Amman and Bangkok

What do a Jordanian restaurant and a Thai restaurant have in common? This past week its been my great delight to sample two extremely fine restaurants: Petra and Wang Thai. The food was remarkably authentic for Korea, which has the very American tendency to adapt all imported foods to the local palette. The reason for the difference in taste is also the answer to the question: chefs native to the country whose food is being served.

Both of my meals, not surprisingly to people who know the city, started at noksapyeong station. This unconventional subway station seems a neon homage to Escher with its crisscrossing staircases and escalators. It's also the gateway to Itaewon, a district of the city that is home to both the American army base and the plethora of foreigners that has brought with it. There are few things Itaewon does well. Some, like the big and tall stores or the custom tailored suits, are quite useful. Others are much more shameful, and why I tend to avoid this part of town after nightfall as if it were Transylvania. However, if there's one thing Itaewon can be lauded for it's its tapestry of phenomenal food.

Petra

This Jordanian establishment has been an integral part of the Seoul food scene for 8 years. Though many have eaten here and raved about it, I had my first opportunity just last week and the hype is worth it. The chef is award-winning, the atmosphere is calm and colorful, and after one round of food I was ordering seconds.

I went, fortunately, with a like-minded food friend (that is to say, someone who believes in sharing, over-ordering, and the incommensurate values of money versus experience). We started with the hat trick: tabouleh salad, falafel, and a plate of various spreadables. Though much of the tabouleh I've had, either in Korea or otherwise, suffers from the crippling defects of excessive bulgur and over lemoning, this was not the case at Petra. The falafel was expertly prepared, and the hummus was only outdone by the babaghanoush that lay next to it.

Though our first impression was that the staff was a little coarse and unfriendly, we soon realized that the niceties were being lost in translation. After briefly struggling with our first course, the owner of the restaurant came over to show us how the three appetizers were mixed properly. With his own hand, he wrapped hummus, falafel halves, and daubs of the sauces on our table with a tortilla-like flat bread. He then packed it all with a spoonful of the tabouleh. The combination was overwhelmingly delicious.

The second course was a leg of lamb that just melted off the bone, flavored with raisins and dates and stewed with chickpeas. Again, just after a minute of our attempting to eat this new dish, the owner came back to the table. This time, he made little domes of rice on each of our plates and laid the lamb across it. While ladling on the gravy, he confessed that never in his life had he served food to a man before. I don't know if this was a sales tactic or not, but I choose to believe it.

Wang Thai

Wang Thai gave off a similar vibe upon entering, although the restaurant was roomier than in Petra.  Though it was spacious, it was still divided quite nicely, leaving a romantic sort of privacy that was complimented by the dim lighting. There is comfort gained from walking into a Thai restaurant and being greeted by Thai people. The sign advertised "All Thai Chefs," and the menu made note of their use of tamarind in the pad thai, rather than the cheap substitution of tomato. It was also nice to see a some authenticity in the drink selection. We opted for a bottle of the sweeter than average Chang beer, though I was curious about the Thai take on whiskey. Things were looking good, especially given that the other two Thai places in Itaewon are disappointing for the price tag.

Moreso than Korean, Thai benefits from the wide range of flavors that contrast so strongly but balance so naturally. A perfect example is green curry. Rife with the sweetness of coconut milk, there persists the heat of peppers with the freshness of lemongrass. The pad thai was as fantastic as expected. I could not get enough of the tom yam heth, a mushroom soup flavored with bay leaves, kaffir lime, lemon grass, chili peppers, and coconut milk.

I know this blog is typically dedicated to Korea and travel, but those are just two parts of my life experience here. While I do eat a good deal of kimchi and airplane food, there's also a vast cultural landscape that's available here, and sometimes I don't make that as clear as I should. It's not a life without luxuries. In fact, I couldn't get either of these foods in any town I've ever inhabited in the states. So there you have it: just another thing that life in Seoul has to offer.

Alternatives

If you're looking for something else to do with that bottom of the bucket kimchi, consider the kimchijeon. Imagine with me for a minute a world where pancakes aren't just for breakfast. I'm not talking about Denny's. This is a controversial world where pancakes have been altered, some may even say corrupted, down to their very batter. It's a world where you never know what kind of creatures may appear in your pancakes, or what kind of exotic alcohol they may be served with. I still don't feel like this is distinguishing it very clearly from Denny's, but you get the picture. Crispy and savory, flat and fried, available in a variety of flavors, and often served as a side dish for cauldrons of home brewed rice wine, the jeon is an artful approach to what many Americans would deem a bachelor night meal.

With the last remaining kimchi, 20something and I put together this hof masterpiece. Our coteachers the next day were impressed at the attempt, but it was obscenely easy. Thin, crepe like mixture of flour, milk, and water. Diced garlic and sliced green onions. Rough chopped leaves of kimchi. Stir, pour, and fry.

In the bowl, the batter didn't look like much. That's not exactly true. It looked like something, but not something I would want to re-eat if you catch my drift. Fortunately, with a pan fry and a flip of the wrist, this chunky pink soup went from inedible to irresistible in just a matter of minutes.

Iron Chef Korea

Remember all that kimchi I made last month? The time has finally come to crack it open and have a taste. I realize that in all the time I've operated this blog (153 posts over 3 years), I have never thoroughly described this food. So before we begin our cooking show adventure, let's take a look at the main ingredient.

Kimchi is a cabbage dish that is lathered with paste. Its base flavors are red pepper and garlic, though as we've seen there's also a distinct influence of several ocean flavors, such as anchovy and shrimp. Most importantly, kimchi is allowed to ferment from anywhere between a week to a full three years, giving it that almost alcoholic pungance. Cooking with this strong of a flavor is a delicate matter, as kimchi will clash with many ingredients and overpower the rest. However, following a few time-tested Korean recipes got us through.

My partner in crime for this endeavor was the very same one with whom I went to Taiwan, on whose own, better written blog you can find another account of this process as well as strikingly similar pictures. We each took half a head of kimchi and planned a pair of dishes each, one traditional and one of our own creation.


The Appetizer (traditional, me)


For the first dish, I went with the admittedly simple but decidedly delicious dubu kimchi.  Translating literally "tofu-kimchi," this is basically just cubes of tofu and a pile of heated kimchi.  However, there are secrets about this dish that have made avowed haters of both kimchi and tofu change their minds.  One is the choice of tofu.  As with produce, meat, or any other ingredient in food, slumming it with the packaged, chain-brand products is the express lane to disappointing taste and texture.  For the real quality tofu, and in a dish that is literally half raw tofu there's no other option, one should get the branded bricks from any of the stalls or pick-up trucks around your officetel.  The second secret is the process of heating the kimchi.  For a long time I speculated about what restaurants were doing to make this normally cold and sort of slimy vegetable so hot and savory.  As it turns out, medium-heat frying pan sauté with extra diced garlic and green onions is the trick.  Of course, just a few drops of sesame oil make all the difference in flavor.  Presentation is key when dishing out two piles of something, so I took my time layering the tofu like a pro hof.  The result is the perfect pairing: cool, nutty tofu and crunchy, warm kimchi.  It was a complete, restaurant-worthy success.

The Salad (original, Josh)


The next menu item was a veggie scramble starring Korean sweet potato and textured with bean sprouts.  A small handful of the radish slices from my kimchi jar spiced it up a bit, as well as some diced green onions and minced garlic.  All of this was stir-fried together with baby bokchoi.  The egg was almost thrown in just for good measure, more to loosely hold it together than anything.  When the scramble was complete, Josh threw it on top of a bed of mixed greens to transform the whole creation into an Asian salad unlike any you've had before.

The Soup (traditional, Josh)

The most fundamental of kimchi-based dishes, in my opinion, is the kimchijjigae, or kimchi stew.  Josh did this one up by the books, literally.  A hearty helping of kimchi, onions, tofu, and even the properly sliced wedges of ddeok to make it taste just like grandma's.  Unfortunately, due to burner constraints we didn't have the luxury of letting this one simmer the hour that was called for.  It was well on its way, but the flavors were a bit immature.  That was not the case when I ate the leftovers the next day.  Absolutely perfect!

The Meat (original, me)

The last dish was my extremely under-developed plan of kimchi-wrapped meat of some kind.  I wound up buying ultra thin fillets of pork neck.  I literally just folded a single leaf of cabbage around a half fillet.  The problem that presented itself was that I now had raw meat which needed to be cooked thoroughly inside a translucent, scorchable leaf.  The solution became extremely low heat, and that worked out nicely.  Contrary to my concerns, the kimchi began to brown just as the meat was done.  In that respect I was lucky to have gone blindly for such a thin cut of meat.  There was also concern that meat would be dry or tough, but it seems that the leaves were adequate insulation against those negative aspects.  Over all, it was most and tender, tasty but not overpowering.

We paired our spread with a few pre-packaged side dishes, but otherwise these results were entirely from our own hands. There is a deeply satisfying feeling from carrrying any act to its resolution. My very hands did the slathering, the packing, the wringing as I waited, the chopping, the stirring, and the shoveling.

Taipei Completed

The last full day of Taiwan started with a bus trip to the extreme northern tip of the island.  Unlike anything we'd seen so far, the harbor town of Wanli was clustered like a city but small and cozy like something near a mountain and the coast simultaneously should be.  The shops and restaurants spilled out right up against the road on which the boats were moored.  The reason that we came out to this little town was to see the Yehliu Geo Park.  All we had to do was grab a handful of dried squid that tasted like spicy raisins.

I've read Yehliu park described as "walking on the moon." With the bright orange landscape, it was probably more akin to walking on Mars, but then again water was so vividly present.  All the excitement takes place on a small cape, not much longer than a 200 yards from the town to the Pacific.  Every part of this stretch was a geographical freak show.  Be it wind or water, plate tectonics, biological residue from long-dead plankton, or even the densities of the various rock itself, nature and time had worked strange miracles on the whole area.  One of the most prominent features was the strange protruding polyps that jutted up about waist high, each covered with an eccentric honeycomb of pockets and supported by tapering bases.  The ground itself was either its own series of water-filled divots or  Neapolitan ribbons of different rock swirling underfoot.

Aside from the pod-like protrusions, the Mars floor, and the occasional cave, the other key feature were the precarious rock towers.  None of them were much more than 8 or 9 feet tall, but they felt delicate on account of the crackled surfaces.  It is one of these exact towers that has attracted so much interest to this tiny cape off of a tiny town on a tiny island.  There is one tower that unarguably resembles the profile a very stately and proud old woman with some sort of extreme bun.  "The Queen's Head" has become a symbol of not only the town but the entire country, and was therefore appropriately touristy.  A path had been lain that swooped right past this geological curiosity and as-much-of-a-line-as-Asians-can-form had formed.  Josh managed to capture the grumpy old Taiwanese man who had stubbornly held up the line so he could waddle back and forth for the perfect position (much to the acrimony of the Korean family immediately behind him) and then his granddaughter could not understand cameras (more Korean ire ensues).

Of course I had to take the same photo myself.  I mean, who knows when that girl's going to collapse?  It's a miracle Fanapi didn't do her in.

On our way back into Wanli and subsequently the bus stop, we had to stop at one of the multitude of fresh fish restaurants for some sushi and squid.  We got decisively out-eaten by the nearby table of four, who had covered their Lazy Susan with five dishes.  Not too shameful, until on our way out we noticed two more platefuls headed over to the very same table of 4' tall stomachs with legs.


After the terrifying bus ride back to Taipei (as with most countries that aren't Japan, bus drivers floor it on mountain turns like they have IBS and it's trouble time), we made our way out to the port on the north-west edge of the city in a district known as Danshui.  The streets here boasted European store fronts and Victorian lamp posts, thanks mostly to one missionary whose name eludes me.  Aside from the atmosphere, this area is renowned for its oceanscape sunsets, which did not disappoint.  Not really the sappy type, but I just stared at this postcard scene until the last color left the sky.  It was to surreal to have been from a movie.  Rather, it was the type of sunset you'd imagine Chroma conducting in Phantom Tollbooth.

Surprisingly, by the end of this day we had both had our fill of Taiwan.  Opting for Thai food rather than local cuisine and eager to get home the following afternoon.  We pondered over green and coconut curries why the vacation had left us yearning for bibimbap.  Was it the exhaustion of non-stop walking?  The mild indigestion at the smell of wheel barrels filled with organ meats?  The frustration of being constantly in a city where we can't communicate or even sound out words?  Whatever the reason, we both agreed that the familiar sights and flavors of Seoul would  be a more than welcome comfort.

The trip wasn't quite over yet though.  We still hadn't climbed the towering Taipei 101.  It was as expected: tall.  More exciting than the prospect of standing atop the 2nd tallest building in the world was the ride to the top.  The elevator was equipped with airplane-style artificial atmosphere technology, since the ascent was too rapid to be bearable without cabin pressurization.  The shut down all the lights in the rocket-coffin except for twinkling constellations on the ceiling, presumably to keep you from panicking over a loss of power.  There was an eerie space music akin to the iPhone ringtone.

The other thing that was architecturally intriguing about this building was the "tuned mass damper sphere," a humongous pendulum of sorts housed inside one of the topmost floors.  I learned that this technology is commonplace in skyscrapers that are built in areas which experience earthquakes.  What I didn't learn was the physics behind how this 4-story tall steel sphere (the largest of its kind in the world) shakes instead of the building which stands around it.

The last stop before our plane departed was the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall.  Commemorating one of the "founding fathers" of Taiwan, it is one of the most recognizable buildings in the city.  One of Chiang Kai-shek's right hand men, the statue of Dr. Sun leaves a very Asian-Lincoln Memorial impression

Taiwan left me with some beautiful natural memories and a permanent quest for Taipei bubble tea, but there's no substitute for comfort. Sadly it's taken me so long to finish the account of this trip that I've already come and gone on another. Next up: Vladivostok in late February. However, before I can romp around east coast Russia, I'll be back stateside for 12 days in early February. If there's anything you want from Korea, now's the time to ask!

Taipei Continued

May I remind you where we left off:

That's right folks, delicious and beautiful.

The next morning, I woke up bright and early for some Taiwanese breakfast of soy milk, baozi (pork steam buns), ropoggao (squares of fried...cake?), and daan bing (egg omelet wrapped in a rice pancake).  There were of course piles of sauces.  I took the next hour to stroll down camera street in a search for a replacement, to no avail.  At least the street buns were freaking fantastic!

The day continued with a bus trip to extreme northern Taipei.  The city is capped with Mount Qixing and Yangmingshan National Park.  Slightly volcanic and hours of hike in diameter, Yangmingshan boasts a large peak, a frog habitat, and sulfur springs.  The afternoon was simply gorgeous, though not quite like Toroko.

 Dinner was the local Buddhist buffet, which after a day full of hiking and outdoorsiness we promptly devoured.  It was thoroughly unique.  Half of the things I couldn't recognize, and several of which I thought might actually be meat.

We spent the evening crawling through one of the more famous night markets in Shilin.  It was an exciting blend of smells and sounds and smells.  The street food was ubiquitous, there was a steady stream of black-haired people, and the "market" was a mixed bag of clothes, pocket knives, pets, and arcade machines.  It was particularly cool that Korean music was blasting from every corner.  Nice to have some familiar comforts on streets full of strange meats and words I don't understand.

 Last day to come tomorrow.