Seoul Food
By Kim Lachance
A cheap cure for being hungry and broke: Slap a slice of Wonder Bread on a plate (paper, if you got ’em). Dump a load of sugar on the sucker and drown it in milk. The shamefully delectable result is a gritty white-trash mush that passes for food in lean times. And these are lean times. Times when record numbers of supposedly middle-class schlubs like me are slumming off the 99 Cent Only store’s iffy produce pile (as if reveling in schadenfreude whilst fellow tightwads flinch at that nagging “uh-oh” checkout chirp weren’t reason enough to drop in). It’s a stretch just to feed our own yaps these days, let alone our friends’, and the posh dinner parties we once porked out on together are evaporating from the household budget faster than you can croak WIC.
Oh, please. This is L.A.! Our world-famous emaciated urbanites shan’t be seen slurping discounted gut-rot just to survive. (Can we be seen eating anything?! Sheesh.) And we certainly can’t quit throwing fabulous flashy foodie bashes overnight, even when we can’t cough up rent. So instead of letting you stoop to bleached-beyond-dead bread and petri-fried bologna, like mama made me gag down way back when, I’m dragging your broke asses to the heart and Seoul (aww, cute) of Koreatown, home to our city’s cheapest, and surprisingly healthiest, groceries. Pack some Tums, cheapsters, because it’s about to get spicy up in here, and I don’t mean the pepper-spray kind – the Mid-Wilshire hood’s come a long, gentrified way.
Our destination is the venerable Hannam Supermarket, on the corner of Vermont and Olympic. Local Yelp-ers say it’s the place to be if you’re desperately seeking affordable, interesting victuals. Hannam’s a triple thrifty threat, known for its quality (1) cheap fish, poultry, and meat (2) cheap fruit and veg (that’s fresh and polished, not bruised and fly-flecked) and (3) cheap Korean kitchen staples (tofu, rice, noodles, seaweed, spice and everything nice, including, of course, kimchi by the bucket). But, first, a warning: The parking lot is a crash test dummy lab with real dummies, so drive (and run for your life) carefully.
If you live to see Hannam’s dozen or so clean, mesmerizingly exotic-stocked aisles, a calming first stop is the market’s mammoth saltwater tank, swarming with live crab. It may be “the deadliest catch,” but Hannam’s crabs won’t slaughter your fancy-schmancy dinner budget at $6.99 a pound (if they don’t suffocate each other first in that absurdly overstuffed tank). Other seafood ringing up at rock-bottom prices: sashimi-quality squid ($1.98/pound), fresh jumbo (think Texas big) shrimp ($5.98/pound), raw in-shell oysters ($1.99 for a softball-sized bag) and roly-poly salmon heads that look like they’re looking back at you ($0.99/pound). Eat them up, yum!
Now, before you brace your tender tonsils for a four-alarm sampling of Hannam’s impressive kimchi selection (boasting dozens of Korea’s 200-plus documented variations), I confess that the one thing I have in common with Korean culture (or cuisine) is my first name, without the “chi.” And I think my parents meant to name me Ken. Whatever. Truth is, I’m a pasty French-Canadienne who flips a mean hand-whisked crepe, not a mean mung bean cake, at least not yet. So forgive my greenhorniness and, remember, I’m only trying to save you a buck on good ethnic eats that might impress your starving friends when you get around to hosting one of those yum-filled soirees of yore (you know, before that evil adjustable rate kicked in).
Onto kimchi, Korea’s national panchan (side dish), and incidentally a lovely nickname the stoners I shacked up with in college bestowed upon me when they nonviolently jumped me into their hydroponics gang. Despite what the hippie freaks thought when they were high, the pickled chile-red concoction is not me. It’s a sopping tart tangle of wilted cabbage (or sometimes radish) mixed with gochu-garu (Korean chile powder or taste bud napalm), garlic, ginger, green onions and fermented anchovy juice. Last ingredient throw you off? Yeah, me too. Stock up on a six-month supply of appetizer-worthy kimchi in a huge glass jar for $6.99 each. Bear in mind that it’s an appetite stimulant and is said to leave your guests grubbing for heavier fare.
That’s when you bring out the big, gut-filling guns – the protein, typically the priciest part of a meal. Whether you’re hosting vegetarians or PETA (People Eating Tasty Animals) people or both, Hannam’s got every last picky-pants on your guest list covered. Let’s start light and white, with tofu. The flavorless soybean blocks are worth learning to like at prices ranging from $0.88 to $1.49 a watery pack. Hannam’s whole frozen unshelled soybeans (edamame) are only $0.99 for a 14-ounce bag, half as much for the same at Trader Joe’s. Just thaw, salt and voila. For carnivores, Hannam packs more reasonably priced animal protein than you can shake a braised Korean BBQ short rib at. I didn’t catch the price on regular chicken eggs, but the weird, blotchy quail eggs were selling for $3.59 for a 20-pack. How about a few links o’ Korean-style sausage crammed with beef blood, pig ears, rice and fiery peppers ($4.75-ish per pack)? Eek. I was so nauseated by the ingredients that I bolted to the produce department (and failed to gather beef short rib prices for my upcoming Korean BBQ birthday feast – when my guests will be forced to man my malfunctioning grill and like it.
Tangy Korean BBQ (galbi and bulgogi, baby) is usually served with rice, soup and vegetables. Namul is a popular accompanying banchan made of cooked spiced veggies (Google it a try). When pauper-taining, you can get a grip of mileage out of specialty Korean veg, often boiled, broiled, steamed or stir-fried, but seldom deep-fried. Hannam’s dirt-cheap (and edible too – bonus!) fresh veggies include: bok choy; napa cabbage; eggplant; taro; ginger; mu (Korean for long, white radish usually pickled until highlighter yellow and audibly crunchy); yon-gun (pinwheel-shaped lotus root); mung beans; and yu choy (technically called “edible rape,” a hideous name that should be changed immediately. To “violent mugging,” maybe).
If you don’t go overboard on extras like designer chopsticks and a classic Korean cauldron, like I did, you’ll hopefully have enough green leftover for a decent bottle of soju (starting at $2.99!), a potent Korean sweet potato whiskey that literally translates to “burning liquor.” Serve it straight up in shot glasses (it’s impolite to pour your own). Clink a toast and say the customary “one shot” before glugging it down in a single gulp. And don’t forget dessert. Treat your guests to some sweet, chewy coconut milk-infused rice confections. Korean sweet rice cakes come in a variety of delicate shapes and pretty pastels ($2.99 to $4.49 per heavy, laptop-sized pack).
When you’re hungry enough to cheat on those overrated, overpriced grocery boys – Ralph, Von, and a stuck-up trader named Joe – Hannam Supermarket’s priced for the taking. Just think, if you’re too lazy to venture into K-Town (or can’t swing the gas to get there), there’s always you, yourself and Wonder Bread. Who’s bringing the sugar?
Hannam Supermarket, 2740 W. Olympic Blvd., Koreatown,
(213) 382-2922.www.hannamchain.com.
Published: 07/30/2008
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best one yet, kimchi!
i'm hungry and my gut hurts from laughing.
thanks for the column.