Some of the richness is also cut by the generous side of steamed green onion, which has been cooked just enough to remove the sting and leaves the diner with a pleasing contrast to the bite of the sauce and the richness of the chicken. It ensures a perfect balance of vegetable flavors to make the dish really quite perfect.

Finally, there is the makguksu. The perfect way to end the meal, both the spicy 비빔 and the cooling 냉면 versions are unusual both for their simplicity and for the gentleness of the flavors and the noodles. Made in-house, these noodles are remarkably soft and smooth, without the extreme chew of most versions. They’re almost more like a western-style noodle in texture, just barely al dente. The broth on the 냉면/nengmyeon style is absolutely extraordinary in its restrained and clean flavors, and utterly refreshing. The broth is almost clear, and uncluttered with the usual beef, boiled egg, pear, or radish that you find most places. It’s just lovely soft noodles, perfectly seasoned broth, and a bit of cucumber for crunch.

The spicy 비빔/bibim version is equally restrained, and the spiciness never exceeds a very pleasant warmth on the tongue. There’s a few more elements here, including some radish kimchi, but the overall impression is almost shy. This is a bibimguksu that has no need to shout. Soft noodles, crunchy veggies, a little bit of spice and a little bit of cooling broth come together in just the right way, in just the right proportions. It is so different from most of the bibimguksu served in South Korea that it almost seems to be a different dish entirely.
All the food does. While it certainly seems familiar, there’s always a more restrained touch with the seasonings, greater concern with balancing the flavors and textures, and a simple ethic of letting the real, underlying flavors of foods shine that make the food here a wonderful representation of North Korean home-style cooking. It’s a rare taste in Seoul, and one Fatman loves as an short culinary escape.

Finding Cheogajip is a bit of an adventure, but go out exit 9 of 양수/Yaksu station on line 6. At the first corner, make a right turn, and at the next through street make a left (leaving you now walking parallel to the main street). When you reach the Y intersection, just past the sauna, veer right. The restaurant is in an unmarked house on the right-hand side of a residential street, but you can locate it by looking for the small blue signboard listing their menu and phone number. Call if you get lost . . .

In other words, sometimes you want a big ol’ slab of donggasu like the one from Namsan Wang Donggasu (남산 왕 돈까스)!

Nowadays trendy Japanese donkatsu brands tend to dominate the market, selling thick, juicy slabs of pork that has been panko-breaded and fried to a delicate crispiness.  They accompany it with finely seasoned sauces and freshly grated sesame seeds on top.

This is delicious, but it’s never going to satisfy your hankering for old-style Korean cutlets, pounded thin and coated in a heavier, crunchier batter.  “Wang” style cuts, like the ones at Namsan Wang Donggasu, are a serious piece of meat.  A single cutlet is large enough to cover a very, very large plate.  Imagine a slice of pork the size of your head – now pound it out thin and flat, and you’ve got a vague idea of what kind of mosterous meat awaits you here.

There’s not a lot of frills here. The plates and flatware are the cheapest of the standard plastic and aluminum settings you see in most low-end Korean restaurants. The only side dishes you get are some token pieces of kimchi, radish, and peppers. For a starter you get a bowl of wan cream soup that is obviously not from scratch.

But you’re not going to go eat at Namsan Wang Donggasu for that ~ you’re going to go because they serve you a giant piece of meat the size of a hubcap, and because they don’t mince around with much else. If you’re not there for the cutlet, there’s very few options: You can try your fork at the fish cutlets, which are ok, but definitely not the main show. There’s also a few jjigae on the menu, but nobody seems to order them . . .

What everyone is here for is food that is straightforward. It’s not the biggest taste revelation you’ll ever experience. The sauces are canned, the soups are powdered, and there’s really not much to choose from. But it isn’t trying to be anything more that what it is: A giant piece of fried meat . . .simple, cheap, and filling. And really, isn’t that good enough?

There’s lots of Namsan Wang Donggasu places around Seoul, but if you really want your nostalgia fix, you’re going to have to climb partway up Namsan. Just past the cartoon museum you’ll find a whole row of cutlet houses, most of which sell almost the exact same food, to be frank. But that’s ok ~ it’s a brush with a piece of culinary history that’s having a hard time competing with gussied up modern versions. Besides, once you’ve hiked Namsan, won’t you need those calories anyway? The standard cutlet costs a mere 6,500 won, with cheese, curry, and spicy versions ringing up at no more than 1000 won more. Fatman can’t think of a better way to finish off a Namsan hike!

GOOD is good!

Also be sure to check out their Picture Show:  Visions of Fast Food and tons of other fascinating food related posts on their website (which we found via Serious Eats.  감사합니다!)

Photo by Robyn of Serious Eats

(and check out whose bulgogi burger taste test got mentioned ^.^V)

Speaking of Robyn, she has a new post up on her website showing the many, many things she ate while here, justifying the title of her blog:  The Girl Who Ate Everything.

Paul Ajosshi here with some info on the best place to get yourself some roast duck in Seoul. Down in Hannam-dong, there’s a little restaurant  called “The Ginko Tree House” (은행나무집) that specializes in roasting our water based feathered friends in their own little clay bricks and the result is mouth-watering. Ladies and Gentlemen, please prepare yourself for the wonderous 황토 오리 진흙구이 (Duck baked in yellow clay):

You have to reserve your duck three hours in advance and this magnificent bird will set you back 45,000 won, but it’s worth it just to taste this uniquely Korean interpretation of a roast dinner.

The side dishes that come with the duck are very simple and very sour: a bowl of iced water kimchi (동치미), some slices of pickled onion (양파 초절이), cabbage kimchi (배추김치), spicy pickled radish (무생채), large pieces of pickled radish (무 초절이), garlic and chili pickles (마늘 고추 초절이) and shredded scallions with red pepper flakes (부추 무침). The rational seems to be that the sour pickles will combat the fattiness of the duck; whatever the case, if you’re a vinegar fan, this is the place to go.

To be honest, I was more interested with the duck and its fantastically rich stuffing. Once you break open the crispy skin and rip apart the tender flesh, there are numerous little treats waiting for you in the dark inner recesses of the bird. White rice, black rice, cinnamon, sultanas, pine nuts, ginko nuts, pumpkin seeds, ginseng, sunflower seeds, black beans, black sesame seeds, red dates  and deer antler come together to create one of the most flavoursome stuffings I’ve ever had. This pungent mix brings different tastes to each bite, combinations of sweet, spice and savoury along with subtle undertones of 한약 (traditional herbal medicine). The restaurant claims that the duck is good for stamina, for getting rid of poisons in the body, that it will help with diabetes and liver problems as well as improving your skin. High claims for a roast dinner, but my dining companions and I all felt revitalized, though more than a little full.

If you’re still hungry, then you can order the “ceremonial noodles” (잔치국수) for 3,000 won and if you do, you’ll find yourself with a bowl of soothing broth and a handful of super thin noodles. A lovely way to end the meal.

The Ginko Tree House has other dishes on offer, but the roast duck is the star attraction. To get there from Itaewon station walk towards Hangangjin station and turn right at the huge Cheil building. Walk down the hill past Soon Chung Hyang Hospital (순청향병원) and turn left after KB Star (국민은행). The Ginko Tree House is halfway down the street on the right hand side. Call them three hours ahead on 02 792 3851 to reserve your bird and get ready to have the best roast duck in Seoul.

The sopa pararaguaya is a real highlight ~ imagine, if you will, creamed corn made solid, or the creamiest, soupiest corn bread imaginable. With a little earthy sweetness of onion and corn and the savory edge of cheese, this bread is true comfort food. Meanwhile, the chipa packs a bit more cheese flavor into a much more compact package, but may be too dry for some diners tastes, with a distinctively solid crumb.

But what most people come to Comedor for are their selection of empanadas. These fried pastries can be sweet or savory, but it’s the meaty later that grace the plates here.

Ordered as a set or individually, the empanadas are a great, cheap, and filling lunch. Beef, chicken, ham and cheese, and corn are all available, with thick, gooey cheese spilling out of most of them (our apologies to the lactose intollerant – only the beef comes without) and crisp pastry shells. The only thing they won’t be kind to is your waistline. Corn was a particular favorite, with the sweetness of the corn lightening and sweetening the entree, and beef also won out for its prominent meatiness.

One alley south of the main drag by Itaewon Station (and just across the way from the Wolfhound), Comedor is run by an ethnic Paraguayan (and naturalized Korean) so the food is about as close to authentic as you’re going to get in these parts. Service can be a bit distracted, but is generally pretty friendly.  It has a bit of a low key “lunch counter” vibe, but attracts some pretty prestigious company, including the Ambassador of Paraguay. If it’s good enough for him, it should be good enough for you. It will also be good enough for your wallet, with most everything under 5,000 won.
02-749-2827

image from wikipedia commons

Speaking of the fortress, near the north gate is one of the most famous examples of Suwon’s premier product.  Suwon was home to a large cattle market which in turn meant Suwon had some of the best beef eatin’ in Korea.  한우, 한우 . . . as far as the eye could see!  And thus Suwon became the place for wang galbi.  Wang galbi is a slightly different cut than standard galbi – a large, single segment of rib is sliced, and the rib meat itself flows off like a streamer.  Grilled plain or with just a little bit of salt, this meat is usually tender and delicious enough to just eat plain.

But what fun would that be?  Suwon wang galbi has a slightly sweet marinade with a suprisingly subtle garlic kick.  Ginger, soy, and myriad spices play around with the normally assertive vampire repellant, but instead of becoming forward and assertive, the whole mix becomes a mellow companion to richly marbled shortribs.  There’s plenty of Suwon galbi restaurants all over town, but the most famous of these is Yeonpo Galbi/ 연포갈비.

This venerable institution starts things off right with high quality charcoal. Koreans have a bit of an obsession with charcoal for grilling, but what a glorious obsession to have. The kind of flame used to cook has a great influence on the flavor of food, and there’s many a fellow who will turn up their noses at the mediocre char of gas grilled galbi. True connoisseurs will always go for the burning black coals, but even then there’s a hierarchy. Big briquettes are common, but here they use only high quality sticks of oak.


In addition to the marinated Suwon wang galbi, Yeonpo also serves unmarinated cuts, like this marbled beauty.

Although not of uniformly high standard, the banchan here show more variety and attention to detail than many places in Seoul. Standouts included a bright, vinegary jellyfish salad and marinated seaweed. The wait staff here are unusually dedicated, and will take over the entire process of grilling the meat for you if only you’ll yield the scissors.

If you still have energy gorging on both meat and the view of the fortress right outside the window, Suwon has other delights. Soccer fans should head to the Suwon World Cup Stadium where you can catch a Samseong Bluewings game. Right next to Ajou University, the stadium itself is a pleasant place to while away the time, with prettily groomed park-like grounds.
Remember poor Prince Sado? King Yeongjo spiffed up Yongju Temple (용주사) for just that purpose. Right next door are the tombs of Sado and his long-suffering wife, Lady Hong, whose memoirs still form one of the most complete pictures we have not just of the Eulmi Incident, but also of Korean court life of the time. (get your own copy in English or in Korean) The temple also houses some outstanding paintings and a massive bronze bell decorated with dragons.

image courtesy buddhapia

Finally, we should also mention the immense pride that Suwon takes in its beautiful restrooms.

Suwon can be easily reached from Seoul by express bus(Gangnam, Sadang, Nambu Terminal, or Guro Industrial Complex Stations), train, or by subway (line 1 to Suwon Station).  Fatman suggests starting your tour of the fortress at Paldalmun, but if you’re lazy or like really cute trams, try taking a ride on the Hwaseong trolley. Prices for Suwon galbi run about 20-30,000 won per person.

There’s few foods in the world that feel as luxurious as an elegant serving of Korean-style steak tartare, and even fewer that are as easy to make.  But while the effort is small, the reward is enormous.

Fatman-style 육희

You’ll need:  a few hundred grams of red meat, an asian pear, an egg or two, soy sauce, sugar, sesame oil, powdered red pepper, garlic, and green onion.

First, get thyself to the local butcher and ask them for 300 grams or so of some nice, lean red meat.  Beef is the most common, but lamb, venison, or even horse (어머나!) will work if the meat is very fresh, and very high quality.  Heck, you could probably do this with a nice bit of emu steak or ostrich or kangaroo . . . Now that you have your nice slice of meat you need to take out your sharpest knife and attack:  You want to take out every bit of gristle and fat that might obscure the beautiful crimson flesh before you wrap it up and chuck it in your freezer.

Eventually you should remember that you  have a nice, expensive hunk of beautiful meat sitting in the back of your freezer with the leftover pot roast and frozen mandu and that Tupperware container filled with something you don’t really recognize anymore.  Hopefully you’ll do this within a few hours, and not several years from now.  Pull the mostly frozen meat out and start slicing it into pieces just a few scant centimeters thick (that’d be something like 1/4″ slices for you slowpokes still not using metric measurements).  Then slice your slices, so you end up with matchsticks of meat.  This is a great opportunity to gross out small children by telling them you’re going to serve them earthworms for dinner.   And as long as you’re running around with a knife in your hands, you should also shred up some green onion or scallions, and smash a clove of garlic or two into mush.  Vent any remaining frustrations on a small pile of pine nuts by chopping them finely.

Now, in a bowl you’re going to throw together:

a splash of soy

a drizzle of sesame oil

a pinch of sugar

a dash of powdered red pepper

and mix that all together, along with everything else so far except for the meat.

Now comes the time of reckoning:  You must make a choice, and the wrong choice will lead to disaster, fire, famine, and the loss of face.  The right choice will lead to parades in your honor in Gwanghwamun.  Chose wisely.

You may

a) use one raw egg yolk from a duck or chicken

b) a couple of quail eggs

In either case, you may

a) mix it into the sauce

b) reserve the egg to set on top as a very elaborate garnish, to be mixed in right before eating

c) try to do b, but break the yolks and pretend like you always intended to take option a, secretly realizing that you’ll never get to compete on Top Chef.  Cry into your pillow at night.

While you’re contemplating this monumental decision, peel, core, and chop an asian pear into matchsticks.

If you’re going to be inelegant, just throw everything – meat, sauce, eggs, pears – together into a bowl and mix.  Your hand will get very cold from the now only semi-frozen meat, but remember that suffering builds character.

If you’re going to be very 1960′s Vincent Price cocktail party fab, mix together the meat and sauce.  Heap that mass of flesh on a  plate, making a depression in the top of the mound.  Place the egg in the depression, and proceed to waste precious minutes arranging the pear into fantastic patterns around the meat.

Whatever presentation method you’ve chosen, strew a few pine nuts over the top.   Otherwise the Iron Chef will automatically win this kitchen battle on presentation points, and you’ll be forced to retire in shame, train your knife skills while sitting under an icy waterfall, gather legions of evil sous chefs, and try again.

Fatman hates this translation. While the use of the term varies slightly worldwide, in its home country, America, barbecue has a very specific meaning. Barbecue is a method of cooking using indirect heat. Whether the heat source is burning charcoal, wood, or a gas flame, the meat is cooked slowly and not on top of the flame.

The problem is that lots of people associate “barbecue” with another kind of cooking: grilling. Grilling is a fast cooking method where foods are placed on a grill directly on top of a flame.

So, for the record:

• barbecue = slow cooking time, indirect heat

• grilling = fast cooking time, direct heat

Some confusion is probably because of the American tradition of barbecue parties. While these parties often have traditional barbecue, other foods like hamburgers and hot dogs which are usually grilled are also served. The equipment used to make both outdoor grilled foods and barbecue is commonly called a “barbecue grill”. There’s also a broad variety of sauces called barbecue sauce, with its own controversies (Fatman is not yet ready to wade into the vinegar vs. mustard, dry rub vs. wet right now. Shudder!)

What is the advantage of barbecuing? Simple: cooking for a long time at low heat breaks down the collagen in meat, making cuts that are normally very tough and unappetizing into soft, tender morsels. It was a way to make even the worst, most jaw-numbing cuts delicious.

Fatman has seen some real barbecue in Korea – think of those lovely hogs roasted for hours on a spit. Mmmmm. But bulgogi and galbi are definitely not barbecue, no matter how they’re sauced.