By Manisha Thapa ( Student , traveller Photographer ) Guest Post
When I first arrived in Ulsan, South Korea, almost a year ago to pursue my graduate studies, everything felt new and overwhelming—the language, the people, the streets, and most of all, the food. As a Nepali girl born and raised in Kathmandu, I was used to dal bhat, momos, gundruk, and achar. Korean cuisine was something I had only heard about or occasionally seen on YouTube. I knew the word “kimchi,” but I had no idea how big a part it played in Korean life. Little did I know, one dish—Kimchi Jjigae—would become something very close to my heart, reminding me of both the warmth of home and the new friendships I had made here.
My First Taste of Korea
The first few days in Ulsan were tough. I struggled with the spicy food, the unfamiliar flavors, and the eating culture itself—like the concept of sharing dishes in the center of the table. But soon, I found myself making Korean friends through my university dorm and local language exchange groups. One evening, my roommate Hyejin, a native of Busan, invited me to her home for dinner. Her mother had made a pot of Kimchi Jjigae.
I still remember that moment—one spoonful of the hot, spicy, tangy stew filled my mouth with warmth. It wasn’t just tasty; it was comforting. The sourness of aged kimchi, the umami from fermented gochujang, and the soft pieces of tofu all created a harmony I had never tasted before. Hyejin’s mother smiled and said, “Every Korean eats this. It’s our soul food.” And I believed her.
Exploring Korean Cuisine
Over the months, I traveled across Korea during school breaks. I visited Gyeongju’s historical sites, experienced the hustle of Seoul, and relaxed near the beaches of Busan. With every trip, I was introduced to new dishes—Samgyeopsal (grilled pork belly), Tteokbokki (spicy rice cakes), Bibimbap, Sundubu Jjigae (soft tofu stew), and even Nakji Bokkeum (spicy stir-fried octopus). My taste buds were challenged and trained.
I also discovered similarities with Nepali food. Some dishes used garlic, ginger, green onions, and even fermented elements like kimchi, which reminded me of gundruk. Korean people, like us Nepalis, believe food is medicine. A bowl of hot soup on a cold winter evening felt no different from our own bowl of thukpa in the chilly Kathmandu nights.
Among all these, Kimchi Jjigae remained my favorite. It was budget-friendly, easy to cook, and perfect for sharing with friends—just like back home when we’d make a big pot of curry and eat together with our hands.
The Heart of the Dish: Kimchi
You cannot talk about Kimchi Jjigae without understanding kimchi. It’s Korea’s fermented cabbage dish, made with chili, garlic, ginger, and fish sauce. Over time, as it ferments, the flavor deepens and becomes tangy. While fresh kimchi is eaten as a side dish, aged kimchi—what they call mukeunji—is ideal for stews like jjigae.
I once visited a kimchi-making festival in Jeonju with my classmates. Watching Korean ajummas (aunties) massaging red chili paste into hundreds of napa cabbage leaves was like watching my buwa and ama making achar with mustard oil and timur. Culture may differ, but love and effort in food are universal.
My Version of Kimchi Jjigae
After several tries, I learned how to make Kimchi Jjigae on my own. Sometimes I cook it for my fellow international students, sometimes just for myself when I miss home or feel cold. Here’s the simple recipe I follow:
Kimchi Jjigae Recipe (Serves 2)
Ingredients:
- 1 cup aged kimchi (mukeunji is best)
- 150g pork belly or shoulder (you can substitute with canned tuna or mushrooms for veg)
- 1 small onion, sliced
- 1 spring onion, chopped
- 1 tablespoon gochujang (Korean red chili paste)
- 1 tablespoon gochugaru (Korean red chili flakes)
- 1 teaspoon minced garlic
- 1/2 block tofu, cut into cubes
- 1 teaspoon sesame oil
- 2 cups water or anchovy broth (for extra flavor)
- Salt and soy sauce to taste
Instructions:
- Prepare the pot: In a medium saucepan or earthenware pot (if you have one), heat a little sesame oil. Add the chopped pork and stir until slightly browned.
- Add the kimchi: Put in the aged kimchi and sauté it with the pork for about 3–4 minutes. This releases the deep, tangy flavor.
- Season: Add the gochujang, gochugaru, garlic, and onions. Stir everything together for another 2 minutes.
- Pour broth or water: Add 2 cups of water or anchovy broth. Let it come to a boil.
- Simmer: Lower the heat and let it simmer for 15–20 minutes. The kimchi will soften and the pork will be tender.
- Add tofu and spring onions: Gently drop in the tofu cubes and let them soak in the flavors for about 5 more minutes. Sprinkle spring onions on top.
- Adjust seasoning: Taste and add soy sauce or salt as needed. Some people also add a pinch of sugar to balance the sourness.
- Serve hot: Traditionally, it’s served bubbling hot in the same pot it’s cooked in, with a bowl of steamed rice on the side.
A Dish That Feels Like Home
Sometimes, I feel homesick—missing momo evenings with cousins, street-side pani puri, or sipping chiya in a foggy Patan morning. But when I eat Kimchi Jjigae, I feel a little less far away. It’s not Nepali food, but it gives me the same feeling of ghar ko maya (home’s love).
Food is more than flavor. It carries stories, emotions, and connections. For me, Kimchi Jjigae tells the story of a Nepali girl trying to build a life in Korea, learning a new culture bite by bite. It reminds me of shared meals, late-night conversations, and the kindness of Korean friends who welcomed me with open hearts and full bowls.
Some Personal Tips
- Use older kimchi. Fresh kimchi doesn’t give that deep flavor.
- You can prepare anchovy broth in advance with dried anchovies and seaweed, just like we make mutton soup back home.
- If pork is not your choice, canned tuna surprisingly works well!
- Eat with rice. Always. It balances the spice and sourness.
- For an extra touch, crack an egg into the pot while it’s simmering and let it cook slightly—so satisfying!
Last few Words!
As I finish my year here in Ulsan, I carry back many memories—not just of places but of tastes. Kimchi Jjigae taught me that comfort can be found even in foreign kitchens, and that sometimes, a bowl of stew can make you feel like you’re not alone. It is not just a dish; it’s a symbol of my journey, my adaptation, and my appreciation for this vibrant country that has given me so much.
In Nepali we say, pachhi samjhidai garne kura ho yo sabai, meaning “all this will become something to remember later.” I know that one day, when I sit in my Kathmandu kitchen, I’ll make Kimchi Jjigae and smile, thinking of Ulsan and the people who made it home.
