Category Archives: Problematization of Authenticity Series

Appetizer, Dinner, Problematization of Authenticity Series, Recipe

The Problematization of “Authenticity” Series: On Korean Food, Patriarchal Traditions, and a Mandu Recipe

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As you may know, I’ve been cooking a lot of Korean(ish) food in the past month, a process I’ve identified as a way to honor and remember my late grandmother. Though I’ve been cooking actively for the past seven years, I have successfully avoided making the food of my people, partially out of laziness (a lot of Korean food takes loads of time and preparation), and partially because I have been really afraid of making something “inauthentic.” With this cuisine specifically, I’ve conflated inauthenticity with half-assedness, and fear that I have only half an ass. I haven’t had time to go to H-Mart to get real ingredients. I don’t have packets of dried anchovies for broth. Tubs of hot pepper or dry soy bean paste scare me. I’m obsessed with kimchi, but wanted to wait until I had a separate fridge for this stinky and fermented treat. Plus, my experience with Korean food is so inextricably linked to my memories of my mother and my grandmother, I felt like making something in a new tradition would be dishonorable.

So, what is authentic Korean food? And, a larger and perhaps more difficult question, what would it mean to be authentically Korean? I’ve been thinking a lot about the relationship between the term/concept and tradition. As someone born in this country, I am pretty ambivalent about many aspects of Korea’s customs and conventions. How do I both remain respectful of its (rather sad) history and practices, and simultaneously reject the institutionalized patriarchy of its Neo-Confucian core? There are a lot of things I admire about my heritage (whatever that means). I like that respectfulness and honor is a priority in a person’s demeanor. I like that Koreans value hard work as much as they value intelligence or raw talent. I think there’s something rather beautiful about harboring a mentality that thinks more about collectivism than individualism. But what do I do, for example, with its long history of disenfranchising women? According to Confucian and Neo-Confucian orthodoxy, women had (and still arguably have) a primary duty of providing a male heir for her husband’s family (women were not incorporated into family trees, because men were born from magical unicorns), they were/are often mistreated and abused by her mother-in-law (for reference, please watch any and all Korean soap operas), and, if she could not bear a son, her husband could haved divorce his wife or taken a second wife. The nation even adopted and implemented its very own comfort women to serve members of the U.S. military in camp towns (called kijich’on). All this to say: the things that I admire about the culture are not totally unrelated to the things that make me cringe, rage, and cry.

In order to reconcile these feelings, I try to understand the history that led to an adoption of exclusionary and psychically violent practices. Sure, postcolonial nationalism is often wrought with dogmatism and stringent understandings of ‘manhood.’ Yes, intense poverty often informs cultural policies. At some point, the Koryo Dynasty was possibly matrilineal. I’ve done some work in investigating this context. But still, I remain ambivalent, saddened, angry, and confused.

So, to be authentically Korean, do I need to honor all these traditions, even if they dictate that I am unworthy of respect or power because I was born with a vagina, because I am not subservient, because I have both career and familial ambitions, because I am shameless and lack a demure personality? And, how far back do I need to go in order to find that ‘originary’ tradition? I am prone to thinking that this is a relatively futile etude. Or, is it possible to pick and choose what I like, and wear that mangled identity with pride and absolution?

Let’s bring this back to food. As I’ve stated, I’ve been afraid of making Korean food because I didn’t want to mess with tradition (and by tradition, I mean the way my grandmother and mother made certain dishes). But, if it’s okay to pick and choose what I like about being Korean, maybe it’s also okay for me to pick and choose how I cook the dishes of my people. No, maybe I won’t always use the proper ingredients, but that doesn’t have to stop me from making and eating something I love, from altering a recipe to fit my tastes, time, budget, and possible laziness. Somehow, my grandmother’s passing has instilled me with more courage. I know it sounds weird, but I have needed courage in order to cook Korean food without feeling shame, embarrassment, or competitiveness. And my halmuni’s love, life, and passing has given me enough energy to make this food without reservation.

Without further ado, here is a homemade mandu (Korean dumpling) recipe:

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Mandu Recipe
Recipe adapted from Maangchi (I love the recipes on this site – be sure to check it out!)
10 servings
Prep time: 1 hour and 15 minutes (includes time to make homemade mandu skins)
Cooking time: 20 minutes

Ingredients

  • 1 lb of ground pork
  • 1 lb of ground beef
  • 2 cups of chives, chopped
  • 4 fresh shiitake mushrooms, diced
  • Half an onion, finely minced
  • Half a package of extra firm tofu, drained and smooshed
  • 2 cloves of garlic, finely minced
  • 2 teaspoons of salt
  • 1 teaspoon of black pepper
  • 1 teaspoon of sugar
  • 2 tablespoons + 2 teaspoons of sesame oil
  • 2 teaspoons of soy sauce
  • Mandu skins (see below for recipe)
  • Vegetable oil, for frying

Directions

  • Place ground pork and ground beef into a big bowl. Add 1 teaspoon of salt, 1 tablespoon of sesame oil, 1 teaspoon of black pepper, mix by hand, and push onto one side of the bowl.
  • In a small bowl, mix chives with 1 tablespoon of sesame oil and mix – place this next to the meat in the large bowl.
  • Mix diced shiitake mushrooms onions into a small bowl. Add two teaspoons of soy sauce, 1 teaspoon of sugar, and 1 teaspoon of sesame oil in a small bowl. Mix by hand and put into the large bowl.
  • Place the squished half package of tofu into small bowl, add a pinch of salt and 1 teaspoon of sesame oil and mix by hand. Place tofu mixture into the large bowl.
  • Add minced garlic, and mix all ingredients by hand.
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  • Take out your mandu skins. Put some filling mixture into the center of the mandu skin. Using your fingertips, apply a little bit of cold water to one edge of the round skin – this will serve as a sealant.
  • Fold the skin in half over the filling and press edges together. Fold the edges over in order to make the ripple effect and to securely seal the dumpling. Do this with your desired number of dumplings.
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  • Put some vegetable oil on a medium heated pan (make sure you use a pan with a lid), and add the mandu. Lower the heat to a low-medium and put the lid on the pan to cook.
  • After 3 minutes, turn the mandu over. After cooking for a total of 6 minutes, carefully add 2 tablespoons of water and put the lid back on – this will ensure that the filling is fully cooked. After 2-3 minutes, take the lid off (be careful – oil might be splattering!) and cook for one more minute until the liquid is completely evaporated.
  • When mandu is golden and crispy, transfer onto a plate.

Mandu Pi Recipe
Recipe adapted from Maangchi
Makes 24-30 medium-sized wrappers (each about 4 inches in diameter)
Prep time: 45 minutes

Ingredients

  • 2 cups of all purpose flour, plus extra for dusting
  • ½ teaspoon of salt
  • 2/3 cup of water

Directions

  • In a large bowl, combine flour, salt, and water. Mix with a wooden spoon until it turns into one big lump. Knead the dough by hand for a few minutes until the dough gets a little bit softer. Put into a Ziploc bag and let it sit for 30 minutes.
  • Take the dough out of the bag and knead for 5-7 minutes, until it is smooth, dense, and elastic.
  • Place the dough on a cutting board dusted with a bit of flour and divide it into 2 equal pieces. Put half back into the Ziploc bag.
  • Cut the piece of dough into 12-15 equal sized pieces. Roll them into balls, squish them with your palm, and start rolling each piece out with a pin. The disks should be a little thinner on the outside than in the middle so that you can pinch the edges without much trouble. Do the same with the second half of the dough. Use them for your mandu

I actually ended up having a significant amount of mandu filling left after I finished making them. So, I added 1 teaspoon of Worchestershire sauce, an egg, made meatballs, and baked them at 450 F for 20 minutes. DELICIOUS.

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Next on The Problematization of “Authenticity” Series: (White) Cultural Appropriators, a Defense for “Authenticity,” and a Recipe for Shrimp and Grits.

Last thing: Our dog’s name is Mandu (because I love dumplings so much, not because I’m going to eat him). And he is the cutest thing in the world.

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Dinner, Problematization of Authenticity Series, Recipe, Soup

The Problematization of “Authenticity” Series: On Italy, Traditions, and a Recipe for Pasta e Fagioli (aka Pasta Fazool)

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Longest title of all time.

I harbor deeply ambivalent feelings on the utility of “authenticity” as both a concept and a measure of something’s realness. Because there is so much to unpack, and because I don’t want to subject my readers to longass entries, I decided to start a series within the blog on this particular subject. Today, I will use my status as the wife of an Italian to talk about Italy and tradition. I offer no solutions or answers about authenticity in this entry, only the questions that bounce me back and forth between the benefits and detriments of the term. And, cuisine provides us with an interesting, safe, and delicious entry point into this conversation (isn’t it more comfortable to talk about an authentic recipe, as opposed to what it means to be authentically southern, black, Asian, etc?).

Here’s one of the things I hate most about authenticity re food: it necessitates an essentialized understanding of something that is, at its core, socially constructed…the nation-state. And, even if you break the nation-state down into smaller counterparts for the sake of precision, how do we identify the originary thing?

I was once gently admonished by a bona fide Italian that my Pasta e Fagioli was inauthentic, because it wasn’t cooked with lard and bits of pancetta. Boy, did I have feelings about that (top among them, an intense longing for lard and pancetta). Many of the Italians I know (and I do have a fair sample size, since my husband is an immigrant from what I call The Country of Cheese) identify with their province or region of birth, not with the country, which is pretty green in its current form as a republic. So, asking them whether something is authentically “Italian” is a bit senseless. You can, however, ask them about the foods of their region, and they will have very strong opinions about: (1) what ingredients should be included in a dish; (2) what ingredients should and should not be combined; (3) which region in Italy makes the best of [anything]; (4) blahblahblah. Tradition is everything.

(A word of advice: Never tell an Italian to put chicken in a pasta dish. They will make a disgusted and baffled face, and endlessly make flailing hand gestures)

Here’s a hilarious example of what happens when someone tries to de-Italianize a recipe:

But, even within each of these towns that are filled with their own histories and traditions, everyone’s mama makes food a bit differently, and isn’t that a beautiful thing? But, where does that leave poor little authenticity? I love Italy for its endless supply of cheese, wine, salumi, pasta, risotto, etc – whenever I’m there visiting Nico’s family, I end up eating my weight in amazing food. I think so much of the country’s great culinary accomplishments have to do with tradition. As the saying goes, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. When the food is so goddamn good, and comes from hundreds of years of practice and perfection, why change anything?

But Italy isn’t really a country of innovation, and it’s also not a country that is doing all that well in welcoming immigrants with different experiences and palates (sorry, Country of Cheese…I do love you). My point is this: not only is it kind of a silly pursuit to identify an originary taste or dish or meal, it’s also an inherently exclusionary position, especially if you are heralding all things authentic (when authenticity has to do with Italian ‘pedigree’) and poopoo-ing all things divergent. I think there is a way to honor tradition while simultaneously absorbing new people, contexts, histories, and tastes. Look at Spain! Look at France! Italy…if anything will jump start a process of culinary innovation and inclusion, it’s the knowledge that you are falling behind…France.

I have what may be a totally “inauthentic” recipe for Pasta e Fagioli (lovingly known as “pasta fazool” in this country), but it’s pretty yummy. It’s informed by Nico’s taste-based memory of his mom’s soup, and a little by my mild disdain for dishes that have zillions of ingredients.

As you know, I made a bunch of stock last week, which left me with enough for this delicious soup. I’m a little baffled by how many recipes on the internet are trying to recreate The Olive Garden’s version…yikes…?

Anywho,  I sometimes include pancetta in this dish (which I’ve included in the recipe), but since I made three pounds of incredibly fatty pork belly, this week, I thought I would keep this soup a bit lighter. I also did something weird and topped the pasta fazool with sauteed swiss chard. The dish is naturally sweet from the vegetables, and I like to balance that with a bit of bitter, salty, and spicy flavors.

If you’re looking for a comforting, thick, creamy (but not heavy) soup, try this out! Here it is:

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Yejin’s Pasta e Fagioli

Servings: 6
Prep Time: 15 minutes
Cooking Time: 30 minutes

Ingredients

2 tablespoons of olive oil
4-6 ounces of pancetta, diced (optional)
1 white onion, chopped
3 large carrots, roughly chopped
2 ribs of celery, roughly chopped
2 cloves of garlic, roughly chopped
4 cups of chicken stock (homemade or purchased)
2 tsp of kosher salt
2 cans of cranberry/roman beans, drained
egg noodles
¼ cup of freshly grated grana
Sauteed Swiss Chard w/ Garlic, Anchovies, and Crushed Red Peppers (RECIPE BELOW)
Drizzle of quality olive oil to top

Directions

  1. In a large and heavy-bottomed pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. If you’re using pancetta, add to the pot and cook until the fat begins to render, about 5 minutes. I like to take the pancetta out of the pot and place onto a paper towel lined plate. After ladeling the soup into a bowl, I like to sprinkle the pancetta on top. You can also keep the pancetta in the soup…up to you! Add the onion, carrot, celery, and garlic and cook for 5 minutes, stirring frequently.
  2. Add the chicken stock and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to a medium low and simmer, uncovered, until the vegetables are tender (can be easily pierced with a fork), about 20 minutes. Add cranberry/roman beans and cook for another 5 minutes.
  3. Pour the broth/vegetable mixture into a large mixing bowl. Do your thing with an immersion blender or a regular blender (I don’t use the immersion blender in my nice pot). I like to puree the whole thing so that the soup is creamy perfection, but some people like to puree half and keep the other half as is. Add more broth or water if you want to thin the soup out.
  4. Return your soup into pot and taste for salt. Cook over low heat, stirring occasionally.
  5. In the meantime, bring water to a boil in a separate pot. Cook egg noodles according to package instructions. Drain and use a slotted spoon to place noodles in your serving bowls.
  6. Ladel soup over the noodles in your serving bowls.
    (Cooking the noodles directly in the soup will mean that your leftovers will be filled with overcooked pasta…no good!)
  7. Sprinkle with desired amount of shredded grana (and pancetta), top with sauteed swiss chard, and drizzle quality olive oil.
  8. ENJOY

Sauteed Swiss Chard with Garlic, Anchovies, and Crushed Red Pepper

Servings: 2
Prep Time: 10 minutes
Cooking Time: 10 minutes

Ingredients

1 bunch of rainbow swiss chard, tough stalks discarded and leaves cut into ribbons
1 clove of garlic, minced
1 tablespoon of olive oil
2 anchovies, finely chopped
¼ tsp of crushed red pepper
Salt

Directions

  1. Place swiss chard leaves in a bowl with cold water. Rinse out the leaves thoroughly to remove sediment.
  2. Bring a pot of water to a boil and add swiss chard leaves. Cook the leaves for 5 minutes in boiling water, drain, and place under cold running water. When the chard is cool enough to the touch, squeeze the water out.
  3. Heat a saucepan on a medium heat setting. Add the olive oil, minced garlic, anchovy, and crushed red pepper and saute for about 2 minutes. Add the swiss chard leaves, bring heat to medium-low, and continue cooking for 5 minutes.

Coming up: On Being Healthy + A Recipe for Pork Belly