From all of my friends that are second generation foreigners or even third or fourth I’ve noticed that the taste buds for your cultural food are the last to go. I am certainly no exception. Being Korean American and growing up with Korean native parents we had a plethora of Korean food weekly. We ate everything with rice, steak, meatloaf, sauerkraut and sausage, everything. It seems odd to Americans but to other Korean Americans I know it is pretty normal.

I can’t talk for other cultures but in Korea there are special foods for special occasions and seasonal foods that I crave. My mom diligently observed these food traditions so that now as an adult living and cooking on my own I crave and do my best to observe the same traditions.

Sam gye tang: Korean Cornish Hen Soup with Ginseng
This is a soup my mom would serve when one of us was feeling under the weather and it is a refreshing soup for summer because it restores nutrients that you lose when sweating. Essentially it is an entire Cornish hen stuffed with dates, ginseng, garlic, sweet rice and chestnuts that is simmered in a stock broth for an hour. When you eat it you keep a small dish of salt with sesame seeds and some pepper mixed together. As you pick off the chicken you dip the pieces into the dry salt mixture to add some flavor. This keeps the broth pure and refreshing.

Miyeok Guk: Seawood Soup
This is a celebration soup or birthday soup. It is traditionally something you would cook or give to someone you love for their birthday. It is also eaten on New Year’s day in celebration of good health and birth of the new year. This is made with stock broth, seaweed (kelp pieces) and my mom puts in some chicken for flavoring. Very simple and warming soup. I always like to keep a bowl of rice next to it so I can take a spoon of rice and dip it into the broth to eat together.

Bi Bam Nangmyeon and Mul Nangmyeon:
Cold Buckwheat Noodle Soup
This soup is best enjoyed in the hot summer. It has a beef broth with boiled egg, pear or apple, buckwheat noodles, ice cubes and you can add gochu jang (hot red pepper paste), mustard and vinegar for your desired flavor. It might seem like a odd combination but it is the best thing to quench the summer heat.

Dduk: Rice Cake
This comes in all assortments of forms, sizes and shapes. As a dessert with sweet red bean paste inside it is like an Korean version of a cookie. Towers and spreads of this treat in different colors are the traditional equivalent to western cakes for special occasions.

Zha Zhang Myun: Brown Black Bean Sauce and Noodles
Perhaps not a special occasion dish but something my friends and younger Korean culture feels akin to is eating these on what is known as Black day. Black is basically an Anti-valentine day holiday where you can wallow in being single on April 14th. A dish that is arguably Korean or Chinese as it was made from a mixture of both cultures. This dish generally has some seafood or beef bits in the sauce to give it more flavor and it is a thick sauce that is normally served to the side of the thick noodles with shredded cucumber on top and a side of Daikwon (yellow pickled radish). With this dish you want to cut the noodles first then add the Zha Zhang sauce on top and mix it in so it keeps the noodles from getting bloated. The Daikwon is like a palette cleanser since the noodles and the sauce have a heavy taste. Another side you can commonly find to cleanse, is raw bite size slices of onion in vinegar.

These are the dishes that I most commonly gravitate towards when I think of special occasion or seasonal foods. There is one more celebratory food but it’s too vile for me to even consider ever trying which is Bo shin tang or dog meat stew. Sorry but if I’ve kept it as a pet I’m not about to try eating it.

These foods are by no means eaten on a daily basis or as renowned as Korean BBQ like Galbi and Bulgogi but if you are in the mood for something different with a little historical background then these are great to try out.

Takoyaki at Freshstreet: These savory Japanese dumplings have a pancake-like texture that encompasses a piece of octopus in the center.

Meatball at the Florentine: A classic old-school Italian restaurant, the Florentine tops its freshly-made pasta with a traditional red sauce and this substantial meatball.

Falafel at Mazah Mediterranean Eatery: The crunchy crust of Mazah’s impressive falafel hides a fluffy, slightly spicy interior that’s hard to beat in Columbus.

Pancake balls at Katalina’s Cafe Corner: Filled with your choice of Nutella or strawberry jam, the only thing better than these pancake balls is the side of sweet and spicy bacon that accompanies them.

Hushpuppies at Marino’s Seafood: With their sweet corn notes, Marino’s hushpuppies are the perfect accompaniment to their fish and chips.

The first change I made was buying my kimchi ingredients from a Korean market instead of a chain grocery store; I now get my kimchi supplies from Lotte Oriental Foods, located on High Street across from Graceland. Lotte not only carries the requisite vegetables (napa cabbage, green onions, garlic, and ginger), they sell two important components not available at most chain grocery stores: red pepper powder and mu. Ranging in size from small bags to huge sacks, red pepper powder is available from a number of Korean and Chinese manufacturers. Although I’ve found the Chinese-made powder to be a little less expensive, there are those who decry the Chinese product as inferior. While I can’t vouch for the validity of this opinion, I did end up with a Korean-produced brand; after all, kimchi is a Korean dish. Likewise, I decided to use the Korean radish, mu, instead of the Japanese daikon. Whereas daikon is cylindrical and carrot-shaped, mu is more bulbous and eggplant-shaped. And because of the inventory turnaround at Lotte, mu is always fresh, which wasn’t always the case with the daikon at the chain store.

Following the basic recipe from my first post: I brine the vegetables for about 2 hours and drain. The primary difference comes in the paste. Instead of using fresh peppers (which I’ve found are hard to come by in the winter months), I use the more cost-effective Korean red pepper powder—about ½ cup of pepper powder per head of napa cabbage. I also now include the onion with the pepper powder, garlic, and ginger and blend to make a paste. (In the past, I’ve added sliced onions with the cabbage and radish, but have found them to become fairly soggy after the fermentation process; blending them with the powder, garlic, and ginger not only avoids this issue, but adds extra moisture and flavor to the paste.) For additional liquid, I add water set aside from brining, as needed, to bring the paste to a viscous consistency. Once blended (I end up with about ½ a standard blender pitcher full of paste), I pour the paste over the cabbage, mu, and diced green onion, then mix by hand until the vegetables are well-coated.

As I’ve started to make larger batches, attempting to separate the kimchi into several smaller containers has proved to be a bit messy, as well as time-consuming. A pleasant, accidental discovery has been that the stoneware from a slow cooker makes the perfect kimchi pot. I pack the kimchi tightly into the stoneware, pressing down to drive out any air pockets. Since there is a lot more surface area exposed in the stoneware than in a jar, I place a sheet of plastic wrap directly onto the surface of the kimchi to both limit exposure to the air and prevent excess moisture escape. I place the slow cooker lid on top of the stoneware, leave at room temperature for about two days, then place in the refrigerator.

The resulting kimchi is much thicker than my previous batches. Packed in the excess brine water, my first batch resembled a jar of pickled vegetables (which it was); whereas this latest method produces a more traditional-looking, full-flavored kimchi, with a deep red hue.

Exploring Ethnic Food in Columbus

Daeji bulgogi is spicy, marinated pork (its cousin, bulgogi, is non-spicy, marinated beef) that’s barbequed and serves as the inspiration for my take on pork and kimchi. While my version is far from authentic, I’m able to incorporate my own home-made kimchi in the dish without overwhelming the pork flavor. I start with a nice piece of pork loin from Bluescreek Farm Meats in the North Market, which I thinly slice. I then marinate the pork slices in a mixture of soy sauce, sesame oil, and a little brown sugar for about an hour. I’ve mulled adding kimchi to the marinade, as it traditionally contains gochujang—a fermented Korean chili paste—but have deferred, as I like the combination of the sweet and salty notes of the marinated pork with the spiciness and  sourness of the kimchi. Adding the kimchi to the marinade, I’m afraid, might throw off that balance.

For the kimchi, I incorporated some small adjustments to my original kimchi post to create a new batch of stinky, fermented goodness. The first alteration I made (and have since changed the recipe on the original post) was to reduce the amount of salt; even though I rinsed after brining, the final product was too salty, even for my taste. (That being said, I would advise against cutting the salt too much as it is the salt that helps arrest bad bacteria growth, allowing the good bacteria to get a jump on things.) I also increased the amount of garlic and ginger from the original recipe and did what I should’ve done in the first round: take the extra time to blend the peppers, garlic, and ginger into a paste. This not only resulted in a more traditional-looking kimchi, but helped infuse the heat of the peppers, as well as the garlic and ginger flavor, throughout the kimchi. For fermentation, I followed the same procedure as before: leave the open jar (covered with a damp towel) on the counter for about three days, then transfer to the refrigerator.

When the pork is finished marinating, I add a little sesame oil to a wok; add the pork, a good-helping of kimchi, and sliced onions to the hot wok;  and stir fry until pork is done. I serve with a side of rice and top with sesame seeds. Pretty simple, but delicious (if I do say so myself).

While my pork and kimchi is quite tasty, I still feel compelled to make my requisite visits to Diaspora in order to obtain the traditional version. Their daeji bulgogi is not only my favorite menu item (when I visit, they always seem to know what I’m going to order), but it is accompanied by a never-ending array of banchan—small side dishes that accompany Korean meals.

Fermented cabbage, whether in the form of sauerkraut or kimchi, is the perfect companion to pork. If you’re a pork and cabbage fan and haven’t tried the Korean version, daeji bulgogi and kimchi offer a spicy take on this quintessential food combination.

Simplicity can be a beautiful thing, especially when it comes to food. Good food doesn’t need to be paraded across the plate in a menagerie of condiments and exotic preparations. Some dishes are just better in their most rudimentary, stripped-down state. The hamburger has always been one of those foods to me. While variations of this iconic mainstay of American cuisine range from the gourmet to the grotesque, it is often impossible to “taste the burger through the toppings.” And let’s not forget the common misconception that a messier burger is better; these beefy towers of Babel are the epitome of excess and gluttony. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve relished these burgers at times—juice dripping down to my elbows, a mountain of used napkins piled on the table. But sometimes you need to step back to the basics and remember how good a simple burger, free of all those distracting toppings, can be.

The German Village Coffee Shop is one of those establishments that not only gets the art of simplicity; they  do it well. From their breakfast items to their sandwiches and daily specials, the German Village Coffee Shop turns out good food at prices that can’t be beat. Their hamburger is no exception and is my favorite burger in Columbus. It’s a lesson in simplicity: ½ pound beef patty on a toasted kaiser roll, topped with mayo, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and pickles; that’s it. Extras are as modest as the burger itself: cheese, bacon, or mushroom and swiss. The patty sports a nice crust imparted by the grill, encasing just enough juice to keep the burger moist and is evidence that a hamburger doesn’t need to be sloppy to be delicious. The only thing that could improve this burger is a side of their famous hash browns—be sure to order them with onions and cheese. What’s more, the $4.50 price tag for a cheeseburger makes it hard for even the fast food establishments to compete.

The beauty of the German Village Coffee Shop is that it is exactly what it claims to be, no more, no less: it’s a coffee shop—a diner in the purest sense of the word. It’s not a retro diner, decorated with 1950s nostalgia; it’s not the latest hipster hangout where over-priced, mediocre fare plays second to the atmosphere of being seen. It’s a neighborhood coffee shop, plain and simple. Food is prepared on the grill behind the counter and served in an unpretentious atmosphere that leaves both you and your wallet full and satisfied. More importantly, it’s a place you want to come back to again and again, as is evidenced by the German Village Coffee Shop faithful who regularly fill the diner.

An online presence has recently been established for the German Village Coffee Shop, who has both a new website as well as Facebook and Twitter pages. You can sometimes (though not always) find their daily specials posted via their social media pages. While it’s hard to not order the hamburger, I highly recommend venturing away from their normal menu items occasionally and trying one of their daily specials (Johnny Marzetti is one of my favorites). You won’t be disappointed.

The German Village Coffee Shop is one of those neighborhood institutions that make Columbus what it is. It’s a constant in an ever-changing landscape of small business and restaurants which have come and gone over the years. It has managed to stay relevant by being true to what it is, steering clear of pretense, fads, and trends. It’s simple done right.

Photography courtesy of guest photographer, J.J. Smiley.

While my OCD whole-heartedly embraced the constant ritual of checking and updating my accounts, the social media community itself held a deeper appeal to me: it was a world of connections. Everyone seemed to know everyone and I was able to meet some incredibly talented and friendly people. Growing up a shy army brat wasn’t easy; moving every few years meant constantly trying to make new friends—I had always been jealous of those people who were able to make new friends so effortlessly. With social media, I suddenly found myself in the midst of an online community where I was free of the social awkwardness that usually kept me in the proverbial corner—it was an amazing experience to me; almost magical. It transformed the shy boy of my youth into a social butterfly… at least online.

The reality, I began to understand, was I wasn’t that social person at all. There was a disconnect between my online persona and who I really was. I began to see that my posts were as much about bragging as they were about sharing—I was trying too hard to convince people I was someone else and I didn’t like it.

Twitter—social media’s answer to meth—was the first to go. If I could quit the most habit-forming platform since AOL in the late 90s, the rest would be easy by comparison. Our trip to England and Scotland earlier this summer was to be the big test—could I go on vacation and not Tweet about it? While I did have the advantage of not having a data connection (except for wi-fi in the hotels at night), I found the absence of a Twitter account very liberating; I spent less time thinking about what I needed to post at any given moment and more time enjoying the vacation. I wasn’t obsessed with taking pictures and waiting impatiently for the images to upload and be commented on; I didn’t feel the constant compulsion to check my feed, lest I miss out on an interesting conversation or a chance to leave a witty response; I didn’t have to try to impress anyone with urbane observations. My mind was quiet; the clutter of over-lapping online conversations had been silenced. It was peaceful, like moving to the country after the hurried pace and clamor of city life.

I disconnected from Facebook several months ago. This week I deleted my last hold-out, Google+, completing my social media-free existence. I have discovered the absence of social media suits me just fine; I have survived without it. (While I do realize there’s a bit of irony decrying social media via a blog, I don’t consider blogs to be the same animal as the more interactive, immediate—and addictive—forms of social media.) I have to admit I do miss the updates from local restaurants advertising their daily lunch and dinner specials. Though maybe that’s a good thing—eating out too often was starting to become a problem.

For those not familiar with kimchi, it is Korean spicy fermented cabbage. Fermentation takes place as a result of lactobacilli converting the sugars of the cabbage (and any other vegetables in the kimchi) into lactic acid. The lowered pH created by the presence of lactic acid preserves the vegetables by destroying bad bacteria that would otherwise lead to decomposition and spoilage—the same chemical process that occurs when making sauerkraut. The active lactobacilli also gives kimchi the added benefit of probiotics, which aid in digestive health and may help boost the immune system and ward off infection. The end result is delicious—crunchy, briny, spicy, sour. Though, to some, kimichi may be a bit of an acquired taste, as the fermentation process leaves the vegetables with a pungent odor and slightly sour, yet complex flavor profile.

While I had toyed with the idea of making my own kimchi, my own laziness and paranoia of food poisoning prevailed; the only kimchi I had eaten in the past year had been either store-bought or ordered from restaurants. This past summer, however, a chance perusal of the Internet lead me across a picture posted by Landon Proctor: it was of a jar of kimchi he had just made and it looked delicious. We discussed the process briefly and he sent me the recipe. I couldn’t procrastinate any longer (though I still managed to: it took me a few months after receiving said recipe before I actually made it). I adapted the ingredient list to my own taste, though please note, all proportions are approximations and are dependent upon personal preference, such as amount of hot peppers, garlic, and ginger. You are also welcome to add other vegetables, such as carrots, radishes, scallions, etc.

1 head napa cabbage
½ daikon radish
½ onion
4 cloves garlic
6 tbsp grated fresh ginger
hot peppers (I used serrano peppers a friend had given me)

Chop the cabbage and radish and soak in brine (I used approximately 1 tsp kosher salt per 1 cup of water) for about 2 hours. In the meantime, crush garlic, ginger, and peppers into a paste. (My own attempt at making a paste fell a little short, with the result being a finely diced mixture; more like a salsa than a paste, though still tasted good in the final product.)

When cabbage and radish are done soaking, drain brine (reserve) and taste vegetables; if they are too salty, give them a quick rinse. Add the onion (sliced) and pepper paste mixture to the cabbage and radish. Mix thoroughly with hands (using gloves is advised for both cleanliness and to avoid any burning that may result from the peppers). Pack tightly into a clean glass jar, leaving about an inch or two at the top. Pour enough reserved brine into jar to cover the vegetables. At this point you will need something to weigh down the vegetables and keep them submerged. Another clean, smaller jar will work, as will a sealed plastic bag filled with the left over brine (in case the bag is punctured, this will ensure that the brine doesn’t become diluted). Don’t put a lid on the jar, as the gas created during fermentation will need to escape, though you’ll need something like a towel to cover the top to keep dust and other unwanted particles out.

Let the kimchi sit in a cool place for several days (I left mine out for about three days); when fermentation is complete, you can place a lid on the jar and store in the refrigerator. One thing to keep in mind regarding where you allow the kimchi to ferment: it will create an odor that some may find unpleasant. I personally don’t mind, as it helps assure me that fermentation, and not rotting, is occurring.

UPDATED: I have updated my kimchi-making process here:

Kimchi Redux (Kimchi, pt. 3; or “Yet Another Kimchi Post”)

Beginning in November 1966, numerous eyewitnesses in the Point Pleasant area claimed to have seen a tall, winged creature (often described as humanoid) with the notable distinction of glowing, red eyes. Unexplained occurrences during that year—including missing pets, electromagnetic disturbances, and the appearance of “men in black” in town—were attributed to the Mothman; the most notorious being the collapse of the Silver Bridge into the Ohio River during rush hour on December 15, 1967. Following the tragedy on the bridge, reports of the Mothman ceased, leading to theories that the Mothman was responsible for the disaster; others maintain the Mothman was merely a harbinger of the calamity. (Still others believe the event was the result of a curse put on Point Pleasant by a Shawnee chief, Cornstalk, in 1777.) The bridge failure was ultimately blamed on a stress fracture on one of the structure’s eyebar joints. While both the Mothman and Cornstalk curse are speculation, the 46 lives lost on the Silver Bridge were real and quite tangible for a town with a population of less than 5,000.

The events surrounding the Mothman and the collapse of the Silver Bridge became immortalized in the 2002 film interpretation of John A. Keel’s book, The Mothman Prophecies. The movie generated renewed interest in Mothman lore and growing enthusiasm led to the establishment of an annual Mothman Festival in Point Pleasant. Celebrating its ten-year anniversary this past September, the festival features vendors, food, speakers (including eyewitnesses and paranormal investigators/authors), music, a Mothman pageant, and hayride tours of the TNT area (the munitions depot where Mothman sightings were first reported). The Mothman Festival attracts everyone from true believers to the curious; cryptozoologists to Kitsch seekers. For locals and tourists alike, a spirit of community permeates the festival.

If you are unable to make it to the annual three-day event, many of the Mothman-related points of interest are open year-round. The Mothman statue, created by artist Robert Roach, stands on the corner of Main Street and 4th. Crafted from stainless steel, the 12-foot tall imposing statue features translucent red eyes that gaze toward the Ohio River. Just down the street, the Mothman Museum contains a treasure trove of photographs, newspaper articles, documents, and other curiosities chronicling the events of 66–67. The museum also possesses an impressive collection of props from the set of the 2002 movie.

The diner in The Mothman Prophecies was modeled after the Harris’ Steak House, a.k.a., the “Mothman Diner” (the bulk of the movie was actually filmed in Pennsylvania). The walls are decorated with children’s renderings of the Mothman and one of the featured menu items is the Mothman Burger, complete with Mothman sauce. In addition to their supernatural entity-inspired burger, Harris’ Steak House serves traditional diner fare at more-than-reasonable prices. My personal favorite is the Jim Dandy—grilled steak (note: “steak” here is of the Salisbury variety) and onions with cheese, lettuce, pickle, tomato, and mayonnaise—and a side of their onion rings, which are some of the best I’ve tasted.

It’s not a question of believing in the Mothman, for the events of 66–67 have already left an indelible mark on the history and in the consciousness of this small community. The Mothman, like all monster legends, captures the imagination of a society. It is the fleeting shadow that resides in the periphery; the mythos lurking just below the surface of our collective subconsciousness. The Mothman may have slipped into the West Virginia wilderness, disappearing forever, but his presence, real or imagined, will always be felt in Point Pleasant, even if it is only through an annual street festival. For an in-depth look into the Mothman sightings and the events surrounding the collapse of the Silver Bridge, I recommend the documentary, Eyes of the Mothman. While a little slow at times, the film is the most comprehensive documentary to date on the subject.

Respect isn’t the first word to come to mind when describing the once-ubiquitous dish known as Johnny Marzetti. But maybe it should. Although the number of Columbus establishments serving the dish has dwindled over the years, Johnny Marzetti once graced the tables of restaurants, cafeterias, households, potlucks, and picnics across the United States. Its simple ingredients—ground meat, tomato sauce, and noodles—make use of common staples found in almost any pantry, transforming them into a hearty meal on an often tight budget.

Marzetti Resaurant at 16 East Broad Street, Columbus, Ohio. Image courtesy of the "Columbus Memory Collection" of the Columbus Metropolitan Library.

Johnny Marzetti was conjured in the kitchen of the Marzetti restaurant in Columbus, Ohio. The dish was named after the brother of owners Joseph and Teresa Marzetti and began to gain regional popularity in the 1920s. (While their restaurants—The Columbus Dispatch recounts three locations—have long since closed and the company sold, the T. Marzetti name abides in the form of a Columbus-based salad dressing manufacturer.) Reminiscent of both lasagna and spaghetti alla bolognese, this ersatz Italian dish is the product of immigrant foodways adapted to a new way of life: Johnny Marzetti, like so many borrowed cultural phenomenon, is an American interpretation of Old World tradition. In essence, the dish epitomizes the American immigrant experience. And like the American immigrant experience, it continues to evolve.

Either baked as a casserole or cooked in a skillet, this versatile dish offers endless possibilities for preparation: its base ingredients can be seasoned in a variety of ways and play well with almost anything you may have on hand. Short of burning the food itself, it’s near impossible to ruin a batch of Johnny Marzetti. Its simplicity—a protein, a vegetable, and a starch—is the foundation upon which an infinite number of dishes can be built and derived. In addition to including my own version, I have enlisted the help of three Columbus cooking/food blogs to present their own take on this classic. Noted locavores Andrea (Food Embrace), Debra (Persephone’s Kitchen), and Rachel (Hounds in the Kitchen) have graciously contributed the following:

• Locally produced sausage and a roasted vegetable sauce are the highlights of Andrea’s Johnny Marzetti with a Twist
• Debra re-interprets her grandmother’s Texas version, using fresh, local ingredients (and a little help from Ms. Patsy Cline) to create Persephone’s Kitchen Johnny Marzetti
• The abundant produce from Rachel’s organic garden serves as the inspiration for her homegrown Johnny Marzetti Ratio Recipe, complete with homemade tomato sauce
• And my own, minimalist take: jarsloth marzetti

½ lb. ground beef
½ lb. sweet Italian sausage
1 small onion, diced
3–4 cloves garlic, minced
olive oil
salt and pepper
red pepper flake, oregano, thyme  (to taste)
1 28oz can, diced tomatoes
red wine
pasta, 1–2 cups, dried (depends on size of pasta used)
grated Parmesan cheese

Brown ground beef, sausage, half an onion, and garlic in olive oil; season with salt, pepper, red pepper flake, oregano, and thyme. When meat is browned and onions translucent, deglaze pan with red wine and add can of diced tomatoes. Let simmer approximately 15–20 min. Meanwhile, cook pasta and drain, leaving slightly undercooked and reserving about 1/4 cup of the pasta water. Mix pasta and reserved liquid into main pan and let simmer an additional 3–5 minutes. Top with Parmesan cheese and serve. (I like to add a little hot sauce.)

There are still several places here in Columbus where the hometown dish is served. For traditional Johnny Marzetti, I suggest the German Village Coffee Shop (193 Thurman Avenue); this is the meaty comfort food you remember from your childhood. It’s served in generous portions and like everything on the menu, its value can’t be beat. Traditionalists should also try Tee Jaye’s, where Johnny Marzetti is featured every Monday on their Daily Specials menu. Those who like a little spice might enjoy Tommy’s Diner’s (914 West Broad Street) zesty offering; it is one of their Monday lunch specials. However, if you’re looking for a modern variation, Knead‘s (505 North High Street) dinner menu features their made-from-scratch Turkey Marzetti (including handmade noodles), which is reviewed here by Columbus Alive.

Whether you love it, hate it, or are indifferent, you have to respect the Johnny Marzetti; if not as a Columbus legacy, then at least for its adaptability, versatility, and resilience. This often under-appreciated, yet seminal dish continues to inspire and evolve, and has earned its place on the American table.