mary eats

Comfort food.

Until recently these two very loaded words instantly projected drool worthy images of creamy mac and cheese or whipped mashed potatoes drenched with pepper studded gravy into my mind. But like a little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pie, these meals were more instant gratification than nourishment for the soul.

Maybe I was just following along, nodding in a quiet gastronomic coma when others spoke of how a bite of meatloaf made them feel as secure as through embracing in a hug from mom. Though plenty of nostalgia foods sounded like they could do the trick, none of them ever succedded in calming that nervous stir, the feelings of uncertainty rumored to be cured by a steaming bowl of chicken and dumplings.

No doubt comfort foods change as we get older, pass through new phases in life, emotionally trying experiences, each clinging to some food item as a safe house. A bowl of eggs and rice topped with sriracha would have never entered my consciousness had it not been for a frightful hunger driven journey onto the streets of Bangkok at hours of the morning best known to backpackers in a drunken stupor and less savory types praying on said backpackers. Now, it is the first thing I crave on cold and rainy Seattle winter mornings when leaving the house is the last thing I want to do.

My time in Korea had a large impact on the person I am now, but honestly I never thought I would seek refuge in the fermentation process of kimchi, a condiment for which I held such a distaste for the majority of my sojourn. And I may never of noticed had it not been for the astute observations of a close friend.

As my final project for culinary school drew near, I was sleeping less, drinking more and popping B-complex vitamins like Frans’ Gray Salt Caramels on Valentines Day. Nervous about my performance as a chef, my skills, my ingredients, and my guests, I looked for distraction in the form of pickling. (My fridge is now full of mason jars teeming with vinegar kissed asparagus spears, brunoised beets, and paper thin shallots- not a bad vice I tell you)

“How you doing, you ok, you nervous” Lily asks, calling to check up on me.
“Yeah, I mean no. No. I’m fine. Really,” I reply, “I’m making Kimchi.”

This conversation occurs at 10:00pm. In my head I am going over the finer points of my chef of the day menu: a 6 course look back at the foods of my youth, Southern inspiration by the way of Northwest ingredients. Every dish, I think out step by step, the flavors, the textures, every ingredient accounted for. The obsession akin to a performer’s; hours just before the curtains rise. Committing movements and words to memory.

Oh Mary,” Lily sighs. “I think kimchi is your comfort food, not succotash.”

Nothing will ever be as reassuring as a hug from my parents or a squeeze of my hand from my husband. Not mac and cheese or kkakduki. But just maybe for chefs, cooks, and kitchen dwellers alike, cooking is our comfort food.

With gochu and garlic stained hands I tightened the last of the mason jar lids on my medium diced kkakduki and place them in a lower cabinet not to be disturbed for three days, turned off the kitchen light, and headed for bed.

Kkakduki
Adapted from Eating Korean by Cecilia Hae-Jin Lee
Makes 3 pint jars

1 bulb purple garlic, cloves separated and peeled- you can really use any garlic, I just like the purple variety because it peels easier.
1 2-inch piece of ginger root, peeled
2 TBSP Korean chili powder, gochu garu
2 TBSP kosher salt, if using table salt cut in half
2 large Korean radishes, Mu, peeled, squared off and cut into 1/2 inch dice.
1 bunch of mustard greens, washed, stems left intact (except for grubby end bits you should trim off) chopped into 1-inch pieces
1/2 tsp sugar

Equipment:
3 pint jars
gloves
food processor

1. In the bowl of a food processor, combine the garlic, ginger, chili powder, and salt. Process until finely minced. If you don’t have a food processor this process won’t be easy. I’m not going to lie. Mince the garlic as finely as possible. Grate the ginger with a microplane, then combine it with the garlic, chili powder and salt in a blender. What? No blender? Dang. Then a bowl. You do have one of those, right? Mix it up real nice.

2. For this next step you may want to consider some gloves, especially if you have any cuts on your hand. Rub the radish cubes with the garlic chili mixture until all sides of the radish cubes are well stained red. This is best done in a large bowl.

3. Place 3 pint jars on work surface. I like to use canning jars, but you can use any cleaned out pasta or mayo jars you have lying around the house. I’d caution away from yogurt tubs or tupperwear for fear that the caustic chili garlic mixture would burn right through the plastic. It probably wouldn’t happen, but I’m just sayin. Fill about one jar half full with chilied radishes. Pack a thin layer of mustard greens on top and sprinkle with a pinch of sugar. Add more radishes until the jar is full. Fill the remaining jars as you just did.

4. Find a nice cool place to store the jars while the kimchi ferments. After 3 days you’ll notice the water leaching out of the radishes and greens, that when you know its ready to eat. Be sure to refrigerate after opening.