When fusion is discussed in culinary terms, it’s usually of the broader, cross-cultural sort, either occurring organically (Indo-Chinese, Chinese-Caribbean, Indo-Caribbean) or mandated by the exigencies of the market (any place you can get both Sushi and Pad Thai). But there are also smaller instances of synthesis, ones occurring incessantly within national cultures themselves, sometimes at the behest of foreign influence, sometimes owing to other factors. Take Delimanjoo, which is run out of a small booth in Manhattan’s Koreatown, sharing space with a steamed bun dispensary and doling out a small set roster of seemingly traditional pastries. These have individual appellations, yet here get classed together under the name of the shop, itself a portmanteau (Delicious, or Delice, the company’s name, and Manjoo/doo, for dumpling). Delimanjoo is a global chain that most famously sells these cute little corns stuffed with custard, a treat I’m convinced they did not invent, although I can find no immediate visual evidence of their existence anywhere else. Word of mouth, meanwhile, seems to indicate they’re spotted frequently within the Seoul subway system.
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Far be it from me to criticize another country’s snacking habits, but I can’t seem to get on board with the apparent Korean preference for sickly sweet, HFCS-addled, between-meals comestibles. The worst part is that most of these snacks demonstrate an exquisite deftness for balancing salt and spice, which then gets subsequently washed away by the cloying tide of sugar. The same holds true on this otherwise alluring snack from Japanese/Korean mega-conglomerate Lotte. Too bad, since this is a stellar bit of packaging that swaddles a pretty reasonable governing concept; I, like many others, spent much of my teenage years partying with large bags of aggressively seasoned snacks. Back then we had Bugles, which seem like the dominant inspiration for Teenager’s Party Time, right down to the general “compressed corn dust” taste found beneath the aforementioned overwhelming sweetness. Online sources tell me these are barbecue flavored, although I can’t detect any real kinship with the prevalent American version of this style. Dominated by a syrupy finish, these mostly remind me of Golden Grahams. Let's not forget, however, two other recently purchased Korean snacks; the one just below, with its daring, fantastically designed co-opting of American branded content, also seems more than a little similar in presentation.
I grew up on Long Island, and notwithstanding the general shift in lifestyle that comes with moving from Nassau County to “the City,” have spent my entire life on this ridiculous fish-shaped stretch of sand. Yet while I’m more inclined to exploring than most, I still haven’t gotten close to covering any significant amount of the state parks, wildlife refuges and weird wide open spaces that litter the western half of the island, many of them hidden among the myriad necks and inlets of the rugged North Shore. This weekend I managed to make a tiny bit of headway, on a jaunt to Fort Totten that semi-accidentally devolved into a bit of trespassing around some poorly-preserved military ruins. In the shadow of the Throgs Neck bridge, the once-busy, since-decommissioned fort now houses a cluster of semi-active mini-bases (Army, Coast Guard and NYPD), with former officer’s quarters downgraded into makeshift storage facilities, piles of boxes now pressing up against the windows of once-charming screened-in porches. Things seem to get even weirder on the other side of the park.
Stocked with spam, hot dogs, beans and noodles, tossed into brothy combat with tofu, kimchi and gochujang, Budae Jigae is a colonialist incursion in soup form. Haphazardly developed during the Korean War, the stew grew out of desperation, as food shortages forced many to rely on excess (or smuggled) canned food acquired from American army bases. Budae Jigae (‘army stew’) served as a higher-class alternative to Kkulkkulijuk (‘pig's gruel’), a dire hot pot combination of food scraps and water sold for cheap by street vendors. 60 years later, Budae is still around, and while there’s nothing unusual about dishes shaped by necessity, few are so overtly politicized, capturing the harsh reality of wartime via the hastily combined cuisines of victim and aggressor.
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The coded language of snacks, sandwiches and seasonings, in NYC and beyond.
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