Getting Fresh

It’s winter. I get it. I should be posting pumpkin soup recipes and ideas for upcoming cookie exchanges. Well, guess what? I’m not. Deal with it.

Lately I’ve had an overwhelming desire to travel. And I’m not talking about a week in the Caribbean or even two weeks in Europe. That’s not gonna cut it. I long for my backpacking days and fantasize about future expeditions: Hiking Machu Picchu, spending a month in an ashram in India, riding a camel through the Sahara. The list goes on.

But nothing is ever like your first time—landing in an unfamiliar city, toting an oversized backpack, ears open to foreign languages, eyes open to foreign sights. The smell from street stalls filling your nose.

This was Bangkok for me in May 2011. Sweat dripping from my every pore, shirt suctioned to my body, horns honking, people running into me from every angle. I loved every minute of it. And that love and excitement continued for the next three months.

That’s why this recipe is so dear to my heart; and probably why I’ve been craving it even during the holiday season.

Vietnamese spring rolls are found, in some variation, all throughout Southeast Asia. Served cold, these handheld wraps are refreshing, fresh and healthy.

Don’t wait for summer. Make them now. Close your eyes and imagine your own backpacking adventure. If you’re anything like me, it’ll satisfy your itchy feet. If only for a night.

Vietnamese Spring Rolls
(Makes 8)

Ingredients:

2 ounces rice vermicelli
8 rice wrappers
24 medium cooked shrimp (peeled and deveined)
3 Tbsp chopped fresh basil
3 Tbsp chopped fresh mint
3 Tbsp chopped fresh cilantro
2 romaine lettuce leaves, chopped
2 Tbsp hoisin sauce
1 Tbsp fish sauce (or soy sauce)
1 Tbsp soy sauce
1/2 lime
2 Tbsp peanut butter
1 Tbsp finely chopped peanuts
1 Tbsp peanut oil

Method:

1. Place shrimp in a bowl and mix with the hoisin sauce and fish sauce (or soy sauce). Bring a medium saucepan of water to a boil and boil rice vermicelli 3-5 minutes, or until al dente and drain. Leave to cool.
2. Put peanut oil into skillet and turn burner on medium high heat. Cook shrimp for about 3-5 minutes until pink. Transfer to plate immediately after so they do not overcook. Let cool.
3. Fill the skillet with warm water. Dip one wrapper into the water for 1-2 seconds to soften. Lay the wrapper flat and place 4 shrimp in a row across the center. Place a handful of vermicelli on top, with a handful of the basil, mint, cilantro and lettuce, leaving about 2 inches on each side. Fold the sides over and tightly roll the wrapper. This will take time to perfect! Be patient ☺
4. In a small bowl, mix the lime juice, peanut butter, soy sauce and peanuts. Play around with the combination until you like the texture and taste. Feel free to try hoisin sauce as well.
5. Serve the spring rolls with the dipping sauce and enjoy!

A Spooky Sleepover

I'd been wanting to visit Cassadaga, a psychic community, since college. I finally did. Here's the story that ran on VisitFlorida.com. Enjoy!

http://www.visitflorida.com/articles/girlfriends-getaway-spiritual-and-spooky-cassadaga-hotel

A New Kind of Adventure

As you can see, I haven't been writing. I could blame it on school, writer's block, a case of carpal tunnel. I could tell you my dog stepped on my keyboard and somehow erased two month's worth of postings. But the truth is, I just haven't felt like it.

I heard from others who've lived abroad that coming home would be tough; and I thought I had mentally prepared myself for it. But I hadn't. I went from living in one of the world's largest, greatest cities, full of exotic foods, language restrictions and daily obstacles to living in New Port Richey. With my parents. Without a car. Or a job.

I've definitely been in a funk--longing for future adventures while missing the past. I thought about going back to Korea, or taking a job in China. But then I realized, I came back for a reason. Five more months until I get my teaching certificate, and then I'm off to another country--full of all new exotic foods, language restrictions and daily obstacles. But until then, I'm going to tackle New Port Richey and make the most of it.

Here's a link to my first article with Florida tourism's initiative, VisitFlorida.com: http://www.visitflorida.com/articles/girlfriend-getaway-reunion-on-rainbow-springs

It's the first of a series of articles on my weekend getaways around Florida. Sure, it's not walking the Great Wall of China or tasting sushi in Japan, but it's still fun. And it's probably making someone on the other side of the world long for the day they can do exactly what I've been taking for granted.

To My Readers

It's been brought to my attention that not all of my readers are cooks. Some have even told me they're not that into...food.

Seriously? Not that into food? What's wrong with you!?

My first instinct was to tell these readers to get lost; to call them names and then launch into a diatribe about the joys of food and the importance it plays in understanding different cultures. But then I realized this is not the behavior that will gain me loyal fans. And fans are, after all, the very people who will launch me into a wildly successful career on the Travel Channel. Plus, I admit, moving back to Hudson, Florida after living in Seoul for so long is a bit...uninspiring. So I've been doing a lot of cooking. It's something to pass the time, and cooking exotic dishes reminds me of my travels. So I guess part of me understands. And in response, I will post a series of articles detailing my recent three-month backpacking trip through Southeast Asia.

Just don't expect me to omit details on all the delicious food I experienced while there. This is, after all, a food blog.

The first installment will be posted this weekend. I would do it now, but I have too much cooking to do.

Laotian Larb

Everyone's eaten at Thai restaurants. There are Vietnamese places popping up all over. My old DC neighborhood even had a Malaysian eatery on the corner.

But what the heck is Laotian food?

I wondered the same thing before I visited Laos, the small country bordered by Thailand and Cambodia. And obviously this was the first question I asked once i got there.

Basically, it's a cuisine influenced by Northern Thailand, Cambodia and the French, with a heavy emphasis on fresh herbs, spices and vegetables. And everything, and I mean everything, is served with a basket of sticky white rice.

The most popular dish in Laos has to be Larb (also spelled Larp or Laap). It's a spicy salad of minced meat or fish, greens, herbs and spices and is absolutely delicious. Locals tend to eat the salad by rolling little balls of sticky rice and using it as their utensil. So this is, of course, how you should eat it too.

Below is the recipe I got from the Tamnak Lao Restaurant Cooking School in Luang Prabang. I made it for my parents today and it was a huge hit. Plus, it's easy, healthy and something new!

Chicken Larb
(Note you can make this recipe with fish, tofu or pork)

This recipe serves one person or three if shared with other dishes.

Ingredients:
• 1 large chicken breast with skin removed, minced into small pieces
• 1 small chicken bouillon cube
• 1 medium lime, juiced
• 2 TBSP hot water
• 2 kaffir lime leaves, sliced thinly
• 1 spring onion, sliced thinly
• 2 shallots, sliced thinly (are we seeing a pattern?)
• 2 garlic cloves (you know the drill)
• 1 bunch of cilantro, cut finely
• 2 stalks of lemongrass thinly sliced, white part only
• 6 mint leaves, thinly sliced
• ¼ tsp salt
• 1 TBSP rice powder (I found this at the local Asian market)
• 1 tsp chili powder or fresh chilies to taste if you like it hot (1-2 small Thai chilies)
• ¼ tsp fish sauce
• 1 TBSP fried garlic*
• 1 TBSP fried shallots*

Preparation:
1. Put the chicken stock, chicken, half of the lime juice and water into a wok or pan.
2. Place over medium heat, stirring until the chicken is cooked through.
3. Remove from the heat and place in a bowl.
4. Add the kaffir limes, spring onion, shallot, garlic, cilantro, lemongrass and mint. Mix well.
5. Add salt, rice powder, chili powder, fish sauce, fried garlic and fried shallot. Mix thoroughly.
6. Pour the remainder of the lime juice over the salad, give it a quick toss and serve it on a bed of lettuce, cucumbers and tomatoes.

*You can either buy deep fried onion and garlic at an Asian market, or make your own by slicing shallots and garlic very finely and deep-frying them in a pan until they turn golden brown. Use vegetable or canola oil and keep an eye on them! They burn quickly.


How to Make Sticky Rice:
Admittedly, I was too lazy to make the sticky rice, so we rolled the salad in lettuce leaves. And while it was great, I definitely missed being able to dip that small piece of rice in the Larb's sauce. So, you can do one of two things: either call in a to-go order from a local Thai restaurant, or invest in a steamer and make it yourself. These are the instructions I got from my Thai cooking school: Soak sticky rice in fresh cold water for a minimum of four hours. Afterwards wash the sticky rice with water at least two times. Put the sticky rice in a steamer and steam for about 30 minutes until the rice is very soft. When done, always keep the rice in a closed container to prevent it from drying out and becoming hard. If the rice cools down you can always steam it again.

A Poem for my Beloved Durian

Durian, durian, the magical fruit
People say you smell like a toot.
Spiky, pointy, hanging from trees,
The sight of you brings me to my knees.
People crack you open with a knife,
The first taste nearly changed my life.
A custard-like inside is a surprising treat,
Every day I want to eat.
I’ll never understand why your smell and taste offends,
I’ll forever be here to defend.
Durian, durian, I miss you so,
Back to Malaysia I must go.

A Recipe-filled Reunion

The moment I returned to America I started receiving invites to parties and reunion requests. I responded by sending a mass email: “Let me sleep for five days, then the planning can commence.”

Exactly six days later, I had two of my best girlfriends over for dinner. And even though I wanted nothing to do with rice, noodles, or any other kind of Asian fare, I thought it’d be nice to cook some recipes I learned in Thailand.

In Chiang Mai (Northern Thailand), I spent an entire day at Thai Farm Cooking School. It’s located about 17 kilometers from Chiang Mai City, surrounded by mountains and an organic farm.

The day started at a local market where we learned about exotic produce and staple ingredients in Thai cooking.

Then we took a tour of the garden, smelling and tasting fresh herbs.

And the next few hours were spent cooking curries, soups, stir-fried dishes, salads and desserts.



Everyone left the school with full bellies, bags of leftover food and recipe booklets.

I don’t know how, but I managed to hang on to my tiny recipe book during the next two months of travel. And when I fished it out from the bottom of my backpack, I knew I had to recreate those delicious meals for my friends and family.

For my first (of many to come) Asian dinner party, I made Thai vegetable soup and chicken with basil. Both were huge hits, and the dinner was the perfect way to celebrate with old friends.

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Thai Vegetables Soup
(Tom Phak Ruam) {Serves 1-2}

Ingredients
• ½ c sliced tofu (I left this out)
• 1 c coconut milk
• 1 c water
• ¼ c sliced galangal (Similar to ginger root but milder. You should be able to find it at an Asian market. If not, try 1/8 c sliced ginger then add to taste)
• 1 stalk lemongrass, sliced into 3 cm long pieces
• ¼ c sliced tomatoes
• ½ c sliced mushrooms
• 1-5 fresh chilies, minced (Remember a little goes a long way. You can always add more chilies but you can’t take them away!)
• 2-3 kaffir lime leaves
• 1 stem chopped spring onion
• 5 coriander leaves (cilantro)
• ½ c chopped long beans (If you can’t find these at an Asian market, substitute with broccoli or cauliflower. Green beans get too mushy.)
• ½ c chopped pumpkin (I couldn’t find pumpkin so I used butternut squash and it was excellent.)
• ½ c chopped carrot
• 2 tsp lime juice
• 1 tsp fish sauce or soy sauce (I prefer fish sauce.)
• ½ tsp sugar
• pinch of salt

Preparation

Put water and coconut milk in a pot, heat until boiling. Add galangal, lemongrass, onion, pumpkin, long beans and carrot, cook until fragrant. Add tofu, tomatoes and mushrooms, continue boiling on medium heat until cooked. Season with fish or soy sauce, sugar and salt. Finally add lime juice, coriander and kaffir lime leaves, spring onions and chilies. Serve with rice.


Chicken with Basil
(Phad Kaprao Gai) {Serves 1-2}

Ingredients

• 100 grams sliced chicken (1 thin chicken cutlet. Chicken can be replaced by tofu, pork, beef or squid)
• 2 tbsp oil (soybean or canola)
• 5 cloves minced garlic
• 1/3 c sliced long beans
• 2-3 hot chilies
• 1 c Thai basil (holy basil) leaves
• 1 tbsp fish sauce
• 1 tbsp oyster sauce
• ½ tsp sugar
• ¼ c sliced onions
• 3 tbsp water

Preparation

Pour the oil in the wok (If you don’t have a wok, use a large pan.) on low heat. When the oil is hot, add garlic, onion and chillies. Stir until fragrant. Add chicken and turn the heat up. Stir until well done. Next add long beans, fish sauce, sugar and oyster sauce. Add a little water. Stir together well. When everything is done, add basil leaves and stir once again. Serve with rice

My Last Supper

I knew my last meal in Korea had to be good; but what? Barbecue? One of the many soups I'd savored over my year-and-a-half stay? A rice dish? Seafood? I couldn't decide. But lucky for me, I didn't have to.

As a going away present, my friend Yong Kyu made reservations at a Korean royal cuisine restaurant so I could check off one of the last items from my Korean food bucket list: sinseollo. Sinseollo is a special type of hot pot once reserved only for royalty. It's basically a mild broth with beef, egg, radish, mushrooms, walnuts, ginkgo nuts and a few other vegetables served in a fancy silver pot.

I hadn't had time to research royal cuisine, with my grueling 3-month trip around Southeast Asia and all, so I had no idea what to expect. I figured the hot pot would be placed in the center of the table and that would be it.

Boy was I wrong.

Our server greeted us with salad, cold buckwheat noodles with vegetables, spring rolls and sweet potato salad. Then came beautifully presented sashimi. Then juk (rice porridge). Then boiled pork with spicy radish, nokdumuk (mung bean jelly noodles) and a delicious ground beef dish. Then the waitress brought out a nine-sectioned platter consisting of colorful vegetables and meats. She used chopsticks to put a little of each into thin wheat pancakes, rolled them up and placed them on our plates.

I looked at Yong Kyu. "This has to be it, right?"

"Of course not," he replied. "We haven't had the sinseollo yet."

As if cued, our waitress placed a huge bronze pot of soup accompanied with jeonyueo (meat and vegetables dipped in flour and egg then pan-fried) on our table. Yong Kyu spooned heaps of sinseollo into my bowl.

"Yong Kyu, this is so delicious, but I can't eat another bite," I said, holding my stomach.

"This meal is finished, I think," he said. "Now just dessert."

But it wasn't. There was still doenjang jjigae (fermented soy bean soup) and banchan (side dishes) to be had. I sat in slight agony as I watched Yong Kyu sip his soup and dip his chopsticks into the small bowls of kimchi, beans and vegetables. "Please, have some," he said.

"I'm just saving room for dessert," I replied, hoping that was the last course.

I was relieved when our server came to clear our plates. And I was even more relieved when dessert turned out to be two pieces of tteok (rice cake) and pineapple.

It was a lot of food. But good food. Actually, it was some of the best food I'd had during my stay in Korea.

"Yong Kyu, thank you so much for taking me here," I said. "This was the perfect present. A meal to end all meals."

He blushed and rushed ahead to open the door. I waddled out of the royal cuisine restaurant feeling like a princess. A fat princess, but a princess non-the-less.

TheThings we do for Food

Writing this from an Internet cafe in Saigon, Vietnam, my hands are still shaking, my neck tense from fear.

Anyone who knows me is well aware of my obsession with Anthony Bourdain. I've memorized every episode of No Reservations, feverishly flipped through each of his books, and am anxiously waiting for the day he discovers my blog and insists for me to be his younger, equally-as-charming co-host.

The day before I arrived in Ho Chi Minh City, I thought back to the episode where Anthony wades through a sea of speeding motorbikes in order to taste the area's sought after specialty, bánh xèo. Bánh xèo (literally meaning "sizzling cake") is a Vietnamese savory crepe made of rice flour, water, turmeric powder and coconut milk, stuffed with thin pieces of pork, small prawns and bean sprouts. The crepes are pan fried and served with lettuce, mint and basil leaves for wrapping, and a sweet and sour diluted fish sauce for dipping.

The camera had zoomed in on the frying pan, capturing the crackling of the oil. It panned over to Tony and his Vietnamese companions shoving fist-fulls of lettuce and fried crepe into their mouths. The speakers amplified the loud crunching sounds from every bite. The whole scene was what I personally define as food porn. I was sweating, drool was dripping from the sides of my mouth. It all felt a little wrong. I needed that bánh xèo, and I knew if I ever made it to Vietnam, it would be the first on my list of must-eat foods.

It took about 20 minutes to get to the restaurant, but it felt like two hours. My nails dug into my friend Ben's shoulders, my thighs clinched the back of his. I forgot how to breathe. Thousands of motorbikes whizzed by us in every direction. I could feel the wind as they brushed by, inches from hitting my legs. Tour buses honked their horns and blew through red lights. Pedestrians ran into oncoming traffic. People were driving on the sidewalks. I closed my eyes and prayed, thinking about how good the bánh xèo was going to taste.

When we got to the restaurant, I slid off the motorbike like my body was made of Jell-O. I fought back tears and vomit as I wrapped my arms around Ben. We made it.

I observed the scene: Middle-aged men and women sharing spring rolls and beers, people breaking into their crepes with chopsticks, another tourist photographing his every bite. I eyed the same table Anthony had graced and plopped down into the low-sitting plastic chair.

The sounds of buzzing motorbikes and sizzling oil filled the air, and the smell of coconut and prawns filled my nose. Moments later, a massive plate-sized crepe laid before me, bean sprouts bursting from its sides. I cut a crunchy end piece with my chopsticks and wrapped it in the greens, just as I had seen Tony do. I dipped it in the fish sauce, just like Tony had done. I bit down on the perfect piece and listened to it crunch.

It was one of those moments that felt like it should be monumental, but instead it reminded me of the magic of television. After a few minutes, the giant crepe had gone a bit soggy. It was a tad greasy, and I didn't taste the coconut.

Don't get me wrong, it was good, but not the stuff food porn is made of. And certainly not worth the near-death experience on the motorbike.

Hello from Cambodia!

I can't believe it's been seven weeks since I set forth on this amazing journey. I've seen sights that have shocked me, things that have humbled me, and have done things that I will remember for the rest of my life. Southeast Asia is incredible.

I know what you're thinking...ok, ok, Southeast Asia is great. Jennifer's seen temples, ridden elephants, motorbiked through rice fields. But what about the food?

Know that I will update with pictures and recipes upon my return, but here's a snipet of what I've been putting in my belly:

Papaya salad, curries upon curries, noodle soups so hot my nose was dripping. Crepes from street vendors, baguettes with eggplant and tomato dips, sticky rice in bamboo baskets. Fruit shakes and salads with everything from mangoes to durian. Khmer barbeque, amok (a Cambodian fish curry),laap (a traditional Laos salad), spring rolls with fresh mint and basil leaves, coffee served with condensed milk that had me buzzing for hours.

Words can't describe how fresh, how delectable the local food is here. I can't believe I haven't gained weight, or gotten sick from all the street food I've woofed down.

Last night I went to dinner with the Cambodian motorbike guide I hired to drive me around Battambang. In my dress, I sat on the side of the bike, and squealed in delight when we arrived at the restaurant.

There was an entire cow roasting over a fire. People were crammed around tables, sitting on red plastic chairs. Everyone was staring. "You're probably the first white person that's come to this restaurant," my guide Sahm said with a smile. I knew I was in for something good.

Sahm ordered for us and immediately began preparing my dipping sauce: lemongrass, chilis, fish paste and water, sugar and a pinch of salt. We dipped raw carrots, cucumbers, onions, eggplant, leaves, herbs and meat into it. I sucked it straight from my chopsticks.

Over dinner and Angkor beer, Sahm told me about his grandfather and the way he suffered during the Khmer Rouge regime. His eyes were cut out with hot spoons and he
was forced to work like a cow on the rice fields. When he became too sick to work the way they needed him to, he was executed.

I lost my appetite and felt a great sadness for his family and the Cambodian people. "Yes, it is very sad and maybe three million people were killed by the Khmer Rouge," he said. "My country is still sad but we are strong, happy people."

He lifted his beer and taught me how to say "cheers" in Khmer.

I continue to be amazed in each country I visit. Southeast Asia is not only rich with good food, but also with strong and kind people.

And, I'm Off!

It;s 5:10 am on March 1, and I'm about to leave Korea and start my backpacking adventure. I bought a one-way ticket to Bangkok without much of a plan... Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam, perhaps? Maybe I'll make it to Singapore to visit the hawker centers? Jungle trekking in Malaysia? Relaxing on the beaches in Bali? I really don't know what's in store for me.

But I do know I'll be eating. A lot. Stay tuned.

P.S. I tried Sannakji (live octopus) and Boshintang (dog soup) over the weekend! Had trouble posting my videos, but I will make sure to put them up when I return. Post soon!

It's Alive!

I finally ate 산낙지 (Sannakji), or live octopus, this weekend! I would love to write a detailed report on my encounter with the slimy, slippery sea creature, but I don't have time. I leave for Thailand in less than 36 hours and need to pack. Plus, I think the video says it all.

Fish Guts and Egg Sacs

Yes, you read that correctly. Fish guts. And egg sacs. Together. In a bowl.

It's called Altang, and it's apparently a pretty popular soup in Korea; although I hadn't heard of it until last weekend.

My friend Jason had invited me to spend the weekend at his house in a village two hours outside of Seoul. "I'm warning you, there's absolutely nothing to do there," he said. "But you have to see what I've been complaining about for the past year."

"With the amount you've complained about it, it better be bad," I replied.

It was.

Mold, no insulation, walls so thin you could hear the Chinese teacher's Skype conversations (the school divided the house into two "apartments") and a shower reminiscent of the one I used on a train in China.

Did I mention the house is on campus? Oh, and that it's an hour away from a coffee shop?

"Well, at least there's a good restaurant down the street," Jason said. "You can try this soup they're famous for: fish guts soup. My co-teachers ordered it for me my first week here."

Jason, if you're reading this, your school is testing you. The accommodation, the village, the soup. Get out now!

Ok, I know I'm being a bit dramatic. The soup wasn't that bad. It's just not something I'd want on my third day in Korea. Well, it's not really something I'd want ever again.

It wasn't the flavor. Give me a spicy fish stew any day. Throw in some bean sprouts, radishes, green onions and straw mushrooms, and I'll lick the bowl. But add some pollock fish innards...

It looked like little brains and testicles floating in a broth of blood. And it tasted just as strange. The fish egg sacs (the things that looked like testicles) were like mealy hot dogs with a thick casing. The intestines (the things that looked like brains) actually reminded me of ramen noodles--pretty tasteless. Both had a strange smell that I still cannot put my finger on.

Jason looked at me, smiling. "I know, it's strange," he said. "But it's something that grows on you. And since this is the nicest restaurant in town, I've had a lot of time to get used to the taste."

All I have to say is, good luck to you, Jason. And congratulations for surviving a year in that village.

Korea's Hangover Cure: Haejangguk

I've had plenty of hangovers while living in Seoul. Hell, I've had plenty of hangovers everywhere I've lived. But there's something about drinking soju that really takes the next day's headache and nausea to another level.

Thankfully the same people who created this evil alcohol also created a remedy for its wrath: haejangguk (해장국).

Often called "hangover soup," haejangguk refers to all kinds of guk (soup) eaten as a hangover cure in Korean cuisine. The most popular variety seems to be a thick stew consisting of meaty pork spine, spinach, cabbage, onions and congealed ox blood in a spicy beef broth.

Sound like something you want to eat after a long night of drinking?

Me neither. And a few weekends ago, while curled up at the edge of the bed, my friend's suggestion to do so had me dry heaving into a trash can.

"Congealed ox blood?" I said. "Whatever happened to saltines and Gatorade?"

"Get over it and get dressed," my friend said to me. "You're a food blogger now. Plus, saltines are for college kids."

Fifteen minutes later I found myself in front of the haejangguk restaurant, staring at the huge bubbling pots of soup in the window. And about an hour after that, I found myself able to walk upright, without the giant sunglasses and painful expression on my face.

Was it the miracle soup? The all-powerful kimchi? Or was it just the fresh air?

I don't know. And I don't care. I just know that the haejangguk was much better than a box of flavorless white crackers.

Kongbul

It amazes me that I've been here for a year and a half and am still discovering new dishes.

Last night, my friend Yong-Kyu took me to dinner in the Konkuk University area. "I want to take you to a restaurant I like, but I am nervous," he said. "It might be too spicy. And if you don't like it, my feeling is bad."

I rolled my eyes. "Young-Kyu, it's me you're talking about. I like everything."

And, of course, I was right.

We went to a place called Kongbul (콩불), a popular Korean chain serving only a few variations of the same dish--Kongbul. Its name comes from the Korean word for sprouts: kongnamul (콩나물) and the Korean word for beef: bulgogi (불고기). Add an entire squid, thick udon-like noodles, sesame leaves and a red spicy sauce, and you've got the restaurant's namesake.

We were about 3/4 of the way done with the meal when a restaurant employee came to our table with a deep bowl of rice, sesame leaves, sesame seeds and dried seaweed. He dumped it over what remained of our kongnamul and mixed the ingredients over a high flame until it became what's known as bokkeumbap (볶음밥).

I took a bite and smiled at the server. "Mashisseyo," I said. Delicious.

He looked surprised. "Where is she from?" he asked Yong-Kyu in Korean.

"She's American," he said back, smiling.

The server laughed. "Nan dangsin-i saeng-gaghaneun hanguk-eo," he said to me.

I think you are Korean.


Restaurant Information:
Name: Kongbul (콩불)
Location: Scattered throughout Korea. Check out the website to find specific locations. It's in Korean, so if you can't read Hangul, have a Korean friend help. Or, you could always roam the streets of Seoul shouting, "Kongbul eodi-ay-yo?" (Where is Konbul?) Someone's bound to point you in the right direction.
http://www.kongbul.com/

Something to Tteok About

Lunar New Year isn't until next week, but that hasn't stopped the parents from sending celebratory goodies for the past five days. Well, I shouldn't say goodies; more like goody. There's only one way to celebrate the Korean New Year, and it's with tteok (떡).

Tteok is a type of rice cake. And no, I'm not talking about the puffed variety Quaker puts out. I'm talking about the sticky, chewy kind made from glutinous rice flour, usually filled with sweet red bean paste.

There's actually hundreds of different kinds of tteok in Korea. Tteok stuffed with mung bean, tteok stuffed with red bean, tteok stuffed with sesame seeds and honey. There's bars of tteok layered with jujube and other dried fruits, tteok mixed with pine nuts and sweet potatoes. There's rainbow tteok, tteok made with makgeolli (unfiltered rice wine). There's tteok that's been pan-fried, and tteok that's been boiled with spicy red peppers. There's even tteok guk, a soup centered around the chewy rice cake.

I hated the stuff when I got here. "What a waste of calories," I remember saying. "It tastes like nothing, and it has the consistency of Play-doh."

But, much like my relationship with red wine, the more I tried it the more I liked it. And now, (just like my relationship with red wine), I may like it a little too much.

Think back to when you were a kid. At one time or another you probably had a Play-doh cooking set where you made delicious looking Play-doh pizza and Play-doh pancakes. You probably looked at your creations and thought, I wonder what this tastes like... What would happen if I sunk my teeth into that chewy hunk of clay? Well, I went past the wondering stage and actually took a bite of the salty, rubbery ball of dough. And after rinsing my mouth with Scope about a dozen times, my mother made a permanent switch to peanut butter mixed with powdered milk.

I had forgotten all about this incident until I took my first bite of tteok. "This is a traditional rice cake snack," my co-teacher said as she handed me a box of what looked like truffles. "Most foreigners do not like. It's very chewy."

Chewy does not describe what tteok is. It's beyond chewy. It surpasses rubbery. It sticks to your teeth and your fingers. It takes about a minute to swallow. It's one of the strangest textural foods I've ever eaten.

But that's why I've grown to love it. It's the only thing other than Play-doh that has that I-can-barely-bite-through-this consistency. And for me, that's what brings me back for more. It's all about the texture. That is, until you throw some chestnut paste and sour cherries in the middle. That's when I lock myself in my room with the box and eat tteok for dinner.

So if you haven't already, put down the bag of Quaker caramel cakes, head to your nearest Asian market, and discover what the term "rice cake" means to the other half of the world.

Strange Love: Dotorimuk

Dotorimuk is basically mashed-up acorns that have been turned into Jell-O and dressed with soy sauce and sesame oil. It's a very popular side dish in Korea, particularly among hikers...not so much foreigners.

Except for me, that is. I love this stuff. I pray for it to be part of the day's school lunch. I cross my fingers that it's served with dinner. I sometimes have dreams where I high dive into a pool of it, then paddle for hours with my mouth open until every drop is gone.

Yeah, I know. I'm weird. I should be dreaming of hunky, shirtless men riding white horses; declarations of everlasting love after the first date; a white wedding on a sandy beach.

But for some reason, acorn jelly is just so much more appealing.

A Meal to Remember

I spent the majority of Saturday afternoon in bed, pants unbuttoned, my sweater smelling of roasted duck. I wore an evil smile on my face.

I had finally tried the dish I'd been eyeing for a year and a half: a roasted Korean pumpkin, stuffed with yakbap (glutinous rice sweetened with honey or brown sugar, mixed with chestnuts, jujubes and pine nuts), on top of a whole roasted duck and caramelized onions.

My obsession with this dish started the week I arrived in Seoul; though I remember it like it was yesterday...

My roommates were walking me to the subway station for the first time. I was staring at all the foreign letters and signs, wondering what they meant. I was asking questions about singing rooms, PC cafes, restaurants with fish tanks outside their doors. I wanted to know about the history of the neighborhood, where to go for a good cup of coffee, how much it would cost to ride the subway.

Then, suddenly, my questions stopped. I froze, silent...succumbing to the savory smell of roasted duck. My roommates were blocks ahead before they turned around and saw me. Drooling. Arms stretched out, inches from touching a pristine glass case holding several dozen plump birds. My eyes glazed over as I stared at the slowly spinning ducks, counting the seconds between oil drippings.

"Jen?" my roommates called out. "What are you doing?"

I walked towards them in a fog, staring at the patrons through the restaurant's windows, crowded around large cast iron pots full of ducks and pumpkins.

"What is that?" I managed from my gaping mouth. "Are they eating entire pumpkins?"

"I don't know," said my roommate Kyle. "We've never been there before."

"Well, we've got to go there, and soon. I have to know what they're eating. And I have to try that duck."

But kimchi, bibimbap, noodles, mandu, galbi and a myriad of soups got in the way. And before I knew it, Kyle and the rest of my roommates had boarded planes heading west.

"You know we never tried that duck place," my roommate Chris reminded me the day he left. "You have to go there and tell me all about it."

Well, Chris, I finally did it. I went to the mysterious duck and pumpkin place and had myself a meal to remember. A meal that I'm sure I'll remember for the rest of my life. One that I will tell my grandchildren about as I sip chocolate pudding through a straw.

A roasted hobak, stuffed with sweet, starchy rice, mixed with soft chestnuts, jujube fruits, pine nuts and honey. A pumpkin so perfect it fell apart with the chopsticks, but held up to the sweet rice. Under the pumpkin was a sliced duck from the glass rotisserie case. The meat was so tender you didn't need to chew. And the layer of fat was seasoned with black sesame seeds and magic. Then, under the duck was a layer of onions, which over the course of the meal, caramelized with the fat from the duck.

To say this meal was worth the wait is silly. I should've busted through those glass doors and told my roommates to go on without me. I wouldn't have cared if I couldn't find my way home. I'd be completely content living out the rest of my days eating pumpkin and savoring the smell of perfectly roasted duck.



Restaurant Information:
바비아띠(장안점)
02-2216-5292
Janganpyeong Station (Line 5), Exit 3. Walk straight for about 5 minutes and the restaurant will be on the right. Look for a duck rotisserie outside and glass jars filled with magical-looking liquids lining the windows.

Jennifer Cooks: Dakdoritang (닭도리탕)

I'm off the crutches and in the mood to cook! I found a really easy Dakdoritang (닭도리탕) recipe on seouleats.com and decided to make it last night. Daktdoritang is basically a really spicy chicken stew, perfect for heating your body on a cold winter night, or for clearing out your sinuses.

Here's the recipe so you can try it yourself:


Ingredients

(Yield: 4 Servings)

* 8 chicken pieces (thighs, breasts or drumsticks are best)
* 4 medium sized potatoes
* 2 onions
* 1 carrot
* 2 jalapenos (optional)
* 2 tbsp minced garlic
* 2 tbsp gochujang (hot pepper paste)
* 2 tbsp gochugaru (red pepper flakes)
* 2 tbsp soy sauce
* 1 tsp sugar
* 2 tsp sesame oil
* 2 green onions
* 1 tbsp ginger
* 2 cups of water
* Salt and pepper


Cooking Directions

1. Peel potatoes and cut them in half. Then cut each half into four quarters (8 pieces)
2. Cut onions the same way as the potatoes
3. Peel carrot and cut it into lengths about the same size as its width. Cut each slice into four quarters
4. Slice jalapenos (optional)
5. In a heavy pot, combine all ingredients except green onions
6. Cover and cook for 30-40 minutes over a medium flame
7. Sprinkle salt and pepper to taste
8. Chop and add scallions to simmer for 5 additional minutes
9. Serve hot with rice (This is optional. I personally think the potatoes offer enough starch.)

Enjoy!

Hobak Hummus

With only seven weeks left in Korea, I thought I'd want to stuff my face with as much kimchi as possible. And while I'm getting my daily fill of fermented cabbage, all I can think of is American food.

Well, let me clarify. I'm not sitting around daydreaming of Big Macs and french fries. I'm thinking about caesar salads. Enchiladas. Medjool dates. Goat cheese. Greek yogurt drizzled with honey. Hummus with warm pita. I could go on, but I'm writing this at a coffee shop, and I'm drooling. People are starting to stare.

My point: You can't find these things in Korea. There's no lunch cafe serving salads and sandwiches down the street. The variety of cheese consists of processed cheese squares and string cheese. And yogurt is sold as a sugary sweet liquid in milk cartons.

So in order to satisfy at least one of my cravings, I turned to my friend Amanda Mohlenhoff. Since she's been living in Seoul as a vegetarian for two years, I knew she'd have a few tricks up her sleeves for making some killer hummus. And since she's a whiz in the kitchen, I knew she'd offer a recipe that didn't require a hike to the foreign food market for canned chick peas.

She not only delivered, but gave me a recipe that will be a staple for future house parties. Substituting pumpkin (a Korean hobak) for chick peas was not only convenient, but it allowed for a creamier, slightly sweeter version of my beloved Mediterranean spread. Enjoy!

Pumpkin Hummus

Ingredients:
1 pumpkin (Korean hobak), peeled and steamed (For those living outside Korea, a small pumpkin or canned pumpkin should work fine)
2 TBSP tahini, or 5-6 TBSP of sesame seeds, crushed
2 TBSP soy sauce
1-2 cloves garlic
3 TBSP olive oil*
2 TBSP cumin powder
Juice of one lemon, or to taste
Salt to taste
Crushed red pepper to taste

Directions:

Cool the steamed pumpkin and put it in a blender (or you can just mash it up). Puree the pumpkin, garlic, tahini and oil in batches until smooth and creamy. Transfer to a bowl and add the soy sauce, lemon juice, salt, cumin and red pepper.

You can also add chopped green gochu peppers (the Korean jalapenos) for extra spice, or a chopped scallion or two for more onion flavor. *The more oil you add, the thinner and creamier it will get.

You can probably guess that this recipe is very flexible. Feel free to play around with seasonings and measurements to fit your taste.


Just because it's in tupperware doesn't mean I can't make it look festive!

A New Year, A New Resolution

Every year it's the same thing: Lose weight, workout more, eat better.

Maybe it's living in Korea, or maybe it's working with 6-year-olds who adore me no matter what; but I've finally realized that these goals are bullshit. So, in honor of the new year, I'm posting my students' resolutions for 2011.

1. Donna: To make a book
2. Jeffrey: To make a helicopter out of Legos
3. Thomas: To learn magic
4. Micky: To be a good soccer player
5. Cameron: To get a dog
6. Andy: To make a car out of Legos
7. Francisco: To make a motorcycle out of Legos
8. Raphael: To become a magician
9. Peter: To make a top
10. Jelly: To learn hard ballet positions
11. Alice: To be a good student
12. Jimmy: To drive a bus

And lastly, my New Years Resolution: To love my body just the way it is--cellulite and all. It might not be as easy as, say, making a helicopter out of Legos, but I'll do my best.