Kim Chee

The gale force wind and rain made the lush green countryside about an hour outside Seoul feel remarkably like my Irish home. Had it not been for the pungent, sulfuric smell of kim chee (Korea’s famous spiced & pickled cabbage dish) that came wafting from the endless grave yard style rows of large clay earns, within which this fiery staple is left to ferment, I could otherwise have been on a winter stroll in the wilds of west Cork.

Inside the adjoining restaurant, where the owner of this kim chee farm serves her pickled cabbage (along with many other fermented wonders), were hoards of local Koreans, all seated on the floor in perfect crossed legged yoga position, around tables no more then 8 inches off the floor. To my horror, here in the countryside, they rarely welcome inflexible foreigners, and therefore see no need to offer the back supports and foot wells that are common in the restaurants of central Seoul. I was left to position my legs, with great difficulty, into a kind of crooked and tangled heap on the floor.

Within moments of sitting down, before we were even shown a menu, a vast assortment of colourful side dishes were brought to our table by a seemingly endless stream of shampooed and set ‘ajumas’ (Korea’s term for middle aged married women). The deep, sour smell of vegetables that have been fermenting for up to 3 years, hits your nose with a force to flatten any appetite. Fortunately, their taste is far less of an affront to the senses and they are actually strangely addictive once you get going.

As the ajumas fire up the central stove with which you cook your gochujang (spicy paste) marinated beef, I eagerly down our fist shot of soju, a punchy, clear spirit made from sweet potatoes, which I am very hopeful will go someway to relieving the pain in my now immobile legs.

Only 10 minutes into my first Korean dining experience and already, I felt I was at the heart of it all.