vegetables and frozen prawns. Often served with a dollop of jjajang sauce.

Requisite banchan are danmuji (단무지) yellow pickled diakon radish, raw onion dipped in black bean paste, and yes, kimchi.


White jjambong

Koreanised Chinese food is an incredibly popular home delivery option. Your order, on re-useable plastic plates, is wrapped in multiple layers of intensely taut plastic wrap, fitted into specially made metal boxes to be delivered to your door by motorcycle. Once you’re finished, leave the plates outside your door and forget about them. They’re collected and taken back to the restaurant ready for the whole cycle to begin again.


Banchan commonly found at Koreanised Chinese restaurants.

Sandong Seong (산동 성)

This restaurant, in my neighbourhood, is known for its jjambong. The spicy version overpowers the delicate flavours of the seafood, an issue I take with most jjambong interpretations. But this restaurant also serves a mild white jjambong (백짬뽕, baek jjambong). The white broth is fishy without oppression and savory to the point of compulsive spooning. Both soups have the same extensive range of seafood, including prawns, clams and sea cucumber, a riot of vegetables and springy handmade noodles.


Tangsuyuk – sweet and sour pork. A delicious rendition.

It’s lunchtime and freezing and Sandong (Shandong?) Seong is busy. Families and couples fill every laminate table in this dilapidated room, slurping down jjajangmyeon, bokeumbap and jjambong. Metal take away boxes leave filled with meals and return, and again, the delivery drivers letting in puffs of frigid air with every circuit. A few tables order more elaborate dishes, multi course meals, featuring shark’s fin or abalone. When a heaving serving of tangsuyuk (sweet and sour pork) is delivered to our neighbours, we can’t help but order our own. It soon arrives, colourful, shimmering and brilliant. Lightly battered crisp pork, smothered with tangy light sauce and gem-like vegetables. The smallest portion is huge, filling and decadent. Good in a way that I didn’t realise Koreanised Chinese food could be, until now.

Koreanised Chinese restaurants often dish up fast food, quick meal options unlovingly prepared and difficult to care for if you lack the requisite nostalgia. But every so often you’ll find a special place will take those otherwise forlorn dishes and invigorate them, and in doing so reinforce why anyone would want to eat such things, which was a mystery for pre-Sandong Seong-me. Now, I’m a (white) jjambong and tangsuyuk convert but jjajangmyeon is a different story.

Sandong Seong (산동 성)
Eunpyeong – gu, Seoul, 88-21

Jjambong – 8,000 won
Tangsuyuk (small) 13,000 won.

Sandong Seong on Google Maps

Posted in Chinese food, Seoult and Pepper, South Korea | 3 Comments