First Blush

The first time I tasted kimchi, I was outraged. This strange combination of the funky, the fiery and the fermented seemed to me audacious beyond forgiveness. I know that getting hostile toward pickled cabbage sounds neurotic, but hear me out. Clawing into my taste buds, its flavors set off emotional fireworks embedded in my sub-cortex, unleashing repressed feelings no amount of therapy would ever get at. It was like the way people fall in love in old screwball comedies; at first they don’t merely dislike each other, they’re, well, outraged.

Kimchi refers to both the product and its preserving process, which was developed by the Chinese at least 2,000 years ago. Kimchi is said to have fueled the building of the Great Wall. Strictly speaking, you can kimchi anything, including seafood and fruit, but the contemporary generic version is a fermented salad typically composed of nappa cabbage, onions, radishes, an alarming amount of garlic, ginger, fish sauce, salt and lots of powdered red pepper. The mixture is first salted to draw out the water, then fermented for days or weeks. The method was later adapted by the Koreans, who stored their kimchi underground in pots as a way of stockpiling vegetables for winter, and who refined it by adding chili and spices. In fact, if Korea has a national dish, it’s kimchi. No meal is complete without it, as evidenced by the kaleidoscopic array of kimchi dishes set before you in almost any Korean restaurant. (Mountains of it are consumed in Hawaii as well.) There are at least 200 variations, and there’s ample room for improvisation.

Some versions are stringy, some are chunky, some are made from radishes, others from leeks. With a color spectrum that defies most of our visual expectations of food and a medley of textures that span from crunchy to rubbery, kimchi on first blush (and its spices will make you blush) offers itself up as something dangerously exotic. Koreans have long attested to its life-giving properties and they widely believe it prevents cancer. Though that has yet to be substantiated, I’d hazard a guess that the fermentation process renders it beneficial to the digestive tract.

Until recently, consumption of kimchi had pretty much been confined to intrepid ethnic food buffs and those who grew up with it. Now it’s finding a broader audience, judging by its popularity at Temple, the trendy Beverly Hills Korean restaurant helmed by executive chef Richard Aramino, formerly of L’Ermitage, an Italian American who is using kimchi in unconventional ways and to considerable applause. “I have to admit, it was an acquired taste,” Aramino confesses. “But the flavors are very bold and they work well in a lot of different applications. I grew up with Italian food pretty much every day of the week, so it was a totally different flavor profile for me. I’ve made kimchi pizza, kimchi soups, and kimchi crab cake is probably one of our best-selling appetizers.” Commercially produced kimchi is fine and widely available here in Asian markets, but as Aramino points out, it’s nothing compared to what you can make yourself.

Temple’s Traditional Kimchi

Serves 24

2-3 fresh nappa cabbages, about 6 pounds

3/4 cup coarse kosher or sea salt

1 gallon water

1 large Daikon radish, chopped

1/2 cup clear fish sauce

1/4 teaspoon red hot dry chili flakes

1 teaspoon crushed fresh garlic

1/4 cup fresh ginger, peeled and crushed

10 scallions, cut into 2-inch pieces

Wash cabbage and strip away outer leaves. Cut into halves, leaving bottoms attached. To make the brine: In a non-reactive container, mix salt with water. Set cabbage upright in container and soak overnight to draw out water. Rinse cabbage thoroughly in cold water and drain. Mix radish with 1 tablespoon salt to wilt it. Do not rinse. In a large mixing bowl, combine fish sauce, red chili flakes, garlic and ginger paste. Mix with wilted radish. Add scallions, watercress and chili flakes. Stir gently to mix. Spread layers of paste between cabbage leaves, distributing evenly. Place cabbage halves in plastic container with a sealable lid with inner leaves facing up. If container is not tightly packed, fill space with a light brine made from 1 tablespoon salt dissolved in 1 cup of water. The brine should completely cover the cabbage (do not expose cabbage to air). Cover and refrigerate. Allow to ferment 1 to 2 weeks in a cool place. Sample after 1 week to test strength.

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Food stylist: Christine Masterson