J is for Japan, K is for Korea (South)

J is for Japan, K is for Korea (South, fyi)

It’s a Pacific Rim Pancake Party!

Once again, I’m a little behind on the ol’ blog, so this week is a double-whammy to knock J and K off my list. Given that doing the double last time by pitching two neighbours against one another seemed to work out pretty well (mainly for my stomach), I thought I’d take the same approach this time. As with the letter F, J constitutes a very exclusive group of countries: Japan, Jamaica and Jordan. Having no real legitimate connection to any of them, yet harbouring a deep desire for all three cuisines, I had to rely on the letter K to give me some direction as to what countries to plump for. Technically speaking, if I were being super pernickety about the whole shebang, I should have made Jordanian and Kuwaiti dishes, as they’re the only true J and K that are not thousands of kilometres away from each other. Luckily, I wasn’t feeling particularly pernickety on the day, so I basically just shoe-horned ‘Korea, South’ into proceedings and went on my merry way.

As we all know, Japan’s most famous culinary export is sushi. I could eat sushi for daaaaays, lying happily in a semi-comatose state with the fug of wasabi swirling about my head and repelling any other person that wanted to come within arm’s length of my bloated, rice-filled body. Unfortunately, in life, some level of self-control is necessary, meaning I only reach this joyful state once a month or so. Booooooo. In some establishments in my town here in Deutschland, sushi has been the subject of some very *ahem* daring attempts at fusion cooking, which have resulted in such mutants as Caesar salad sushi, Greek sushi and sushi filled with banana. Germany, as always, remains somewhat of a mystery to me.

A quick splash across the Sea of Japan brings us to the shores of South Korea, the ever-so-slightly more friendly and outward-looking sister of North Korea. For the briefest of moments, I entertained the thought of having a bash at North Korean food – you never know, they might be hiding a stellar array of tasty treats up there! However, given that the first picture Google produced of ‘North Korean cuisine’ was of barbecued dog ribs, I felt it wiser to retreat to the safe confines of the South. In my – admittedly limited – experience, the South Korean kitchen is a GOLDMINE. Of course, kimchi (salted and fermented veggies with a variety of seasonings) has firmly established itself in the culinary vernacular of Western Europe, probably delighting and repulsing diners in equal measure. Bibimbap (meaning literally ‘mixed rice’) and bulgogi (“fire meat” – a spectacular translation, I think you’ll agree) have also been slowly but surely winning fans all over the shop, bringing the joys of spicy, sesame-y, salty South Korean food to us hungry Europeans. I must say though, the crowning glory of South Korean food – for me – is gochujang. Praise be to the clever person who invented this savoury, sweet and spicy paste, which is made of red chilli powder, glutinous rice, fermented soybean powder and some other magical things (probably too much salt, but we don’t talk about that). Now that a dear friend, to whom I am forever indebted, has told me where to buy it here, it has taken up permanent residency in my fridge. I’m telling you, it is the business.

Back to the challenge, and I wanted to find a dish that had specific manifestations in both countries so I could finally give a definitive answer to the question that surely haunts us all: “Do you prefer Japanese or Korean food?”. Yes yes, I too have had sleepless nights over this question, just like you! I too have lived too long with the deep internal struggle! But never fear, for I have sacrificed myself for us all, so we can all sleep soundly once again. IT’S ALMOST OVER!!! One food item that is prevalent in most Asian cuisines is the humble egg. Eggs are cheap, they’re good for you and they’re extremely versatile. Heck, why not even let it fertilise a bit and eat the little baby bird inside (a genuine delicacy in several South East Asian nations)? And if there’s one egg-based dish I love, it’s a pancake. I mean really, who doesn’t love a pancake? All the best cuisines have their own version - crèpes (France), blinis (Russia), injera (Ethiopia), poffertjes (the Netherlands), Scotch pancakes (Scotland), Kaiserschmarrn (Austria) – and so, happily, do Japan and South Korea. Yaaaaay. So, off I went to the market to buy all the eggs for okonomiyaki and pajeon.

Break down the mouthful of okonomiyaki, and you’ve got the words ‘okonomi’ and ‘yaki’, meaning ‘what/how you like’ and ‘grill’ respectively. Hmm, not particularly telling. Grill what, Japan? I mean, I’m a big fan of ‘RuPaul’s Drag Race’, but do you really expect me to throw America’s next drag superstar on the barbecue, just cos I like her? Upon closer inspection, it transpires that the basis of okonomiyaki is a pretty simple batter made of flour, eggs, sometimes grated nagaimo (a type of yam) and cabbage. Then you get to okonomi the heck out of your yaki and add the extras: spring onions, pork belly, squid, cheese, shrimps…whatever you fancy. Okonomi, innit? But the fun doesn’t stop once you’ve slapped this behemoth on the grill. Once it’s done, it’s time for toppings. The most ubiquitous topping appears to be katsuobushi, or fish flakes to you and me. I’ve had them before and they caused my tastebuds a great deal of confusion, probably down to the uncomfortable likeness they bore to the food that my sister used to give her pet goldfish. Also of great importance to the final product is lashings of Japanese mayonnaise and okonomiyaki sauce, which is kind of like a thicker and sweeter version of Worcestershire sauce. It’s one of the few Japanese dishes that doesn’t scream sophistication, but even this mish-mash of bits and bobs is a thing of beauty when executed properly (rather than shoddily, as was the case in my kitchen). My version of this eggy delight was a German-ised version, born out of necessity rather than desire, as my local Asian supermarket didn’t stock a few of the ingredients. I also decided to eschew the fish flakes, for the reason stated above, and instead topped mine with aonori (seaweed flakes) and crispy panko breadcrumbs. Not exactly authentic, but what is cooking if not making the best of what you’ve got? My pancake was dutifully topped with sinful amounts of mayonnaise and spicy sauce, but like I said, I’m willing to make that sacrifice for you all. You can thank me later when I’m spending all my pennies on liposuction. The verdict: well, delicious of course. Stodgy, spicy and salty, I can imagine this being a superior hangover cure (I will be keeping this in mind for the day after my sister’s wedding). Bravo, Japan, EGG-cellent work (I couldn’t resist, sorry).

Alright, South Korea, you’re up. Pajeon, apparently, is a variety of jeon. Obviously, we are all supposed to know exactly what a jeon is. I, for one, did not. For my fellow ignoramuses, a jeon is a dish of, well, any whole foodstuff coated in flour and egg wash then fried in oil. By that logic, Scotland’s famous deep-fried Mars bar can also be referred to as a Marsjeon, thus making it a sophisticated and exotic delicacy, rather than simply a source of guilty and regretful enjoyment. The pa part of pajeon means spring onion, bringing us to the conclusion that pajeon is nothing more than a heap of spring onions covered in batter and fried. Don’t let that ‘nothing more’ there lead you to believe I’m talking it down – no no, simplicity is beauty, my friends, and pajeon is indeed a thing of beauty. It’s nowhere near as precious as okonomiyaki, requiring little more than store cupboard ingredients, rather than its own fancy eponymous condiment and special (read: nigh-on impossible to come by in small town Germany) toppings. It’s a breeze to make and places wonderful spring onions centre stage, which can only be a good thing. Chowing down with a dipping sauce of soy sauce, garlic and chilli, I found myself wondering why I’d never made this simple little delight before (I didn’t have an answer) and vowed that it would now become a regular in my kitchen, alongside the wonderful Egyptian kochari I made some weeks ago. I also enjoyed a slice slathered in gochujang, which nearly set my mouth on fire, but was outstanding nevertheless.

But which was better? The okonomiyaki was definitely tasty and I’m sure would have been even better had I had all the right ingredients to hand. However, because of its simple, understated elegance (coincidentally, a description I also apply to myself), my vote goes to South Korea and pajeon. 

 Of all the things I’ve made thus far, it’s up there with the easiest and most satisfying – surely two qualities we all look for when selecting an egg-based South Korean delicacy to whip up? But who knows, maybe the North Korean dog ribs would have won my heart. I guess we’ll never know…