Gardens Everywhere

A striking thing about both Japan and Korea is that almost no patch of ground is left untilled or untouched. Every nook and cranny contains a plant or flower or herb tended by some hand in hopes of enjoying a harvest or bloom.

We saw the same terraced beds in Korea that we see everywhere in Japan, along with small farms and even the occasional guardrail bed of peppers or sweet potatoes. A number of the plots contained little huts with low tables and tools. I imagined they serve as storage as well as a place to retreat from the laserlike sun of the Korean summer.

I'm still surprised at my own sense of surprise at these things. Using land for food (or even flowers, to some degree) is more sensible than using it for inedible and water-hogging grass.

Here's a simple and concise history of agriculture in Korea, a nice little piece on farming and early childhood education, an older but interesting piece on organic farming in Korea, and the next book I'd like to add to my bedside table!

Gui or Chicken Palace Delight

Our second evening in Korea found us at what our cousin Grace dubbed the Chicken Palace. A small, unassuming restaurant on a busy corner in Yeosu, the Chicken Palace offered a variety of grilled dishes or gui.

The usual bevy of banchan arrived, including a lovely cold vinegared seaweed and greens, as well as the kimchi, slimy but tasty pickled greens, bean sprouts, vinegared daikon cubes, red bean paste, and fish. Our server then brought out a large cast iron platter full of raw chicken in a sweet and hot barbecue-like sauce, and raw vegetables - mushroom, potato, cabbage, onions, chillis - along with pinky finger sized rice noodles, which she placed on a burner in the middle of our table. She turned on the gas, and things began to bubble merrily. Using scissors and tongs that came as part of the utensils for our table, we began cutting everything into bite size pieces that we let fall back into the bubbling pot. Giving the mix the occasional stir and throwing in a handful of the raw garlic cloves that came in a bowl of leafy greens things started to smell irresistible.

Once we determined the chicken was done (or that we were hungry enough to risk any kind of food borne illness), we turned off the gas and began eating. Here's an outline of the process:

- Lay one lettuce or sesame leaf in left hand.

- Place chicken piece(s) on leaf and add kimchi or other roasted veggies as you wish.

- Roll up leaf like a mini green burrito.

- Eat.

So, this was just amazing. (I know I keep saying that, but it's true.) The cool leaf with the hot chicken and veggies with the extra spice and flavor of the kimchi blew my mind.

And just when we thought we could eat no more a bowl of rice with grated veggies - carrots, peppers, greens - arrived with our server. She divided the remaining meat into three parts, and thoroughly scraped our pan. Turning on the gas again, she plopped the entire contents of the bowl on one of the meat groups and gave it a good mixing. Flattening the rice-meat mixture out on the sizzling pan, she left us to finish up. One more stir and flattening, and we stuffed ourselves silly with hot rice on leaves.

Kimbap

Streetfood abounds in Korea, and one of our favorite treats was kimbap. Similar to the nori roll and onigiri in Japan, kimbap offers a veritable treasure trove of treats in seafood wrapped rice. Egg, spam as mentioned earlier, pickled daikon (known in Korea as mu), onion greens, crab meat or other seafood delights, and perhaps a bit of seaweed. This video of a market vendor making roll after mouthwatering roll shows what a simple dish this is as well as how skilled one must be to get it right.

Outdoor Market in Yeosu

We spent a fair amount of time exploring the outdoor markets in Yeosu. Vendors sold fruits (including the small and bright chamen melons pictured at left); vegetables - small round zucchini, eggplants, and the most beautiful beans ever; kimchi - a million varieties it seemed; clothing - fancy blouses and skirts to working pants and nifty hats; kimbap and other prepared foods; fish - fresh, living, dried, and drying; seaweed - dried, fresh, sheets, and clumps; meats - whole, heads, parts, and innards; hardware - car parts to electronic bits; parasols too lovely to be called umbrellas; as well as the occasional health and beauty aid under awnings and along the edges of streets.

Pajeon, The Korean Pancake

One of our favorite foods from our visit to Korea has to be Pajeon, the Korean vegetable pancake. We ate it first at a little place in Yeosu with the usual variety of side dishes - kimchi, acorn tofu, daikon, and dried or pickled fish - and a big bowl of Makgeolli, iced Korean rice wine.

Ours consisted of chopped octopus, shrimp, daikon tops, hot peppers, and onion all held together by egg and a bit of flour. Quickly fried the "pancake" is placed on a plate and served piping hot to the table. Our cousin, Grace, and her friend Jack, deftly used their chopsticks to demolish it into chunks that we eagerly snatched up to eat. A small bowl with soy sauce and minced garlic offered optional dipping.

I didn't get a recipe while there, but this one and this one are the ones I plan to try in the near future.

The Weather Was Hot and So Was the Kimchi

We took a quick weekend trip to South Korea to visit a cousin and, of course, to eat! And what we found on the table before us did not disappoint in the least.

Every meal came with an array of small dishes featuring a variety of kimchis and other pickled vegetables. I tried to keep track, but it soon became nearly impossible. Moments after sitting down a variety of bowls with unknown tasty treats landed on the table, and then once we ordered another bevy of bowls arrived to crowd out nearly everything else. And then the main dish meandered in and forced everything else to shuffle and bump out of its way.

The usual cabbage kimchi was always served, but other variations also appeared usually without fail - daikon tops; fish; daikon cubed or sliced and either spicy red or sweetly vinegared; eggplant; or mushrooms - to be joined by dried or pickled fish, a bean sprout salad, or perhaps battered fish coins or battered spam. (Yes, spam.)

Fermented sometimes for years (a friend, quite rightly I think, liked to call it Korea's version of slow food) in large jars (like these we spotted at a temple in Busan) kimchi comes in a variety of flavors and colors that vary from region to region. Yeosu, the city we stayed in, is famous for a particular kind of kimchi - jatkimchi or gatkimchi- made with mustard greens. Presented at the market in its pot fully stemmed one bunch is wrapped around again with a stem. It's a spicy little bundle, but worth the time to find. As another friend said, "When you bite, you feel fresh a little."