KIMCHI!

Embracing the stink in the land of the morning calm.

Way before I ever even thought I'd live in Korea, I declared I hated Kimchi. My first experience with it in a converted 50's style diner, now Korean restaurant in south Alabama left me genuinely frightened of the "rotting" veggies that I had digested. So what of this stink-pot full of cabbage and radishes in my kitchen? A cruel joke? Forceful culturization by our friendly landlord? Nope. I think understanding the simple parts and pieces to something whether it be a machine or a culture leads to true respect of most anything. Strangely enough the past few weeks have given me a curious graving for this food that I have rarely sampled. The following details my first sojourn into a food that not only is simple to make, it defines a nation that consumes a quarter pound a day per person.

The recipe I used was (very) loosely based off of Sandor Katz's in his book Wild Fermentation. Having observed many Kimchi brews in my day I would have to agree with him that this is a classic mix with the two lead hitters being nampa cabbage and daikon radish. I bought all the ingredients at our local Korean farmers market. Being kimchi harvest season everything was easy to find and only cost me 15,000 won=$12. You can get mega daikon the size of a small Kia, or what i opted for, the compact version. I have never tasted this radish, but when gnawed on raw, it is surprisingly mellow and refreshing compared to the typical cherry bombs we are used to in the states.

I coarsely sliced up these puppies along with some bok choi I had laying around and soaked them in a salt water brine of 7.2% (4 Tbl salt to 1 litter H2O.) I left them in over night until they tasted salty when taken out of the brine.

Once that's complete, isolate any living beings outside a one mile radius and get ready to prepare the Korean kimchi cocktail of death. This usually involves some form of onions (I used leeks), garlic, fresh ginger root, red chilies, and fish

sauce. I chose to kick the fish sauce and tone down the chilies to fit my westernized palette. Crush, maim, dice, slice or whatever you so desire and can withstand to this mix and let sit overnight. Take heed to my warning, I almost became divorced and killed a rabbit during this process. It may not seem like it at first, but this mixture will begin to

develop into smells so pungent it literally made our pet rabbit who was parked next to the pot beg for escape from his cage. My wife threatened to leave me if I ever touched lips to my kimchi, and I was crying like a baby from the acrid sting of the leeks. All this and it hasn't even started to ferment yet. This is going to be good.

We survived the night by baking some decidedly western foods like this sourdough, whole wheat, bean sprout bread. I sprouted a basic salad mix and ground about a cup in the Cuisinart and added it to my standard bread recipe along with some of "Mr. Kim" (our wild Korean yeast sourdough. He's lovingly bitter but has a bubbly disposition about him most of the time.) We also had some fresh ginger left over so before I opened the pot we made ginger oat scones with a fresh persimmon spread over the top. I have never came across persimmons until I came to Korea, and we keep finding new uses for them every time we can't resist another basket full at the market. They are the lovely little orange jewels in the picture bellow. Note the bag full of Shitake mushrooms that we snagged at the market. Theres probably a pound there and it didn't even cost me $2.

Ok, so it was finally time to face the stink, the rabbit made it through the night, and luckily the smells toned down a bit. The next step was to drain the brine out but set it aside for later. Then it's just a matter of mixing the cocktail in with the cabbage and radish. Try and get it in between all the folds of the cabbage and make little kimchi sandwiches. After they are done fermenting you can take a knife and cut little steaks out of them. Pack them down tight into a masonry crock or glass jar. Sandor Katz advises that plastic, even food grade leeches out chemicals, and metal may start to rust and transmit unwanted byproducts into your ferment. By firmly packing the kimchi into the container, this releases it's own juices and adds to the residual brine already on the veggies. The brine level should be near the top of the kimchi once it's all in the pot. If not, pour some of the reserve brine in to cover the top line of the veggies. Stragglers will want to float to the top. You don't want this, since the top part will be exposed to oxygen and be subject to go rancid. No worries though, simply place a clean plate weighed down by a jar full of water, or use a cleaned and steamed rock. I used plastic Zip-Lock bags filled with brine in case they leak to weight down the mix. The final step is to loosely cover with a lid or towel and set aside to ferment. How long? I have no clue at this point for many reasons. One because I just finished this morning and it has only begun to ferment. The other being that the level of fermentation is largely dependent on temperature, salt, type of veggies, and perhaps foremost on personal taste. Salt and cold temperature act as a fermentation inhibitor, less salt and warm temps the opposite. Katz recommends simply tasting your brew every day to see how it is developing. I like this method because I get to see how each ferment I make reacts to it's environment. Surface mold is to be expected, no worries though, simply skim it of the surface and go about your merry way. Once my kimchi reaches a point where I like it, I'll report back. Right now it's in the laundry room with the rabbit. It stays a lot cooler in there than the rest of the house so I suspect it will be a few weeks until it's had a good chance for the good bacteria to get in and do it's job. With time and a little good will, maybe this hands on approach to my long-time enemy will win my heart and taste-buds.