Harvesting Tradition in Korea

“Younger generation people don’t know how to bow properly! You’ve lost touch with traditions!” said one of my uncles in disgust as my cousins and I took turns paying respects to our ancestors. My parents nodded in agreement, muttering to themselves what a mistake it was to have immigrated to the States, that their children were nearly Americans, that we were losing our language, and so on.

They thought I wasn’t listening, but I heard every word. So well, in fact, that their echoes were still ringing in my head when I returned to Korea as an adult to rediscover my language and culture. I thought it was because I was a gyopo (first-generation immigrant) that I had no sense of tradition. Or maybe it was because my family and I moved to the States when I wasn’t quite 7 yet, that I had lost my sense of history.

When I got to Korea, I discovered that I was wrong. It wasn’t just me. The entire country seemed to have lost some of the old-time ideals I remembered as a child. The loss of tradition was most apparent to me during Chusok, Korea’s harvest moon festival. (The celebration happens on the 15th day of the eighth lunar month. This year, it falls on Tuesday.)

In the old days, you could tell Chusok was coming. Not just because of the shorter days and cooler nights, or the crisp leaves falling on the ground. Newspapers and TV began advertising travel tickets. People were packing their hanbok (Korean traditional clothes) and making plans to go to their hometowns to participate in the ritual. Everyone was getting ready for a big holiday.

The harvest festivities can be traced back to the time of the Three Kingdoms, specifically in the Shilla kingdom. The capital of Shilla was divided into six areas. The women from the different divisions were grouped into two competing teams, each led by a princess, for a monthlong weaving contest. This competition ended on the eighth full moon of the year when the king announced the winner. The losing team had to provide the food, drinks and entertainment for the citywide celebration that ensued.

With time, harvest festivities became more of a community and family activity, involving visits to the family tombs and an offering of food prepared from new crops to thank our ancestors for the bountiful harvest.

I was staying with relatives in Seoul and looking forward to seeing the colors of autumn while traveling through the Korean countryside to our distant hometown. I was already salivating in anticipation of the Chusok feast-eating the fruits of the harvest and making song pyon (half-moon-shaped rice cakes filled with sesame seeds, beans or chestnuts).

Traffic was bumper to bumper the whole way. It seemed the entire population of Seoul, something like 10 million people, was all on the road at once. The painted lines on the highway were largely ignored as three-lane roads accommodated four or even five lanes of cars full of angry vacationers, crawling through the traffic with their horns blaring.

Somehow, I fell asleep. When I awoke, we had already reached our destination--a house of the relative who lived closest to the family tombs. I was disappointed to have missed the scenery on the way there, but even more disappointed to find that half of the relatives were too busy to even make it out for the Chusok festivities.

Still, the house was brimming with activity. There were some people (related to me somehow; I could never keep track) watching a Korean soap opera in one room, others smoking outside and a few of the older women cooking. After greeting everyone, I joined the women in the kitchen. They were just getting ready to set the chesa table (part of the ritual for paying respect to our ancestors). One of my aunts ran out to grab a newspaper from the other room.

Just as I was wondering what she was going to use the paper for, she opened it to an article about Chusok. There was a diagram of the chesa table, showing you where to put the piles of persimmon and dates, where the bowl of rice should go and even which direction the fish should face. I had to laugh. I didn’t even know there was fish on the chesa table. No one could remember where everything should go. They were all studying the diagram to make sure the table was set properly.

Then, my great aunt pulled out the dough to make the song pyon . This was the part I looked forward to the most growing up. Every year, my mom and I would drive to a park to find pine needles to steam the song pyon . So imagine my disappointment when they started laying the song pyon in the steamer without any pine.

I got up to put on my shoes. The door closed behind me, but not before I heard someone say, “Hae-Jin’s more traditional than we are. She’s insisting we have pine needles.” And I wished my uncle was around to hear that.

The last time I made song pyon was at my parents’ house. My 5-year-old nephew came into the kitchen to see what we were doing. I told him to pull up a chair so I could teach him how to make rice cakes.

“Christopher, do you know what they say about how making song pyon ?” I asked him. “They say that if you make beautiful song pyon , you will have beautiful daughters. If your song pyon are ugly, your daughters will be ugly, too.

“It’s a good thing your mom only had sons,” I said louder to make sure my sister heard as she rocked her baby back and forth in the other room. “You should see her song pyon !”

My nephew didn’t notice as he sat quietly for awhile, concentrating hard on the song pyon he was making. Finally, he looked up from the misshapen dough in his hands.

“ Emo (auntie),” he said to me earnestly. “I don’t think I’m going to have any kids.”

Rice Cakes (Song Pyon)

Active Work Time: 1 1/2 hours * Total Preparation Time: 2 1/2 hours * Vegetarian

Song pyon can be made with bean filling or the sesame filling I use here. The sesame filling is traditionally sweetened with honey, but I find that sugar works just fine and it’s easier to handle. Sweet rice flour is sold at Asian and Korean markets.

*

3 cups plus 1 tablespoon water, divided

5 cups sweet rice flour

1 cup plus 1 tablespoon sesame seeds, toasted and crushed

1/2 cup sugar

1 teaspoon salt

Pine needles, for steaming

Bring 3 cups of water to a boil and pour it carefully over the sweet rice flour. Mix thoroughly with a wooden spoon. The mixture will be dry and crumbly, but keep stirring and it will come together to make a smooth dough.

In a small bowl, combine the sesame seeds, sugar, salt and the remaining 1 tablespoon of water. Set aside.

Separate the pine needles from the branches, taking care to remove all the brown ends. Wash thoroughly in cold water.

Lay wet cheesecloth or cloths to cover the bottom of a flat, shallow steamer. Layer pine needles on top of the wet cloth.

Knead the dough about 30 minutes. The longer you knead, the smoother and chewier the rice cake.

Tear off about 1 tablespoon of dough, knead it a few more times, then roll it around between your palms until you have a round ball about 2 inches in diameter. Press a dimple in the dough ball with one of your thumbs, and continue to turn and press the dough until you have a bowl shape.

Spoon about 1/2 teaspoon of the sesame seed filling into the rice bowl, compacting it, but not filling it completely. Gently squeeze together the edges of the bowl into a fat half-moon dumpling shape to seal. Lay it on the pine needles. Repeat until you run out of dough and/or filling.

Set the rice cakes in the steamer, making sure they aren’t touching each other to prevent sticking when cooking. You’ll need to do this in batches. Cover the rice cakes with another layer of pine needles and steam until the cakes become slightly translucent in color, about 10 minutes. Remove them from the pine needles at once so they don’t stick.

Serve warm or at room temperature.

*

65 rice cakes. Each cake: 19 calories; 37 mg sodium; 0 cholesterol; 1 gram fat; 0 saturated fat; 9 grams carbohydrates; 1 gram protein; 0.28 gram fiber.

Flower Rice Cakes (Hwa-jon )

Active Work and Total Preparation Time: 1 1/2 hours

*

Koreans say that chrysanthemums have the scent of autumn. The petals and the leaves are used in this dish for garnish and to add the smell and taste of autumn. Some people make hwa-jon with red bean folded inside, but I prefer the simpler, more subtle flavor without the filling. If you’re fortunate enough, you may be able to find a bottle of chrysanthemum wine to drink with the rice cakes to experience the full flavor of autumn. Dried jujubes, or red dates, can be found at Chinese and Korean markets. Sweet rice flour is sold at Asian markets.

*

10 to 15 dried red dates

2 cups sweet rice flour

Water

1/8 teaspoon salt

Chrysanthemum petals and leaves

20 to 30 pine nuts

Oil, for cooking

Slice each date into about 16 thin strips, then cut each piece in half crosswise. Set aside.

Combine the flour, 1 cup of water and salt to form a dough. The dough should be slightly resilient and not stick to your hands. Add more water, a tablespoon at a time, if the dough is too dry. It will feel sticky. Make a dough ball about 1 1/2 inches in diameter and flatten it in a 3-inch circle about 1/4 inch thick. The dough will become more pliable if you work it in your hands a bit before flattening it. Repeat until the dough is used up.

Press about 8 date strips (skin side up) or chrysanthemum petals into the top of each rice cake to make a flower pattern. Press a pine nut in the center of the flower and a couple of thinly sliced chrysanthemum leaves on the outside of the flower.

Heat a little oil in a skillet over low heat and place several dough circles to cover the surface, but not so crowded that they touch each other and stick. Cook them until they’re very pale golden, about 3 to 4 minutes. Turn the cakes over and cook on the other side for about another 3 minutes, making sure not to burn the petals or dates.

*

20 to 25 rice cakes. Each of 25 cakes: 87 calories; 15 mg sodium; 0 cholesterol; 6 grams fat; 1 gram saturated fat; 14 grams carbohydrates; 2 grams protein; 0.97 gram fiber.

Sanjok

Active Work and Total Preparation Time: 1 hour

*

If you’re getting the beef at a Korean market, ask for the sanjok cut and the butcher will pre-cut it the right size for you. Slightly cooking the carrots beforehand makes it easier for you to pierce them with the toothpicks.

*

10 to 12 shiitake mushrooms

1/2 pound beef round

1 clove garlic, minced

1 teaspoon soy sauce

1 teaspoon sesame oil

1 carrot

Salt

4 green onions, cut into 2 1/2-inch pieces

1/2 cup flour

2 eggs

Pepper

Oil, for cooking

If the shiitake mushrooms are dried, soak them in cold water for about 2 hours. Squeeze the water out of them and cut them in 1/2-inch pieces.

Slice the beef into pieces 2 inches long, 1 inch wide and 1/2 inch thick.

Place the beef strips and mushrooms into a bowl. Add the garlic, soy sauce and sesame oil and mix well. Let marinate for at least 15 minutes.

Cut the carrot into thirds crosswise so the pieces are about 21/2 inches long, then cut each piece lengthwise into thin strips about 1/2 inch thick. The meat and carrot pieces should be about the same size. Soften the carrots by cooking them in a small pot of boiling salted water for about 2 to 3 minutes. Rinse them in cold water and set aside.

Spear the assorted parts onto toothpicks in this order: green onion, meat, mushroom, carrot, mushroom, meat, green onion. Leave about 1/2 inch on the end of the toothpick so that you can still pick it up comfortably.Repeat until all of the ingredients are used.

Pour the flour on a plate. In a bowl, whisk together the eggs and add some salt and pepper to taste.

Add enough oil to a skillet to just cover the bottom. Heat it over medium-low heat.

Dip the speared ingredients in the flour, making sure that both sides are thoroughly dusted. Next, dip each piece in the egg batter and then carefully place them in the skillet. Cook the pieces on both sides until the beef is thoroughly cooked, 8 to 10 minutes. Taste the first piece and sprinkle with more salt and pepper if needed.

*

20 pieces. Each piece: 58 calories; 44 mg sodium; 29 mg cholesterol; 3 grams fat; 1 gram saturated fat; 4 grams carbohydrates; 4 grams protein; 0.45 gram fiber.

Lee, a Los Angeles writer, is working on a book about Korean food.

Lacquer bowl on cover from Sideboard, Seal Beach.