Home Cooking: Friendship and Hottoek

 

The kitchen is a wonderful place to enjoy good company.

 

There’s something very intimate about sharing evocative memories together; of smells that remind us of childhood treats and tastes that recall celebrations of the past.

 

Comparing and contrasting the recipes that we have in common; scrutinising their similarities and differences. Sharing the intrigue of new twists on a classic and observing the subtle quirks of our different traditions.

 

Then there’s the excitement of  an opportunity to learn about dishes that are completely distinct from our own culinary experience.  Even better; the chance to make it and taste it for yourself.

 

I was lucky enough to share this weekend with a couple of friends who are unfailingly generous with their time, patience and enthusiasm for sharing South Korean cookery; and the result was homemade Hotteok.

 

 

Hotteok is a popular sweet Korean street food. A thick, yeasted pancake with a sticky, sugary concoction nestled in its centre; typically brown sugar, cinnamon and chopped nuts.

 

We spent a happy, industrious time in my tiny galley kitchen, huddled around the oven together whilst conjuring up the perfect Winter snack to share; a little Korean sweetness to warm up a cold Norwich evening.

 

Concentrating on the recipe and instructions; mixing the perfect temperature of water to gently blend through with yeast.

 

Stirring and kneading and folding until the dough forms; thick and stretchy.

 

Setting the frying pan to sizzle as we shaped our little patties; making a deep well to fill with a sugary confection, carefully nipped and folded in on itself to make a centre that, when heated, oozes like honey.

 

Patience and some nimble flipping turns soft, pale little cinnamon scented clouds into crispy golden Hotteok.

 

A snack that tastes even better when it’s accompanied by laughter and friendship!

Home Cooking: the Art of Kimbap Making

 

There are so many reasons why this dish, the Korean equivalent to sushi, is special to me.

 

One is the fact that I was taught to make kimbap by two very special girl friends who are unfailingly generous with their time and enthusiasm for sharing their cultural story with me though cuisine. To cook together, eat together and share the significance of our food-memories is something that I treasure.

 

So often, our childhood memories and favourite tastes evoke similar feelings, even though their origins are so very different.

 

The second is that I find it therapeutic; chopping, frying, chopping, sautéing, chopping, constructing, rolling and yet more chopping. Repetition and routine as you build up a tray of ingredients with a whole range of colours, textures and aromas.

 

The ones pictured above contained spam, omelette, spinach, pickled radish, cucumber and carrot. They’re crunchy, salty, fresh and savoury. Rolled up into tight sausages with rice and seaweed; when you cut them into slices, a beautiful mosaic of colours and textures is discovered.

 

The third is simple; the scent of sesame oil slowly filling the kitchen. Blissful.

 

And the demolition of a pile of those perfectly round rolls? Divine!

 

 

 

 

Home Cooking: The Feeling of a Fry Up

 

A good fry up is a hug on a plate. A joyous moment of camaraderie as you pass the tomato sauce around the table. A tried and tested hangover cure, or the perfect way to begin a busy family day.

 

It’s the epitome of ‘naughty but nice’.

 

A fried breakfast is a celebration of people’s individual quirks. Some won’t let their beans touch their mushrooms. Some like their bacon charred by the pan, some like it pale and just tickled by the grill. Each to their own when it comes to eggs; scrambled, poached of fried. If you’re feeling adventurous, a sautéed potato or hash brown might enter the mix.

 

Black pudding for the extra brave. My personal guilty pleasure is a slice of fried bread.

 

The fry up pictured above was made for me by my lovely husband. It was delectable, down to the very last morsel, not just because it was cooked beautifully and I was wolfishly hungry following a late night on the town, but because it was made with such tender loving care.

 

There really aren’t many gestures more romantic on a sleepy Saturday morning than beans in a ramekin ❤