Korean Soul Food: The Lost and Found
Growing up in Chicago, my family would often go out for Korean BBQ on Sundays after church or celebratory occasions. I fondly remember eating at Cho Sun Ok for my high school graduation. Apa poured me Chamisul, a distilled Korean spirit usually made from sweet potatoes or rice. The translation for the soju is real (cham) water droplets (isul). Funny enough my father named me after dew as well. The soju was filled to the brim, I reluctantly took a sip at only 17, but none of the staff seemed to care. My face turned bright red as the night progressed. Our small table was decorated with colorful banchan, various side dishes typically enjoyed with Korean meals. I devoured all my favorites; from the crunchy fermented spicy radish (kkadugi), sweet anchovies (myeolchi bokkeum) and chilled mung bean jelly (nokdu muk). The center grill was sizzling with thick, marbleized pork belly (samgyeopsal-gui) and thin layers of beef brisket (chadolbaegi). The waitress managed to squeeze large bowls of Korean miso soup (doenjang-jjigae) on the edges of the table. I slowly sipped from the piping hot dolsot, a dark clay pot that holds Korean soups. On that very evening, my soul and belly were full of happiness.
Nearly twenty years later, I still go to Cho Sun Ok. The decor is the same as I remember it. Tiny, but with a humble resemblance of a hanok, a traditional Korean home. Although my family is not the same as it used to be (my father and uncle don’t speak to each other), my halmoni and I still manage to go together. The service magically becomes better when my grandmother is there. During rush hour, a line can be found trailing out the front door. Bathrooms are accessible through the kitchen and I secretly enjoy walking through as the sounds of Spanish, knives, fire calm my mind.
I often find myself gravitating towards the kitchen. There is comfort knowing how my food is prepared in a restaurant. I have worked in various restaurants as a server and have always admired back of the house for their grit, passion, and ability to work in pretty unsavory conditions. Perhaps my empathy is a bit higher than others as my brother is a sushi chef. He is younger than me, yet he experiences back pain that most men in their 50s go through. Because of this, I find myself with a unique perspective. If the kitchen staff are busting their ass, well then surely I must match their work ethic. I strive to deliver a proper representation of my culture, especially since I work in a Japanese restaurant. I could say the same if I worked in a Greek or an Ethiopian restaurant because I want to ensure that the culture is celebrated in the same way I value my own. Although I am Korean and aware of the historical significance between Japan and Korea, I do my best to honor both cultures.
It is disappointing and offensive to see the muddling of Asian culture in trendy restaurants. I would be lying if I haven’t seen it in the many Japanese restaurants I have worked in. Anthony Bourdain was a serious advocate for misrepresentation of food in The Nasty Bits, as he describes certain restaurants having “the terrible sameness of some of-the-moment Pacific Rim, Pan-Asian, and Nuevo Latino menus, in which chefs misuse Asian or South American ingredients with the single-minded enthusiasm of golden retrievers in heat, humping blindly and unproductively at your leg”. The power of creating Asian food should come with a sense of responsibility with not just profit in mind. White Chefs that capitalize from Asian culture are susceptible to criticism. Take for example when celebrity chef Stephanie Izard prepared the classic bim bim bop on social media without using Korean ingredients, but rather Southeast Asian flavors. She did apologize and excused her behavior by describing it as her representation. This is rather inappropriate and brings to light why recreating the identity of a dish should not be done for clout. Redefining a dish takes away from the story and history.
As a server, I find it my duty to describe a dish in a way that does honor the culture. Otherwise, if described wrong, the guest will expect the same at other restaurants. Of course, I will not argue nor correct a guest, but if they ask, I will differentiate and direct. I just hope my guest will retain some of what I said and be educated. Take for example dumplings: in China they are called jiaozi, in Japan the word is gyoza, and in Korea they are referred to as mandoo. Although they are nearly all the same, the fillings, style, dough, and cooking methods are different. Dumplings did in fact derive from China and later the neighboring countries in East Asia made their own versions. It is apparent that China strongly influenced many Asian dishes, particularly, from the use of the Wok and the introduction of different types of noodles. Southeast Vietnam also helped popularize Asian comfort food by introducing pho. Ten years ago, Korean food was not as widely known. Robust soups like kimchi jigae are generally more appreciated today. Similar to Vietnamese sauces, gochujang is being used by many renowned Chefs sparking the curiosity of Korean cuisine. The tangy, sweet, spicy chili paste goes well with almost any protein and/or vegetable.
Out of the dozens of trainers I’ve had in my career, only two ever mentioned Asian history. Most restaurant managers appeal to the Western corporate world and aren’t well versed in Asian cuisine. I feel such shame when a White person is training or educating me on what Asian food is, especially without even realizing the context or history. What’s worse is when they mispronounce certain terms like gochujang or yakitori. Asian food terms should be taken just as seriously as French or Italian cuisine. Most crucially, the colonization of Japan is never discussed. There is the impression that the Japanese are inferior to other Asian cultures. Yet, many non-Japanese ingredients are used in Japanese restaurants. This crossover of Asian ingredients is common in many restaurants. It is imperative to recognize the differences so as not to confuse the cultures.
Lately, I have noticed a rise of misrepresentation and decline of quality in Korean dining, specifically in Chicago and surrounding suburbs. What is most devastating to me is when I dine out for Korean BBQ and the banchan that I have always looked forward to eating has now been dumbed down for the American palate. Some of the banchan is not even authentic! What is even worse is when Korean restaurants have lost their soul in cooking and with every mounting bite, the sadness and despair is found in their soup. What happened to nourishment? To love and fulfillment? Where is the nostalgia?
Nevertheless, I am proud of the popularity of Korean food, as it did take longer in comparison to other Asian cultures. Korean food is generally spicier, uses more vinegar, and can be rather pungent and robust for some Westerners. The meat-forward and sweeter dishes are definitely more approachable, which is no surprise for the rising popularity of Korean BBQ. Surely, there is a growing number of chefs that are making their imprint in the modern Korean culinary world. New York is filled with talent: think Cote, Jua, Meju and Mokbar. Of course, LA’s Roy Choi famous Korean tacos and Edward Lee’s Southern approach shouldn’t be forgotten. Here in Chicago, you’ll find that Perilla, BopNGrill, Parachute, Kimski, and Mott Street have also opened the pathway to Korean soul food. I look forward to more waves of talent and hope that my culture continues to shine in the way that it deserves. So the next time you find yourself in front of an unfamiliar dish, try it, because you just might like it. As Anthony Bourdain would say, “food, for me, has always been an adventure.”
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