Whither acorn jello?
Image via Wikimedia Commons.
So this week, the New York Times and I delved into the semi-wild world of 도토리묵 (dotorimuk) simultaneously, though in different ways.
I found mine at a small market in Mokdong. I’ve been eating tofu and sundubu nonstop all summer, and while I love me some bean curd, I was ready to branch out into other protein sources. And as I inspected the wares at a stand with particularly fresh-looking stuff — presided over by a particularly taciturn and grumpy ajuma — I spotted It. A jiggly block of acorn jelly, on sale for 5,000won (about $4).
I upped the Mystery Food ante by taking home half a dozen 감 (persimmons), which I’d never seen or tasted fresh before. They’re bursting from every food stand right now, in brilliant colors of yellow, green and vibrant orange.
At home, I Wikipedia’d the jelly, and learned that “Dotorimuk was widely eaten in Korea during the Korean War, when millions of people were displaced and starving. It consequently became associated with poverty, and most people who could afford them ate memilmuk or other jellies instead. However, in recent years it has been rediscovered as a health food.”
I decided to make a sweet and salty fall pilaf with dotorimuk, persimmons, eggplant, toasted pepita and sunflower seeds, cinnamon and Korean barley, soaked until plump and then cooked and sauteed.
Topped with chopped green onion, it looked lovely in the pan and tasted satisfying. The dotorimuk gave the dish an extra-nutty flavor that tofu simply wouldn’t have, and it stood up to the stirring much better than bean curd. The persimmons were a pretty addition as well, with a flavor profile like a mild peach and a texture like overripe tomatoes.
The texture was what got me, though; cold and jiggly acorn jello just doesn’t scream comfort food to me, and the persimmons were costly and slightly too mushy for my taste. (Most people here prefer them dried, anyhow.)
As I shoveled the pilaf into my mouth on a break at school, one of my Korean coworkers summed it up for me: “You are eating grandma food,” she said, laughing.
And in fact, I gave my remaining persimmons to my halmeoni, and she was thrilled, accepting them with a deep bow. It seems the tree in our shared courtyard is a persimmon tree, but has stopped bearing fruit, so I was able to bring her a taste of a fall tradition that she might not have splurged on herself.
I also shared out most of the dotorimuk, tossing cubes of it into a Yuppie Special Salad (spinach with walnuts and vinaigrette) that I threw together for my Aussie coworker Erin and her Korean boyfriend Chan for one of our late-night dinners. Chan was shocked and amused to see the familiar squares of beige jelly nestled in my Western-looking salad, but he didn’t complain, so I suppose it tasted all right.
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In the meantime, the NYT was grinding its own acorns into pulp and doing their dotorimuk up the DIY way. This sounds sort of unnecessarily difficult, but if you’re interested, you can check out What the Squirrels Know, which includes a recipe for traditionally-prepared dotorimuk done with a lovely presentation.
What now, Cosby?
I do have a bit of dotorimuk left, so am going to play around with the texture. I still love the idea of making use of a local, healthy and usually handmade protein source, but for some reason, the ol’ hot-pepper-and-sesame treatment and the slippery mouthfeel just isn’t doing it for me. Suggestions welcome!
