I’m on a bender.
With the release of “RoadRunner”, I’ve been watching ‘Part’s Unknown” with my patron sinner Anthony Bourdain. I’ve hit pause at the moment. Freezing a moment in time as St. Bourdain tastes his way through Seoul Korea. For whatever reason, my mind tries to blend what I’m seeing through this CNN series with the Bill Murray classic “Lost in Translation.” The drinking, the karaoke, the spiritual awakening...all are present. All of this is relevant to me at this moment,
Earlier today as I dropped off some sauce to a neighbor I was asked, “So how did you get into cooking Korean cuisine?”
I don’t think I got into anything, more like I dipped my toe into one Korean condiment that has some interesting and tasty and intersectionalities with my love of Appalachia. In this instance, it’s more who steered me in this direction, or maybe it’s more of “who do you blame” for this current course? My first thought was David Chang. My second, and more well-thought-out response, is chef Edward Lee.
Lee is Korean. Born in Brooklyn, NY. However, his culinary genius came to fruition in Louisville, KY. He is the author of both Smoke and Pickles and Buttermilk Graffiti the latter of which was my literary introduction to him. Lee’s influence in my kitchen has been filtered through the secondary work of BG along with his contribution to platforms like “Mind of a Chef.” Lee has been on my Youtube recommendations for some time now. His simple bbq sauce was the first time I worked with gochujang.
Gochujang is a Korean chili paste. It’s a thick substance, a concoction of fermented soybeans, salt, sticky rice, and of course, red pepper flakes. These ingredients are then fermented together, turning the rice into sugars, which gives the paste the sweetness that pairs so well with the heat that hits the back of your throat when you taste it; a heat, not a “hotness” mind you. The paste is more of a base sauce, not a finishing one. You wouldn’t cover a piece of fried chicken with it, not until you dilute and mix it with something else. That is where Chef Lee comes in with his bbq gochujang sauce.
Ingredients
Per the recipe of Lee, besides the gochujang, everything else is “seasoned to taste.”
6oz gochujang, a “round the bowl pour” of toasted sesame seed oil, a Tbsp (give or take) of dijon mustard, couple of tsp of jalapeno juice/brine, a generous pour of Vermont maple syrup, a Tbsp or so of garlic powder, 3 tsp of Worcestershire sauce, and at least a tsp of soy sauce.
Now there are no “steps” here. Everything goes in a medium-size bowl. I tend to start with the gochujang then add the rest in no particular order. Then with a whisk mix everything together. You want a consistency that isn’t super thick, but not overly running either. Ideally it will “cling loosely” to the whisk or spoon you’re using. I’ve made this a few times now and I’ve added a little more syrup here and a little more soy there. Get it where you want it. I end up with enough sauce to fill two small ball jars.
Lee pairs this sauce with fried chicken, and I’ve done the same, adding it too hard fried chicken wings; that was a winner. I’ve even coated a fork with it and splashed it on some sunny-side-up eggs. What I’m getting at is this stuff is versatile. Experiment with it.
Chewing the Fat…
In Buttermilk Graffiti, Lee says “Our food traditions are the last thing we hold on to. They are not just recipes; they are a connection to the nameless ancestors who gave us our DNA. That's why our traditional foods are so important. The stories, the memories, the movements that have been performed for generations - without them, we lose our direction.”
Direction is often used in relation to where one is heading, such as, “where are you going?” Instead, as I watched the Korea episode of “Parts Unknown” I heard a different question; “where are you coming from?” This query was spurred on by one of Bourdain’s companions, a young woman by the name of Nari. While sharing massive amounts of Korean spirits and hot soups filled with noodles, Nari explained the concept of “Han” to Bourdain. The word doesn’t have a direct English translation, but “han” is linked to a mixture of internalized emotions ranging from resentment, deep sorrow, regret, and anger. While I can’t begin to imagine how this concept is experienced to those who are Korean, like Anthony Bourdain, I too felt a kinship and appreciation towards “han.” This connection came out from my southernness and the identity it gives me. It helps answer that direction question of where I’m coming from; the South. To use the term in a slightly different way, one that belongs to a wonderful online (and now printed) publication, southerners have a level of bitterness about them. A bitterness to push back, to dissent, to have a chip on their shoulders. A bitterness that goes right along with cornbread and soup beans. It’s a bitterness that drives some of us to push back against the pejorative depiction of us imposed by others. Hillbillies, rednecks, and slack-jawed yokels stereotypes help fuel an insatiable fire to prove folks wrong. There’s a love-hate to this bitterness. One moment we reject the culture that raised us, working hard to lose regional accents. The next we’re perpetuating the profiling placed on us, because well, the hell with what others think, right? Tension is always present because it lives within us.
I dunno, maybe that’s why Edward Lee ended up in the South. Maybe that helps explain some of why I like David Chang. Maybe “han” and “bitterness” are kissing cousins built on a drive to loath and prove others wrong. Both offer directions forward by providing a common starting point. I think that’s worth exploring or at least worth stopping to consider.
Food often says things that words can’t. Maybe that’s the case here. Maybe there’s meaning somewhere in the mixing. Somewhere in that gochujang sauce, there’s an element of its roots that feel familiar to me. A kindred spirit that names an untranslatable itch that you just kind of have to know as it can’t be taught. It’s something that can be appreciated by others who are traveling in similar directions.
I have a feeling my southern-Appalachian bitterness has found a soul mate in Korean “han”; certainly with the food of its people. I’m excited to see what conversations and experiments will surface in my kitchen because of it.
As you were,
~tBSB