Flavor Boulevard

The black stone bowl brought out, fuming. The milky ivory broth pulses inside, playfully revealing strips of browned beef. Dig a little deeper, my chopsticks find supple strands of white, thin as spaghetti and slick as bubble tea. I submerge the metal spoon into the liquid, the cream parts and congeals. I take a sip.

A few months ago a friend recommended Kunjib as a Korean restaurant unlike any I had been to, and indeed it is. The moment we walk in, the hostesses greet us with twittering an nyong ha sye yo and something that I can only guess to mean “table for two, right?”. I wish I had memorized the phrase list from Sura before coming here, but our waitress quickly realizes that we are different from their other customers and switches to near perfect English. Regardless, I’ll sign up for Korean 1 in the fall semester, I’ve already gotten the Hangul alphabet sorta down. 😉

Kunjib is a restaurant of few and focus: white plates, square bamboo chopsticks, tables set connected in straight rows, little decoration, a corner wall TV tuned to Korean channels, icy cold corn tea, a menu of 11 dishes, a set of 3 kimchis.

The kimchi here is spicier than those I’ve had before – there is still some leftover in my fridge after eating one or two pieces with rice each day for a week. The bibim naengmyeun (비빔 냉면 mixed cold noodle) is also ladened with gochujang (고추장), its color as crimson as the eclipsed moon. Our waitress instructs us to use a pair of scissors to snip the buckwheat noodles into mouth-sized bundles, and Mudpie deftly mixes up the meat and sliced vegetables with the same enthusiasm used to reserved for only dolsot bibimbap.

So with all the chili pepper galore on the table, I don’t expect my sul lung tang (설렁탕 ox bone soup) to be mild. I submerge the metal spoon into the liquid, the cream parts and congeals. I take a sip.

It’s pure bone marrow and collagen in liquid form. It’s as thick as whole milk diluted in water, and as savory as white rice. There is a whispering sweetness in the broth, detectable only when you drink it by itself and vanishing as soon as you get to the noodle or the meat. I love the noodle in galbi tang (갈비탕), but the noodle in sul lung tang clouds my palates.

In the end, sul lung tang is a soup of subtlety, so should I learn to like it in its purest form, or should I add salt?

After fierce cold noodle and shy beef soup come teeny tiny bottles and the check. Back of bottle says “Frozen Dessert: Biocool 2 – Win Soon Inc., South Gate, CA 90280. 62ml (2.1 fl.oz).” To Mudpie, the white flow “tastes like SweeTarts“; to me it sings liquid yogurt: a little fruity, a little tart, a little milky. Pretty good. Mudpie claims Koreana sells the exact same baby bottles.

Address: Kunjib Restaurant
1066 Kiely Blvd
Santa Clara, CA 95051
(408) 246-0025

It’s late April and the wind still blows cold. The tiny coffee plant I got last winter is still grudgingly hiding in my room for warmth, while I desperately crave a big hot soup with kimchi. Since coffee leaves wouldn’t make either great broth or pickle, we set out to Sunnyvale.

But driving in Sunnyvale on an empty stomach is no fun. The signs and loops are out to get you, and your tummy makes you rush running around. It was supposed to take less than thirty minutes, yet we’ve been driving for over an hour. After lots of wrong turns and backtracking eastward and westward, we thought we wouldn’t make it before closing time. Then as Hope faints, we see it. Secret Garden timidly stands at the end of a strip mall’s parking lot.

The restaurant may not have a snazzy outlook, but its spacious interior is quite nice. I’m a fan of booth seating and its privacy, but it’s a luxury in Berkeley. Here, the mahogany tables and thick cushion benches fit snuggly in enclosing of wooden planks, so that conversations can be spilled out somewhat comfortably and elbows do not touch. But the loveliness of food on neighboring diners’ plates is still in sight. It’s torturous to look at others eating merrily while you’re hungry, you know. Thank goodness the banchan is served quickly. Within minutes after placing our orders, plates after plates come out that I barely have enough time to snap a picture of them all. As light shines directly onto the crisp white melamine, the color contrast is so brilliant I suddenly don’t want to disturb any plate with my clumsy chopsticks.

From left to right: napa cabbage kimchi, nokdumuk (녹두묵 mungbean jello), kongnamul (콩나물 boiled and seasoned soybean sprout), and very tasty firm red strips (name help, please? is it eomuk strips in chili sauce?) nakji bokkeum (낙지볶음 fried octopus). The soybean sprouts are bigger, fatter, and nuttier than the usual mungbean sprouts, which means they’re more satisfying. The nokdumuk tastes as translucent as it looks, a refreshing heal congealed and coated in soy sauce that playfully wobbles on the tongue.

To the right of the kongnamul are cucumber kimchi, radish kimchi, eomuk (fish cake), and crunchy green strings (again, I love it, but I don’t know its name. My guess is sliced seaweed?) seaweed with gogumajulki (고구마줄기 dried sweet potato stem). Something about rings of jalapeno in banchan bugs me, just like jalapeno in banh-mi. Not that I have anything against Mexican peppers, but the taste doesn’t belong.

Just as I thought the banchan list ended at eight, a generous plate of japchae (잡채) fuming sweetness comes…

… with two stylish inox cups of miyuk gook (미역국). Whether or not it can enhance my brain function, it well enhances the sizzling goodness of the dolsot bibimbap (돌솥비빔밥).

White rice mixed with veggies, beef strips, egg, and gochujang (고추장) until crimson has been Mudpie’s No.1 favorite for a while now. He treasures every spoonful and guards the forming crust at the bottom against any careless scooping. At the end he then scrapes and eats the well seasoned crust with the joy of children eating s’mores. He orders it almost every time we go to a Korean restaurant, I feel like he should have a bibimbap blog much like Adam Kuban with Slice. And he claims this dolsot bibimbap is the best he’s had.

Meanwhile I am busy slurping what I have dreamed of for days: a hearty beef soup. A bowl of wet steamed rice comes with the galbi tang (갈비탕), but I wish they had given me more. The rice goes quickly as I pour the mild yet sensuous broth over it, with a piece of meltingly soft short rib, and maybe a bit of kimchi. I even eat the shiny green chives, since they now taste so sweet.

When I get near the end of the big soup bowl, a pleasant surprise surfaces: a small bundle of dangmyeon (당면 cellophane noodle) has been there all along, soft, clear, quietly soaking up flavors from the darling broth. I have rarely felt more gluttonously satisfied after a meal dined out.

Address: Secret Garden (Bi Won Restaurant)
3430 El Camino Real
Santa Clara, CA 95051
(408) 244-5020

Money matters: $26.11 – dinner and happiness for two.