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If ever there was an indication of the international reach of kimchi, this was it.
Last summer, I was walking through the attractive harbor-side district of Oslo, perusing the menus of this up-market area's many restaurants. Most specialized in seafood; the cuisines offered were predominantly European.
So imagine my surprise when, right there on one of the most expensive menus in the district, I read a description of a Scandinavian-Asian fusion dish with, as a standout ingredient, Korea's favorite condiment.
Kimchi has come far. It is one of perhaps only two Korean common nouns that have entered English, the lingua franca of our global age. (The other being taekwondo ― albeit usually mispronounced.)
Yet I find the national mania for promoting, pushing and generally talking up kimchi to the point where it is THE national foodstuff a little odd. Not because I don't like it, but because although it is ubiquitous in Korean cuisine ― it is served at pretty well every table ― it is not a dish, it is a pickled condiment. Other countries have similar things, but Germans do not make sauerkraut their flagship national dish, any more than Indians do chutney.
Moreover, kimchi is armed with one hell of a bouquet. In a non-Korean restaurant, it may prove overpowering, if not caustic, to the noses of the uninitiated.
And how much can you do with it? Sure, it is a condiment; sure, it can be added to stew s; and I once discovered (by accident) that a drop of the stuff in a glass grants flavor-free local lagers a bit of taste.
But kimchi is neither a standalone dish, nor an easy ingredient to incorporate in non-Korean cuisine. If Korea wants volume sales of agricultural exports, she needs to think of foodstuffs that can blend with other nations' cooking methods.
One ingredient that is, while not as globally famed as kimchi, potentially more versatile is, jang, or fermented paste. (Notably doenjang ― fermented bean paste ― and gochujang ― fermented red pepper paste.)
While kimchi is usually a side dish, jang is an ingredient in the cooking process. Like most Korean food, it is not subtle in look or taste: It is earthy brown or rich red in color, and offers mucho saltiness and pungency on the palate.
Its awesome flavor is a double-edged sword. Over enthusiastic application of the stuff by those unfamiliar with it may cause a shock reflex ― a fate, incidentally which is common to those who first try British marmite or Australian vegemite. But by the same token, its atomic flavor makes it an economical ingredient: Just a minor application packs a truckload of taste.
Jang is most famously used in its home nation as the flavor base for stews, and there is no reason why a dollop of the stuff cannot improve the flavor of Western-style casseroles and gravies. And its usage does not stop there.
It can be mixed with its famed Italian cousin ― tomato paste ― as a pizza topping or pasta sauce. Stirring a spoonful of jang into tomato ketchup gives the latter sauce more muscle, flavor-wise.
Being a fermented ingredient, jang makes a fine compliment to medium-strength cheeses, such as goudas and cheddars, particularly on Welsh rarebit or toasted cheese sandwiches. Of course, jang also functions as an excellent dip for raw vegetables, or with salads.
Why, you can even drink the stuff. An award-winning Italian chef on a trip to Korea was so taken with jang that he used to drop some into a glass, add iced water, froth it with a whisk and knock it back.
So jang offers a world of flavor possibilities to the Western kitchen, but another reason to promote it is accessibility.
Many foreigners find kimchi challenging at first introduction ― case in point, your columnist, who needed several months in Korea to get accustomed to it. But I have never met a foreigner who did not enjoy jang on first encounter, usually as a sauce or dip in a barbeque restaurant. For anyone who enjoys salty, vegetal flavors, jang offers no obstacle.
Finally, doenjang is the origin of Japan's miso, a widely consumed soup worldwide. If jang were well promoted, curious Western diners might be willing to "trade up" to the more powerful doenjang stew.
To sum up, I am not saying ''Don't promote kimchi, promote jang" ― this is not an either/or proposition. But kimchi has arrived globally; jang has not. So I'd suggest that Korea's PR czars now push jang as a flagship ingredient that is both versatile and well-suited to the non-Korean palate.
Andrew Salmon is a Seoul-based reporter and author. Reach him at andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk.
