Getting jjigae with it
by Ari Levaux
It isn’t true what they say about everything staying in Las Vegas. I returned from there with a taste of some special Korean knowledge about tofu, and a craving to know more.
The Chinatown section of Las Vegas is quite a place. Asia Street might be a more appropriate nickname, as the Chinese contingent is a minority, while less common cuisines like Malaysian, Lao, Taiwanese, Singaporean, Indonesian, among many others, as well as specialty shops that sell the likes of Ramen noodles, Vietnamese sandwiches, Chinese seafood, Filipino fast food. All of these myriad restaurants are packed into strip malls, some of them double-decked, along a 2-mile stretch of Spring Mountain Road, west of the strip. Block after block, the signage blinks and glows different hues of neon, in different languages, like an electric coral reef. It was in such a mall, flanked by a Hot ‘n Juicy Crawfish and Little Macau, that I first laid eyes on a restaurant called Mr. Tofu. A few doors down, I couldn’t help noticing, was the Tofu and BBQ House. And smack across the street was Tofu Hut.
Although I hadn’t traveled to this splendid hive of culinary treasure to eat tofu, something was going on here that I had to know about. Who, I wondered, here in the most carnal, lusty town on Earth, would have the reckless audacity to specialize in tofu? Last I checked, Las Vegas wasn’t some kind of haven for vegetarians.
It turns out there is nothing vaguely vegetarian about the tofu houses of Las Vegas, where “tofu” is shorthand for a tofu-based stew called soondubu jjigae. Some meat-free versions of soondubu are made, sometimes quite excellently, but in most cases the tofu serves as a context for a mingling of a diversity of animal proteins from land and sea, including beef, pork, fish, shellfish and egg. At Mr. Tofu, there was a wide selection.
The bright red stew arrives bubbling in a clay pot, like a bowl of molten lava, in which lily white billows of tofu, and a freshly cracked egg, lurk in the bright broth. The soondubu jjigae proper was flanked by a bowl of rice and little plates of banchan, which is Korean for “little dishes of pickles and whatnot.” Banchan can include pickled daikon, seasoned soybean sprouts, kimchi, dried radish or seaweed salad. At the food court at Greenland Market, which marks the western extent of Las Vegas Chinatown, I got a 6-inch, pan-fried mackerel as one of my banchan.
Soondubu jjigae eaters typically spoon the stuff over rice, and customize their mouthfuls with banchan. The most difficult part of the exercise is waiting for it to cool to the point where you don’t burn your mouth. The tofu flesh, chalky white when the spoon cuts through it, is slurpingly soft, and carries the flavors of myriad umami.
When I got back to Albuquerque, I went on a soondubu binge, finding it at many Korean restaurants. I soon found myself in a Korean store in search of ingredients to make it myself, and discovered a little café in the back where they serve them some soondubu jjigae. After I slurped down a bowl, the owner helped me shop.
Most crucial is the tofu itself. It must be extra-soft (or “extra-silken”). The brand I got, named only in Korean, has a picture of soondubu on the package; in English, the words were “extra-soft” and “contains soy.” Sometimes referred to as uncurdled, the kind most often used to make soondubu usually comes in a tube. Bricks of extra-soft or silken tofu can suffice if there is no Asian store in the vicinity.
Many soondubu recipes can be found online, though it’s best to try it at a restaurant before attempting it yourself, so you have some idea what you’re shooting for. Here is a recipe I’ve cobbled together from various sources, and with the store owner’s help.
Soondubu jjigae
12 dried anchovies (with guts pulled out). Alternatively, 3 tablespoons anchovy paste can be used
1/3 cup dried kelp (a handful of 6-inch pieces)
5 cloves garlic, whole
3 dried shitake mushrooms
½ onion, in one piece
2 Tbs olive oil
Chopped beef or pork, about 1/2 lb
Chopped shitakes from the broth
2 or more tablespoons of chili flakes
1-2 cups mixed shellfish (clams, mussels, crab, shrimp, scallops, including shells if possible)
2 Tbs fish sauce
2 tubes (or 2 tubs) of the softest tofu available
Into 5 quarts of water, add first five ingredients. Bring to a boil and boil for 10 minutes. Reduce heat to medium and simmer 20 minutes. Remove from heat and allow to slowly cool to room temperature. Strain out chunks and set stock aside. Remove shitakes, chop, and reserve for later.
Heat an earthenware or ceramic pot, or a cast iron skillet, on the stove. Add the following, add the next seven ingredients (olive oil through tofu) in order. Gently break tofu into just a few pieces with a spoon as the business heats. When it reaches a boil, crack an egg or two into the pot, and garnish with chopped green onions, a sliced jalapeño and sesame oil (1-2 T.) Serve with rice and any banchan you can get your hands on.