'Look at these hands'

Third and fourth generation restaurateurs of Shin Sikdang, Lee Hwa-ja, right, and Han Mi-hee, left, hold up photos of their look-alike first and second generation owners. / Korea Times photo by Yun Suh-young

• Published Jun 19, 2017 4:29 PM KST
• Updated Jun 19, 2017 4:29 PM KST

Shin Sikdang's tteokgalbi formula is a result of generational dedication

This is the second in a series of interviews with third-generation restaurateurs in Korea. _ ED.

By Yun Suh-young

DAMYANG, South Jeolla Province _ "Yi son-eul boso," said Lee Hwa-ja, a third-generation restaurateur of Shin Sikdang in Damyang, South Jeolla Province. She spread out her hands telling the reporter to look at them.

It was towards the end of the interview that she suddenly blurted those four words ("look at these hands") while explaining how arduous the work was at the restaurant.

"These hands are like a toad. They've become super (geopnagae) coarse." Geopnagae is an expression used to exaggeratingly emphasize a situation _ a word used widely throughout the Jeolla region.

Lee's daughter-in-law Han Mi-hee chimed in, spreading out her hands as well.

"I didn't used to have such thick knuckles. I had heard my hands were pretty although they were long. Now I have thick tendons as well. It's because we use our hands a lot," said Han.

On the surface it sounded like they were complaining, but beneath it the reporter could feel their affection and pride toward their work despite the loss of apparent beauty.

Shin Sikdang is a restaurant famously known for its tteokgalbi, or grilled short rib patties. The restaurant is said to be the origin of the nation-wide dish which has been copied and sold in other restaurants. The restaurant has been handed down four generations, inherited by daughter-in-laws of the first son of the family. Now it is jointly run by third and fourth generations, Lee and Han.

"The history of our tteokgalbi dates back to the early 1900s. It was our founder, Grandma Nam Gwang-ju, who started cooking galbi this way. We have retained the tradition for over a century throughout four generations," said Lee, the third-generation inheritor.

The restaurant sticks to the founder's recipe which is as follows: 1) detach the meat from the bones and the fat from the meat; 2) add cuts in the meat to make it easy to eat; 3) pat the meat with a mallet and wrap it around the bone; 4) season it right before serving to prevent loss of meat juice; and 5) grill it on the spot.

The name tteokgalbi was given to the dish when Lee was running the restaurant. Initially it was called charcoal-grilled galbi, but customers said it looked like tteok (rice cake) and the name evolved into tteokgalbi.

"Grandma Nam wasn't a chef. She was a housewife. But I guess she was well-known for her knack for cooking. She was recruited to cook for the county's governor and magistrate when they would visit Damyang. At the time, when high officials visited town, people prepared a feast. Our founder, Grandma Nam, was in charge of the food at that feast," Lee said.

"She created this because the galbi had to be visually appealing when served to the governor. They couldn't rip off galbi with their hands like the peasants. So to help them eat more gracefully, she invented this shape."

After Grandma Nam’s husband died when she was 37 years old, she opened the restaurant to earn a living to take care of her six children. Farming, which her husband had done, wouldn't suffice to feed the children.

"She didn't want to fall behind other people. She was fierce. I think she was like that because she didn't want to be looked down upon as a woman," Lee said.

"She was a scary woman. Whenever she ordered her staff to do something, she would lift up her skirt like this. She always had a cane in her hand and would smack people if they weren't doing things properly."

The second-generation owner, Grandma Shin Geum-rye, whom the restaurant is named after, was pretty much a similar character, Lee said.

"Oh, she had the same character as well. She didn't carry a rod but she was a perfectionist. If things weren't in place as they should be, she would rage," Lee said.

"But so is my mother-in-law," Han said, referring to Lee sitting next to her.

"Living under those two, you become like them," Lee remarked, defending herself.

"I joined this family at age 23 and now I'm 74. I've been with this family for 50 years now. How can I change?"

There is little information about her predecessors, Lee says, because they weren't the type who would speak about themselves. But neither is Lee, according to Han.

"It's mainly because we're so busy. I don't even have time to talk to my daughter-in-law. We're exhausted when the day is over," Lee said.

The two are early birds and work long hours. Han opens the restaurant at 6 a.m. and Lee joins in at 6:30 a.m. Lee then begins boiling the rib bones to make galbitang (short rib soup) which is offered for lunch. Dinner service is over at 8:30 p.m. They go to bed at 11 p.m. to wake up at 5 a.m.

"Who among the young people these days would live like that?" retorted Lee, who says she hopes her grandson doesn't inherit the business.

"As a grandmother, I don't want to hand over something as difficult as this to my grandson."

But Han said otherwise.

"If my son is willing to do it, I would like him to inherit it, but it's not easy work. Would young people be willing to do such difficult work?"

Han married her husband, who is the first among four sons of Lee, at age 30. She has since been involved in the restaurant business for 16 years.

"I didn't know it was a famous restaurant when I got married. I thought I would help my mother-in-law out but I realized it wasn't easy. It took me one year to master cooking tteokgalbi. It's difficult but I quite enjoy it. I feel pride when customers say it's delicious and come back. We're meticulous about ingredients and our customers," Han said.

Interestingly, the restaurant has been handed down over the generations to daughters-in-law.

"It's because everyone leaves. The daughters leave town. Naturally we end up working with daughters-in-law. But it is a coincidence that the daughters-in-law of the first sons inherited the business. It is not family tradition," Lee said.

The tradition they do have, however, is integrity. They put immense care in choosing fresh local ingredients and create almost everything from scratch. The beef bones are boiled for six hours every day to cook galbitang, the beef used for the galbi is from top-grade cows in the province, and Lee personally makes the soy sauce, soybean paste, red pepper paste and kimchi.

"We manually create everything," said Lee. "I guess that's what differentiates the taste. When others cook with salt, we cook with homemade sauce."

"It's hard to find Korean restaurants these days that cook with their own sauce and kimchi. They mostly purchase them elsewhere. Meat restaurants also tend to mix Korean beef with other types such as imported ones, but ours is purely top-grade Korean beef," Han said.

When asked why Lee boiled the stock every day (even during the weekdays when there are only 30 percent of the weekend numbers), while other restaurants tend to use stock for several days, she said, "It's respect to the customer."

"They're customers too. Everything has to be made that day and consumed that day. We can't use anything that hasn't been made that day. We don't want to be overly ambitious so we only sell what we have for that day. That's a philosophy that is handed down from the first-generation founder."

At the end of the interview, Lee led the reporter to her yard where she had dozens of crocks filled with various sauces. "Taste this," she said showing one of each fermented sauce, which are as fresh as three years old to as aged as 10 years old. Then she started filling two plastic containers each with red pepper paste and soybean paste. "Take them home," she said with a motherly smile. And as if that wasn't enough, she added in a rush, "Come back tomorrow and I'll make you fresh kimchi."