Kimchi, a Korean side dish (or banchan) is made of fermented vegetables, often cabbage or daikon. Here, columnist Caroline Ishii enjoys kimchi alongside kimbap (quite similar to sushi, without vinegar in the rice). If you look to the left, you might notice Caroline’s pup make a cameo in this photo.
OTTAWA — Some people fall in love with movie stars and singers or the latest cashmere sweater at Winners. I fall in love with food. It’s my go-to when feeling down, tired, and frustrated. It’s also been right there when I’ve wanted to celebrate significant events, like getting a job or passing an exam.
I’ve often wondered if I have a healthy relationship with food or if I am too dependent on it. Do I ask too much of it? Am I co-dependent? Co-dependency usually refers to excessive emotional or psychological reliance on a person, according to the Oxford Dictionary online.
If you’ve read my articles, you know that I have an addiction to mochi, but this is not the only thing. There’s also hot Japanese rice, too. I must eat it. With nori, soy sauce, you name it, it calls my name. It really does call my name, and that’s why I can’t have my favourites, like potato chips, in the house. They are pushy and are always calling out to me to eat them. Is anyone with me on this?
Another one of my addictions is pickles or tsukemono in Japanese, and I love kimchi, a fermented vegetable side dish, often cabbage or daikon, that originates in Korea.
Maybe it’s not an outright addiction, but more like a love affair because I wouldn’t say I like all kimchi, nor do they all like me. That’s how life is. I started making kimchi at my restaurant, ZenKitchen and grew to love it more. Why?
I saw it from the ground up and, in a way, brought it to life. The large pails of kimchi would slowly start to bubble and thus begin the fermentation process. I love the fermentation process of taking vegetables, adding a salt brine, and making them come alive in form and taste. I also enjoyed seeing the kitchen staff love kimchi, too.
It made me smile when I saw the cooks, in the brief moments of rest between orders, grabbing kimchi to eat on its own or with rice. It was the favourite go-to of the kitchen staff. With a whole menu of dishes to choose from, it may sound strange, but it was the same for me. When cooking in the kitchen and on your feet, you don’t have time to sit and eat something if you’re hungry. So, if you feel peckish, it’s the perfect snack—tangy, salty, and spicy—fulfilling to the palate and the belly, a push to make it through a whole night of constant orders.
In my book The Accidental Chef, I included a chapter on kimchi. My experience with kimchi at the restaurant taught me the value of the food we love. To nourish, bring us together, and even make us laugh. When making and eating kimchi, we often sang “Everybody was kimchi fighting” to the tune of the song Kung Fu Fighting.
Even now, when I am reaching for kimchi in my fridge to sustain me until the next meal or to use it in my repertoire of quick dishes—kimchi okonomiyaki or omelet, kimchi fried rice, instant ramen noodles with kimchi or wrapped in nori or lettuce leaves—I remember the times with kimchi in the restaurant kitchen and smile.
I offer this recipe for making kimchi this time of year because it’s good for your physical well-being, provides a wealth of antioxidants, and is a natural probiotic with health benefits, particularly for our digestive system. But it’s also good for our emotional well-being, providing a healthy, uplifting treat and an economical way to bring flavour to leftovers in the fridge.
I’ve been watching a lot of Korean TV shows—called K-Dramas—lately. I’ve been hooked on the quality of the acting and the range of emotions portrayed, always with some realistic sadness that makes me cry, which I find therapeutic. They provide insight into Korean culture and society, with consistently good food and kimchi. The last K-drama I found inspiring was Navillera on Netflix. It’s the story of Shim Deok-chul (Park In-hwan), a 70-year-old retired mailman who decides to pursue his lifelong dream of learning ballet. At the dance academy, he meets Lee Chae-rok (Song Kang), a 23-year-old dancer, who became interested in ballet after trying different sports.
So, here’s one remedy for the February blues. Put on a K-Drama, enjoy your kimchi in whatever form you choose, and be nourished and entertained. Maybe invite friends, though you’ll have to share your kimchi. Better yet, invite friends to make kimchi together. In doing so, you will be making your own kimchi chronicles and taste memories.
Jal-meok-ge-sseum-ni-da! (Korean for itadakimasu!)
Kimchi
(vegan and gluten-free)
Ingredients:
2 pounds Napa cabbage, coarsely chopped
12 radishes, sliced thin (optional)
4 carrots, cut into thin matchsticks or coarsely grated
4 onions minced
10 or more cloves garlic, minced
6 to 8 red Thai chilies, minced (please wear rubber gloves and protect your eyes!)
½ cup grated ginger
½ coarse salt
¼ cup gochugaru (Korean red chili powder)
Filtered water is best
Directions:
Mix 8 cups water and ½ cup coarse salt. Mix the vegetables, garlic, chilies, ginger, and Korean chili powder in a large bowl. Pour the brine over the vegetables.
Weigh the vegetables down with a heavy plate so they are submerged in the brine. Leave a few hours or overnight is best.
Drain the vegetables, reserving the brine. Press the vegetables with the heavy plate until the liquid rises above the plate. Add a little brine if required.
Weigh down the plate with a heavy object. Cover the bowl with a cheesecloth or towel and leave for a few days to a week (the time will depend on the temperature in your house and time of year), checking the day the vegetables are submerged.
When the kimchi tastes how you like it, transfer it to jars and refrigerate. It will keep for months in the refrigerator.
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