Life is good at dealing punchlines. Peter Jo’s nickname, for instance, is “Kimchi Pete” – but when he was growing up, he couldn’t stand the stuff. The fermented Korean staple was too spicy for his kid tastebuds. “I would eat it on rare occasions, but it had to be rinsed,” he says.
It’s impressive that he dodged the pickled dish so often, as “every meal had kimchi in some shape or form,” he says. And although his parents ran Korean restaurants (their menu often featured on the dining table, but in more pungent, intense and uncensored form), Jo had little interest in the banchan and stews being served. He was so switched off that “I didn't really know what Korean food was or how it was made”.
Which is ironic, as Jo now runs his own acclaimed Korean eatery in Melbourne called Restaurant Shik. And his inventive way with kimchi is partly why it’s getting attention. Think brined pear pickled with pine needles or persimmon with liquorice leaf. Or fennel and native river mint kimchi, served with Borrowdale pork pancake. Even though Jo uses not-so-typical ingredients, he believes his approach is more “traditional” than you’d think, because Korean food is essentially about preservation and not wasting anything. “Subsistence and necessity is a big part of its roots.”
“Most of the dishes in current Korean [restaurants] comes from the royal court cuisine, which I’d never refer to as the food of the people,” he says. “The misconceptions start from Koreans. We all think we know Korean food, but we lack understanding as we grew up taking it for granted. I would even say I was guilty of explaining kimchi as spicy fermented Chinese cabbage, not as a technique of preserving vegetables.”
So although he might use explicitly Australian elements (like pipis in a Korean seafood stew, or karkalla with cured fish and cho-gochujang), Jo believes his methods are fundamentally true to the cuisine.
“I get Koreans coming to my restaurant saying my food isn't Korean, and then 'whites' who had a Korean friend or visited Seoul for a couple of days stating my food isn't traditional or authentic,” he says. “It is my representation of Korean cuisine paying great respect to the culinary history of the cuisine, its techniques and its flavours."
I get Koreans coming to my restaurant saying my food isn't Korean, and then 'whites' who had a Korean friend or visited Seoul for a couple of days stating my food isn't traditional or authentic.
“My parents [who run Sydney’s Danjee and Madang] don't understand why I am taking a very different route to … their idea of Korean cuisine,” he says. “They want me to do 'current' Korean cuisine, offer the people what they know and what they want, but there are 90+ Korean restaurants in the CBD that do that. I have been frustrated about the status quo of Korean cuisine for about 10 years; this is why I am here today. Why would I do the norm?”
For Melbourne Food and Wine Festival, Jo’s teaming up with someone who’s also shaking up preconceptions about Korean food: Junghyun Park, from New York’s acclaimed Atoboy and Atomix restaurants. (Atomix was one of the most-raved-about openings of 2018.)
Park grew up in Seoul, where rice, guk or jjigae (Korean soups) and various side dishes were part of his diet. His mother cooked an unusually high amount of seafood – to the point he originally dreamt of being a sushi chef. His early forays in the kitchen involved cooking frozen dumplings for his brother. The food science graduate did a foreign exchange in Finland, where he immersed himself in European cuisines, then ended up in Melbourne, cooking for Andrew McConnell (and helping launch Cumulus Inc.). Working alongside chefs who’d grown up with Western food, Park realised he could never excel against such lifelong knowledge. “As I considered what set me apart as a chef, I began to look closely at my own background and began to examine Korean cuisine, and in this process, a practice and passion naturally developed.”
For Park, his restaurants are about showcasing Korean food in a New York context.
“We've created different kimchis such as tomatillo kimchi and eggplant kimchi, as well as jangajji (Korean pickles) using sunchokes.”
“Sujeonggwa is a traditional Korean cinnamon punch made from ginger, brown sugar and cinnamon. It is served as a cold drink for dessert,” he says.
As I considered what set me apart as a chef, I began to look closely at my own background and began to examine Korean cuisine.
At Atoboy, he offers sujeonggwa granita with burrata cheese, lychee yoghurt and candied walnuts. “The flavour profile is similar, but it is presented in an entirely new way.”
At Atomix, he repurposes nuruk (a Korean starter used for makgeolli, an alcoholic beverage) and uses it to ferment carrot twice, to create a jang. This sauce is served in the hwe (sliced raw fish course) with yellowtail, cho-jang, and Korean perilla leaf.
“This is a century-old technique used to create something new,” he says.
Like Jo, he’s not limited by hardline definitions about what his cuisine can be.
“I don't think about whether my food is traditional enough, or authentic enough, or Korean enough,” he says. “I'm open to inspiration and ideas regardless of where it originates from: it could be from a traditional Korean recipe, it could be from the Noma cookbook, it could be from a childhood memory of a dish made by my grandma, or it could be from a picture on Instagram. I would like to be understood as a chef, who is Korean, who works to create his own cuisine through his various life experiences.”
12 March, Restaurant Shik, 30 Niagara Lane, Melbourne
