Our friends invited us to a dinner party in Osaka. We arrived at a humble Korean restaurant on a
side street in Kita-ku, not far from an arcade of restaurants, bars and
pachinko parlours. Despite the lack of glamour, we anticipated an
evening of great food because the host and the other guests were food
experts.
It was a family restaurant. The
young chef, in his thirties, and his mother worked in the semi-open
kitchen. A young woman worked the front. There were only two long tables, one for six
and another that seat probably ten as it extended to a tiny counter by
the kitchen. The eleven of us were
comfortable in the small dining room since the host had booked the whole restaurant
for the private dinner.
The meal
started with earthen crocks
of makkoli, house brewed unfiltered Korean rice wine, which had
gained popularity in Japan. The first cup was the clear liquid skimmed
from the top. It tasted mildly sweet and
not that alcoholic. Subsequent cups were scooped from the bottom. The drink was milky white with
a different texture and slightly fizzy.
Both were pleasant drinks.
Soon into the meal, the lady server brought cold oksusu
cha (corn tea), a Korean tisane made from boiling roasted corn kernels in water. It was most refreshing, with a clean mild
toasty taste and a bare hint of natural sweetness. It went very well with the dishes.
I switched from makkoli to the corn tea for the rest of the
meal. The other folks finished their makkoli and moved onto beer and Jinro (眞露), the best selling Korean soju (燒酒).
It was a ten-course dinner. Many
courses were served in communal style, with a
plate of food for every four people. The
other courses were in individual portions.
The first
course was an array of namul (seasoned
vegetable dishes) which
were usually served as banchan (side
dishes). The serving lady brought out a
few small plates at a time, arranging them into a group of parallel straight
lines. All together, there were 23 small
plates, each made with a different seasonal vegetable. Some ingredients were
common, such as soy bean sprouts, spinach and celery. Most were leafy Kyo
yasai (Kyoto vegetables).
One special item was thin slices of white makomotake (真菰) about the size of a mahjong tile.
I recognized it when the
serving lady showed
me the raw ingredient. It was the
swollen stem of a kind of wild rice grown in swamps of China and Japan (known
as 茭白 in China). The word “take” was in the name because
the stem had been infected with smut fungus.
There were also
three traditional kimchee. The portion of each plate was small, with
just enough for each person to have a bite.
Together, the small plates made a lovely course. I was impressed by the fine knife work and the delicate seasoning.
The group of namul was incredibly satisfying. I would not mind to have them as a meal.
Next was an individual
serving of grilled oysters
on top of yuzu “chawanmushi”. The texture of
the two oysters was impeccable; they were firm and moist.
The taste was intense and delicious. The citrus was used as a bowl
for the savory steamed egg custard.
This was followed by a
plate
of two long golden
brown omelets, each cut into four pieces. One was filled with shirako (白子 cod milt) and the
other with nanohana (菜の花) and ebi. I liked the shirako omelet more (yes, I am a shirako fan). The pan fried nanohana was a little hard.
Then came awabi gohan – sautéed awabi (abalone) slices on top of
rice enriched with the dark green
awabi kimo (abalone liver).
It was very well prepared.
The abalone slices were tender, and the rice picked up the“earthiness” of the
liver. Delicious and very Japanese.
The fifth
course was deceptively simple – a small piece of tofu in a small amount of
broth, topped with finely sliced greens and a slice of Japanese lime. The tofu was incredibly silky. The clear
broth was made with suppon (Japanese snapping turtle), a delicacy and a luxury.
At that point, the chef came out from the kitchen with a large stock pot
in his hands. He walked around the room
and showed the pot to everybody. Inside
was an aromatic clear broth, a whole chicken and a whole fresh Korean ginseng the size of a baby’s arm. He
took the pot back into the kitchen after the parade. And I expected a bowl of chicken soup anytime
soon.
Next was a light meat course – thin slices of cooked beef cheek, mizuna (水菜, a Kyoto leafy green)
and mustard. We rolled the meat around some vegetable to eat.
A vegetarian dish followed – thick harusame (春雨 cellophane
noodles made from potato starch), soy bean sprouts, carrots, wood ear and some greens, gently dressed with sesame
oil.
The eighth was
deep fried chunks of bone-in fugu (blowfish).
I had the
largest piece with the collar attached (bones made the fish tasted better). The seasoning was slightly spicy hot, making
the fish even more delicious. Oishii!!
The ninth course was pork belly slices cooked in Korean
hot bean paste on a hot plate. It was
accompanied by lettuce, something that looked like arugula, and ggaennip (Korean “sesame leaves”). We
wrapped the belly pieces with the leaves to eat. The sesame leaves looked like oversized ooba but its aroma and flavor were different.
The chicken soup never came. Instead the lady served us porridge in
individual bowls. The flavor
of chicken and ginseng came through loud and clear. There went the soup that I was waiting
for.
After ten
courses, the dinner ended with “dessert” – a piece of dark green kusamochi
(草餅) cut in
halves. Kusamochi is a rice cake made with yomogi (蓬, 艾草, mugwort, wormwood). The mochi was plain, not filled with red bean
paste. Its taste was mild with a hint of
bitterness. A satisfying way to end the
dinner.
The restaurant was 韓菜酒家
ほうげ
(Houba),
the first Korean restaurant in Japan awarded a Michelin star. In my opinion, the food deserved at least
two stars. But the location
and the decor did not meet the Michelin inspector’s expectation for luxury as it
was an ordinary people’s restaurant. My dinner there was not only my best Korean meal but also one of my
most memorable meals of all times.
