Goats Beware: You are Delicious and... Healthy?

The first time I ever tasted a goat I genuinely tasted goat. It wasn't meat I ate, it was cheese. I was having lunch with family at the Ritz Carlton in Tyson's Corner, Virginia, and among the finer things laid out on the table was a local, artisan goat cheese. It tasted like goat, and not in a good way. My childhood best friend's family owned a hobby goat farm. We spent most of our summers wandering around that farm, hurding goats around, feeding them, milking them, stepping in their poop. So I known their smell intimately well, and that cheese captured the essence of a live goat.

The second time I tasted goat was a little closer to the capital. My Haitian aunt had prepared a banquet for a friend's baby shower. I escaped the shower, but not before she made me try her goat stew — a delicious recipe imported from her island.

The third time was on the other side of the planet at about the same latitude — the 38th parallel. This time the animal was just as much medicinal as it was gastronomical, and the results made me a confirmed lover of goat.

In downtown Pyeongtaek, as you walk away from AK Plaza, you will find Daejeon Heuk Yeomso Gukbap (대전흑염소국밥), which means "Daejeon Black Goat Stew" in English. It is far down the street on your left, guarded by a church and set back on the side of a hill between a garden supply store and a flower shop

With its rust holes; plastic siding; crumbling pavement; and squishy, yellow, linoleum floors, it isn't the fanciest of places; but most truly great Korean eateries tend to look like potential relics of the Korean War, and this is one of them.

The menu isn't very diverse since Korean restaurants tend to specialize in a single perfected dish. There are two styles of goat stew: one with more meat (teuk yeomso gukbap 특염소국밥) and a cheaper one (yeomso gukbap 염소국밥) with less. Those who want to share a pot of goat stew can order the yeomso jeongol (염소전골). For a little variety, there is the expensive goat mu-chim (yeomso mu-chim 염소무침), which is sauced goat meat and vegetables.

My friend and guide, Park Junsik, and I ordered the more meaty goat stew for lunch. Like most traditonal Korean meals the dish is accompanied by a variety of sides. There weren't many, just the basics: a plate of kimchi, a bowl of rice, and another dish with raw garlic and hot peppers with ssamjang (쌈장) sauce for dipping. Additional sauces and spices like dadegi (다대기), a spicy-salty-oceanie paste, were provided for altering the stew to suit your taste or for dipping your chunks of tender goat meat.


While there were not many sides, they weren't needed. The black, ceramic bowls of stew, which seemed to contain just enough food to satisfy at first, contained more than enough to gorge us both to near discomfort. And neither of us had a full stomach when we walked in. All Junsik had eaten that day was a glass of orange juice. I had eaten breakfast, but since then had only eaten a slice of toast and a kumquat.

Shikgochujang and perilla seeds

The spicy, peppery stew was fantastic. It did not take many spoonfuls before Junsik exclaimed, "Oh! I fall in love. Really good." He continued to groan in delight throughout the meal as I took pictures and tapped notes on my phone. True to the menu, the stews we got were loaded with large chunks of goat meat. Goat is definitely a dark, gamey meat, but for those who aren't fond of the flavor, the accompanying shikgochujang (식고추장) dip mixed with perilla seeds completely cut the gamey flavor.


Interestingly enough, the flavor of the stew is strikingly similar to boshintang (보신탕), Korea's controversial dog stew. In fact, the last time I had boshintang one of my dining mates, an American, compared the flavor of dog to the flavor of goat. I had not tasted goat at the time, so I could only take them at their word, but now I see what they were talking about.

Also like boshintang, goat stew is reputed to be good for one's health. This is hardly surprising since it seems virtually every Korean food is advertised as quasi-medicinal. But of the many animals on their menu, like dog, goat meat in particular is considered curative.

According to an academic article published by the College of Natural Resources at Daegu University by Min Taigi and co-authors, there are records of goat meat being used for "healing and prevention from certain diseases... in old literatures in Korea and China." The tradition continues today. According to the article, goat meat is "a healthy food that helps the seasonal attunement of the human body." Apparently the smell of goat meat doesn't help its popularity in Korea (ours smelled fine). As a result of this, it is more commonly consumed in extract form. Yes, somewhere a beverage is made from boiled down goat flesh mixed with herbs as a part of Korean traditonal medicine. I can't imagine that it would smell better than the meat, but, smelly or not, the extract supposedly makes a fine gift for aging parents who are growing forgetful and brittle of bone. It reportedly also promotes health in pregnant women, discharged patients, mentally drained students, and men looking to enhance the powers of their own meat.

Such medicinal claims are common enough, more than making them a tough pill to swallow; nevertheless, Junsik seemed to benefit from the goat. Having not slept at all the night before because he was sending out job applications, he was unsurprisingly tired. Yet after lunch he claimed he felt better. "I feel like it makes us healthly," he said. Not only was he no longer tired, but he said his blood felt fresher. I'm not sure what "fresh blood" feels like, perhaps it is the feeling of radiating warmth that the dish provokes in your limbs.

Could this mean that goat stew does in fact help students who have pulled all nighters and found their minds reduced to well, an extract? Or is it more likely the starved and exhausted Junsik merely gave his body what it needed — food?

Before you pass judgement, try a steaming bowl of goat stew yourself and see what happens. Maybe your health will be better for it.

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Blog: Are Mirang Oats Gluten Free?

Oatmeal is hard to find in Korea. Koreans have their own hot cereal. It's a rice mush called jook (죽). So when I saw oatmeal at Costco, I thought it would be perfect for my new gluten free diet. Oats, after all, don't contain the same kind of gluten as wheat, but then Mayo Clinic had to spoil everything.

"Certain grains, such as oats, can be contaminated with wheat during growing and processing stages of production. For this reason, doctors and dietitians generally recommend avoiding oats unless they are specifically labeled gluten-free." - Mayo Clinic, 2011

Well, that's terrific. Time to read the whole box looking for "gluten-free."

Many items at Korean Costoco stores are American brands. These oats, though, are not. They were made by Mirang (미이랑), a Korean company. So the box is completely covered with Korean except for the product title, "Oatmeal." It took me seven and a half minutes to scan the box top to bottom and back to front looking for "글루텐 프리" or something similar, but there wasn't a sign of it.

Clearly this doesn't mean these oats are gluten free. Yet one heartening fact is that the oats were grown in Korea. By and far, Korea grows considerably more rice than wheat. A report by the International Grain Council showed Korea's 2011-12 rice production at 4.3 million tones. In comparison, the country produced a mere 51,000 tones of wheat the same year. While the government is pushing to achieve the production goal of 200,000 tones of wheat by 2015, this is still small in comparison to the amount of rice produced. As a result, I'm not terribly worried about it being cross contaminated with wheat gluten.
Moreover, I have yet to be convinced that gluten free labels are commonly used in Korea. Since Koreans generally do not have gluten related health issues, there is no gluten free market among mainstream Koreans. Thus, if the oats are truly gluten free the company has no incentive to label it.

Unfortunately, a lack of conclusive information doesn't make these oats any more positively gluten free. For all I know there could be a central grain processing super-conglomerate that processes all kinds of grain on the same machinery, polluting everything with wheat gluten. So if I genuinely had a problem with gluten and it excluded avenin, an oat protein that a small percentage of celiac patients are sensitive to, I should contact Mirang to be certain their oats are gluten free. If I was as lazy I could just eat them and then check how my stomach feels, but I can't do that. My tummy likes gluten. And depending on how badly my system would react if I did have a problem, that second alternative might not be feasible.

Time to call Mirang! ...as soon as I can get a translator.

But in the meantime, I'm still going to eat those oats.

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Blog: Is Ssallo Byeol Gluten Free?

I don't often eat snack foods, but when I do I eat original flavor Ssallo Byeol (쌀로별 오리지날). Unlike other Korean snacks it can't moonlight as a sugary breakfast cereal. It has the caramelized salty-sweetness of soy sauce instead. It also it doesn't crash my energy level like the other snacks do — a key trait for a snack if you're a teacher.

Anyhow, I always assumed it was only made with rice, because ssal (쌀) means rice. So I got really excited when I saw it at MiniStop, a Korean convenience store chain, last week. It was the first day of the year that was warm enough to sit outside and write in the park, so I was preparing a small picnic for myself. Naturally, excited by the prospect of a gluten free snack, I bought the lumpy, tan rice balls.

Later on I was sitting on the floor of a Korean style gazebo — the kind traditionally used by scholars and poets to muse and compose. With my iPad in my lap, a bottle of ice tea at hand, and a pile of empty string-cheese wrappers nearby, I contemplated just how gluten-free Ssallo Byeol really was.

It took me approximately 15 minutes more or less to translate the ingredients. To cut down on time one can look for mil (밀), the Korean word for wheat. This is what my friend Lauren Andrews does. She is one of the few people I know who lives in Korea with celiac disease. However, I wanted to be as complete in my translation as I could just to be sure. This is what I found:

Imported rice with a list of related ingredients and import information I could not completely translate. I also found white sugar and starch syrup. I wondered what the source of the starch was, but as I read on I found out it didn't matter. Next up on the list was tapioca starch and a mix of soy sauces. And in that mix was — wheat (dundundun!). Next on the list was brewed soy sauce, tomato juice, pea protein, red pepper paste, wheat starch (more dundundun!), some special salt I can't completely translate, and onion powder. Lastly came the usuall and not at all bizarre allergy warning that it was manufactured in a facility that processes milk, peanuts, and shrimp. Korean snacks are processed with shrimp?! Yes. In fact, there are a lot of shrimp flavored snacks in Korea. Shellfish alergenated people beware.

I can eat shrimp. But I can't eat wheat, so goodbye crispy rice balls that betray your gluten free origins.

 

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Cheongdoongoli: Land of the Magical Duck

Walking into Cheongdoongoli (청둥오리) is like stepping into Ron Weasley's home. As you walk into the restaurant, you are greeted by a wonderfully cozy, toasty, woodsy odor. It comes from the cast-iron stove that heats the main dining area. Windowed along three walls, the afternoon sun lays sheets of gold across the room, casting shadows among strange herbs drying from the ceiling, and jars upon jars of mysterious, brewing vegetation. From the curious display of black brews, odd roots, and wonderous herbs — including giant shelf mushrooms and stacks of pumpkins — one might think that the owner of the restaurant was aiming to replace Severus Snape as the potions master at Hogwarts. Bizarre herbal teas, however, are not the focus of this restaurant. They sell duck and not just any duck. With all the positions mastery stuff hanging about, they serve a magical meat — the meat of ducks raised on those strange herbs. It is the kind of Korean food that the natives claim is good for your health and for once might actually be correct about it.
The family that owns Cheongdoongoli, the Kims, also owns a duck farm in Anseong. There these ducks are raised on the same herbs hanging around the dining room. Little, paper labels accompany the obscure plants, identifying them for Koreans but stumping any direct translation by organic or technological means. Whatever they are, though, they produce a tasty meat. Duck meat typically has a distinct odor and taste that my friend and guide, Junsik Park, doesn't care for. However,

Cheongdoongoli's duck is an exception. We ordered a half and half plate: one half los (로스), unseasoned duck, and one half jumulleok los (주물럭 로스), hot sauce duck. Both meats have a mild flavor and neither has the ducky smell that some, like Junsik, find so unpleasant. Moreover, the duck meat is less greasy than normal duck.

While the duck is splendid on its own, the wide array of banchan (반찬), Korean side dishes, truly make the meat stand out. Every bowl, dish and tiny plate of fresh, sauced, seasoned, fermented and pickled veggies perfectly balance each other and complement the meat. It is quite an astonishing feat given the powerful and subtle flavors on the table: fresh, floral, green and sweet amid pungent, spicy and vinegary. And all of these act unobtrusively upon a sweet meat.


Even in themselves the banchan are exceptional. Dishes like doenjjang paste and pickled parilla leaves are common side dishes in Korea; but the difference between the average banchan around your officetel and the banchan at Cheongdoongoli is the difference between a cup of Maxwell House and a cup of Starbuck's Komodo Dragon Blend.
"Everything is perfect but one thing," said Junsik as he pined for the Korean man's perfect accompaniment to everything — soju.

Ultimately we did not buy any soju because Junsik had a student to tutor that evening, but we
were treated by the owner to one of the potions brewing under the windows. Initially described as, "enzyme tea," a dusky red drink served at room temperature, Junsik, after a chat with the owner, described it as a mix of apples, grapes, "lots of vegetables, and things that taste bad but are good for my health."

Meals at Cheongdoongoli run around ₩40,000 but can serve two very hungry men on the path to obesity or four people of moderate appetite. Cheongdoongoli, which is open from 10 am to 10 pm, is located in Wongok-Myeon in Pyeongtaek behind Seoul Rehabilitation Medical Clinic just off the central intersection. Heading into the intersection from downtown Pyeongtaek you need to make a hard left turn onto an access road that runs behind the clinic. Alternatively, one can get there from AK Plaza/Pyeongtaek Station (펴택역) by taking the 8 or 8-2 bus to Wongokipgusamgeoli (원곡입구삼거리).

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Dear Stomachs,

Consider the opportunity to contemplate a table of uniquely bizarre foods while gazing upon the Yellow Sea. On one dish is a pile of squirming octopus tentacles. On another plate you see something that was once alive and may still be, but now it resembles a Cadbury cream orange goo. On yet another plate you discover sometimes writhing strips cut from a disturbingly phallic sea worm. Nearby is a bucket of enormous, live shrimp on ice. The man next to you casually snatches one out of the pail, snaps off its head off and peels it in one motion before dipping it in a red sauce and eats it. If seafood is not to your liking, on another day you might find yourself in town with Western friends eating grilled sheep or cow intestines while cautioning your dinner-mates about the intact "cream-filled" ones. This is the life of the writer of Eat Korea.

Eat Korea strives to be a guide to the amazing and sometimes bizarre world of Korean and expat food. In this land I found useable blankets, ear-muffs and coffee mugs taped to cereal boxes at Lotte Mart. I picked boiled silk-worm pupae out of a dixie-cup at a green-tea festival nestled in the verdant slopes of a tea plantation. I enjoyed the most amazing noodle soup on the planet under the grime dripping tarp of an outdoor restaurant hidden under an overpass. Heads and all, I ate dried, tiny fishies dipped in ketchup while standing on a mountain top. I was invigorated by the flesh of "man's best friend." And I even tasted a fresh apple and seaweed salad during an unexpected stay in a Korean hospital.

Eating in South Korea is always an adventure. But you do not have to explore blindly. Whether you are thinking of visiting the country, moving here or even if you already live here, Eat Korea is your guide to the adventure of Korean cuisine (But primarily in Pyeongtaek).

Yes, sometimes it is moving. But go ahead. Meok-aw 먹어 (Eat!) !

Sincerely,
Michael T.S. Farrell

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