Part of the problem is in the honesty that the food is “Korean inspired.” My bibimbap (and the other food I sampled) wasn’t terrible, but it was far from inspiring, and not as Korean as I wanted.

Oma Bap reminds me of Subway or Chipotle, where you go to the counter and order while observing the steam table assembly process. The website features interesting videos, including one about bibimbap, which lists the vegetables in the dish: shiitake mushrooms, purple cabbage, zucchini, cucumbers, carrots, lettuce, and bean sprouts. My bowl was missing the sprouts (my least favorite item, actually), but had a LOT of lettuce; I felt like I was eating a salad. (I would also hope for spinach in my bibimbap.)

Two other issues: The egg on top was not runny, as it should be, and there wasn’t any hot sauce. A worker explained that they already expanded sauce choices, but they made a milder version because the original was too hot. I’d suggest they need to go in the other direction.

The menu also states that Oma Bap is “people inspired”—explaining that “we believe that Korean food is poised to become America’s next favorite cuisine because of its exciting and intensely flavorful dishes that include an assortment of fresh vegetables and lean meats.”

Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to see a boom of Korean food. I just don’t want it to be this style. Chinese food in the Seattle area is so-so, especially when compared to what’s available just north of the border in Richmond and Vancouver. And the Subway sandwich-ing of America has meant the loss of mom-and-pop shops that serve unique, interesting food. Let’s not settle for dumbed down Korean food at the expense of losing out on the potential of enjoying this truly flavorful and intriguing cuisine.

Dish:

On the plate: Per the menu: “stir-fried potato noodles w/assorted veg and beef.”

Supporting cast: Banchan (including cabbage kimchi, bean sprouts, and daikon) and a small portion of rice.

What to do: Dig in, eating the banchan between bites of the job chae.

Noodling around: I love to cook jobchae (or japchae, chap chae, etc.) at home. It’s both delicious and nutritious, with some meat and lots of vegetables.

Those vegetables, though, don’t usually include broccoli. That was strange to see at Kimchi Bistro. My dining companion, with a confused look on her face, worried that it would be filler for the rest of the dish.

She was right.

There were enough other vegetables, like carrots, shitake mushrooms, and onions (along with red bell pepper, which I don’t normally use, though I missed the presence of spinach), but the beef was almost MIA.

The bigger problem: not enough noodles. I love dangmyeon–the cellophane or glass noodles made with sweet potato starch–that are the hallmark of this dish. There simply wasn’t enough of it. We encountered the same problem with the other noodle dish we ordered. The yook gae udon had a seductively spicy broth (and, in this case, plenty of shredded beef brisket), but just a small rationing of noodles.

Finally, two more words about the job chae: too sweet.

If you want more: One of the things I most love about Korean food is the banchan that comes to the table to accompany the meal. This really rounds out the meal, with the small dishes providing a variety of tastes and textures. They are placed in the middle of the table, to be shared by all, and can generally be refilled by request. Unfortunately, the banchan at Kimchi Bistro was a little lackluster, and the rice was terribly dried out, though livened up by the spicy, saucy remains of kimchi.

Be aware/beware: Kimchi Bistro is in the heart of Capitol Hill, close to Seattle University and Seattle Central Community College. Therefore, lots of young people come here (the prices are reasonable), and with tables close together, it can get quite loud. While I was dining, a boisterous group of students two tables away was gabbing about Anthony Weiner, entertaining our table (and others) with weiner jokes. Bring a sense of humor!

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on June 14, 2011.

Dish:

In the bowl: Fresh, Korean wheat noodles (thick spaghetti size) with a julienne cucumber garnish

Supporting cast: A second bowl contains fermented black bean paste, beef, shrimp, squid, onions, and zucchini. And a side dish with pickled daikon slices, raw onion pieces, and plum paste.

What to do: Pour and mix the small bowl into the big bowl, but not the daikon, onions, and plum paste. While it made sense to me that daikon was a pickle on the side, I wasn’t sure what to do about the onions. Only after asking did the server explain that they are also meant to be eaten on the side, simply saying, “the plum paste takes away the sharpness of the onion.”

Noodling around: Red Lantern’s website says that the restaurant specializes in “contemporary Northern Chinese-Korean cooking with influences from neighboring Asian specialties without compromising authenticity or taste.”

This might explain why the ja-jang noodles were different than the “zha-jiang mian” (fried sauce noodles) I’m accustomed to eating. Those noodles tend to be topped by ground pork stir-fried with fermented soybean paste (the zha-jiang), with julienned cucumber atop that. The intense black color was familiar, but Red Lantern’s Korean-influenced (northern Chinese, apparently) version added seafood to beef (interesting, though I ultimately prefer pure pork) and zucchini (also interesting, but overlapped too much with the cucumber for me).

The dish has a deep, earthy taste, just as you might expect from something this dark. I did enjoy the slices of pickled daikon to provide an acidic and refreshing crunch to counter the noodle sauce, but I never got quite comfortable with the onions.

If still hungry: Perhaps try one of the tea-influenced desserts: either the black tea crème brulee cream infused with black tea and caramelized sugar or the red tea tiramisu with mascarpone cheese, red tea, and brandy (both $4.95).

Be aware/beware: I am happy to see a new restaurant in the International District, and hope others will follow suit. And while I appreciate the mission to combine the culinary traditions of China and Korea, the menu seems to be all over the map, busting borders in being pan-Asian. A little focus would help Red Lantern establish a firmer identity.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on March 15, 2011.

(Additional thought: I’m surprised that my friends at Seattle Metropolitan included this as one of the area’s best Chinese restaurants for 2010. For example, I also tried the basil-lime shrimp, which was far from perfect–lacking in basil and in need of more lime.)

Dish:

Place: Hae-Nam Kalbi & Calamari in Shoreline

Price: $8.95

In the Bowl: A fiery red mass of buckwheat noodles with daikon kimchi, cucumber, beef slices, Asian pear, and half of a boiled egg.

Supporting Cast: Scissors, and a small bowl of clear beef broth. Also a nice selection of banchan and, if you ask, a side dish of rice.

What to do: You or your server will use the scissors to cut the long noodles. Stir bowl contents together (bee bi ,or bibim, means “mixed”)–or not. Eat, taking sips from the small bowl of broth as desired.

Noodling around: The cold, metal bowl conceals heat from the spicy, garlicky sauce–made here from, according to the menu, black pepper, ginger, garlic, hot bean paste, soy sauce, sesame oil, and broth. This is confusing, as the server later told me there’s the ubiquitous gochujang in the sauce–which is hot pepper sauce, not hot bean sauce. When I checked my Choripdong brand of gochujang at home, it listed red pepper power as an ingredient instead of red pepper powder. Actually, that’s a typo I like, as I’m all for red pepper power.

Anyway, the noodles slide in spicily and have a slight chew to them, which I enjoy as a tempo-slower and a way to extend the meal. The daikon and cucumber add crunch, while the beef and egg add depth. And the side bowl of beef broth is actually cooling, serving as a nice contrast to the heat of the noodles.

If still hungry: Hard to believe if you take advantage of all the banchan and rice, but especially if you’ve got someone sitting with you, an order of hae-mool-pah-juhn ($12.95) might be nice. This is a seafood and green onion patty (actually, a large pancake), with Hae-Nam’s version greener than most I’ve had. Or, if really hungry, get kal bi ($19.95) to grill at your table. Or, as the restaurant name suggests, calamari. There’s a fun sign on the wall to remind you of these options if you forget.

Be aware/beware: Service can be a little slow, as there are always many plates to deliver and pick up from many tables. So if you need anything (including any extra banchan, which comes free), press the button on your table (if you’re at a grill table) to get a server. Also note that if you want meat grilled at your table, you must get at least two orders of kal bi. (I’m not sure why you can’t get a combination of two meats, like kal bi and pork belly. Seems like a silly rule.) Otherwise, your kal bi will come already cooked in the kitchen–which is less fun and interactive.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on January 11, 2011.

But when a recent shopping trip to H Mart in Lynnwood enabled a visit to Original Sul Lung Tang, I had a rare episode of betrayal. Kauffman had been bowled over by the namesake dish (#1 on the menu, often spelled seolleongtang), raving about the blandness of the ox-bone broth. I intended to order the same, but my eyes immediately wandered down the menu where, persuaded by the colorful pictures and distracted by the descriptions, I found myself instead tempted by a spicy hot number. (This turned out to be #5: hae jang gook.)

Still, the kind server insisted on bringing me a small bowl of the sul lung tang broth to sample.

First came a collection of banchan, bright and happy, followed by my bowl of hae jang gook. When I saw the rich red broth, I immediately started salivating, and felt confident I had made the right choice. The server soon returned with the promised sample of sul lung tang broth–a milky white pool in a small white bowl. If the notion of food porn has turned restaurant dishes into objects of erotic desire, this one vaguely screamed vanilla sex. I pushed it aside (it barely made it into the intended photo, above, where it’s top left–but there’s a closer shot below, after I added seasoning), and dove into the hae jang gook, enjoying the intestines, the vegetables, and of course the spicy flavor.

But with the ghost of Kauffman haunting me, I couldn’t completely ignore the sul lung tang, so I eventually took a spoonful to my mouth. Bland was truly the best word for the broth, yet somehow it was intriguing. The server had warned that it’s completely unseasoned, and had dropped off a jar of coarse sea salt. I slowly stirred some in (along with a touch of black pepper), then took another sip. And another. And another.

This was a come-to-mama moment. Maybe it was the milky color of the soup, produced by more than 24 hours of cooking down the bones (and, apparently, beef brisket, along with a mysterious “other part” mentioned on the menu), but I felt like I was being breast-fed, in a meaty sort of way. I can only imagine the full dish as intended to serve, suckling the soup while sucking down the noodles that come with it. I’d order the “Special” upgrade (#2 on the menu) which adds tripe and tongue, indulging in the combined carnality and comfort of the experience.

Sex is physical. While it can be primal, it can also be about tender touch–about being held and nurtured.

This sul lung tang held me and nurtured me. The white-on-white bowl of broth was a thing of beauty, and compels me to return. Next time I see a hot-and-spicy girl, I’ll remember this Plain Jane and her seductive ways.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on September 30, 2010.

The other is also Chinese, but Korean-style. I asked one of the employees about this, and she said that while just about all of the employees are Chinese, the head chef is Korean-born Chinese. With a sizeable Korean population in North Seattle, this Bothell Way-based restaurant offers a separate menu that appeals to Korean tastes, but you have to request it.

Here I’ll repeat my mantra: Sex is like a menu. And you need to make sure you’re viewing the whole menu to vie for new and different experiences.

On that Korean-style menu I found tang-su-yuk, which is essentially Korean-style sweet and sour pork. A couple of people I know had raved about the tang-su-yuk, so I ordered it. Yeah, I know. Sweet and sour pork is like the missionary position of Chinese food: tantalizing at first, with lots to discover, but ultimately a bit bland, a fall-back position, overdone–one for the kids.

But because I sought out all menu options, I was having a virgin try at a new dish. Exciting! This version was different. Not necessarily better, but not as cloyingly sweet as the usual (which the server snidely said is actually American-style Chinese).

That’s good. I’m not always looking for sweet sex. Sure, sweet is nice, but sex isn’t always sweet. I’m looking for variety, an “uh-huh” moment that makes one experience different from the others.

Point is: People, like foods, come in different tastes–as well as textures and looks. You have to try to see what you like. And don’t expect simply sweetness. Bodies, and the fluids within, have different flavor profiles: sweet, sour, salty, and spicy. Maybe even bitter. And while these flavors can change partner to partner, they can change within a partner, too, depending on diet. (I’ll get to that another time.)

The more you appreciate the diversity in your food, the more you’ll likely appreciate it in your partner(s). Sometimes a little sourness is the perfect balance to some sweetness.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on September 2, 2010.

Posting will likely be light for the rest of the month, as I’m about to embark on a long trip that will include a few days in Portland, site of an incredible feeding frenzy at this time last year. We’ll hit a couple of our favorite places from last time, but we’ve got a far-too-long list of new places to try as well.

I had a quick, overnight stay near Portland two weekends ago for other business south of the city. My ramen kick continues, so I wanted to try Hakatamon, next to the Uwajimaya in Beaverton. I’m planning to write more about that experience sometime soon, but for now I can tell you it was quite disappointing. (Better was my bun bo hue at HA+VL the next morning, and I’ll say more about HA+VL after our intended meal there this coming weekend.) To make up for the disappointment, I simply had to have another meal that evening, so I strolled into Country Korean (also in Beaverton) for an after-midnight snack. (I knew the restaurant was open until 2am on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights.)

Soondae (pictured, above) was on my eating agenda, and Suki (the owner) was kind to offer me a selection of regular and spicy pieces on my plate. Soondae is sort of a blood sausage made from pork intestines, though mellower because it’s stuffed with cellophane noodles. I liked the texture and taste of both, but with a preference (not surprising) for the spicier variety. (The soondae comes with dipping salt.) It wasn’t a meat-only affair, though, as there was plenty of banchan (pictured, below) on the table; I especially enjoyed the black beans and the spicy, chewy squid.

Did I look hungry? Suki brought some soup to try (she said it was leftover from a family meal) – a beefy bowl with pieces of tendon and a milky-white broth. Very soothing. And then she emerged from the kitchen with a small portion of jokbal (pictured, below): seasoned, steamed slices of pork feet, served cold. She instructed me to put a slice on a lettuce leaf, adding rice and a choice between some spicy shrimp paste or red miso paste. I got treated to trotters, and I loved them – a chewy layer of skin on the outside, then a gelatinous, fatty layer within, followed by lots of soft, sumptuous porky meat.

I didn’t intend to pork out so much after midnight, but I do intend to return to Country Korean sometime with a group so I can muscle though much more of the menu.

“Hey, we’re out to lunch,” we thought, “And that guy knows food.” So we went in, and we had what he had been having.

From the first column of the menu, we had the bibimbap. This isn’t the higher-end, stone bowl variety. (It’s all plasticware.) For seven bucks, you get a decent bowl of rice, topped with vegetables and beef, though you can substitute calamari, chicken, tofu, or other items for the beef and save some money in the process. Squiggles of gochujang on top make this a perfectly serviceable red bowl.

The menu board lists udon, meat bowls, garden bowls, tempura bowls, cooked fish bowls, and fresh fish bowls. But for our other choice, we went to the spicy bowl column and ordered the one called Red Tuna. As Matthew wrote, it’s like chirashi-zushi, with raw fish atop sushi rice, but this version contains cauliflower and a few other vegetables that, in some way, distract from the fish-and-rice combination – though they certain add freshness and color. Also spiked with hot sauce, this is a bold bowl that costs just slightly more than the bibimbap.

Yeah, you can certainly find better bowls of these Asian dishes further afield from downtown. But if you work in the area, Red Bowls offers a quick and convenient place to pick up some satisfying ethnic eats that will break up the sandwich blues. Eat in or take out – these red bowls travel well and taste good.

Buddha Ruksa serves up some beautiful plates, placing it in the upper echelon of Thai restaurants in the Seattle area. Not as high as Noodle Boat in Issaquah, which might be the best around, but certainly a solid choice and worth a try in West Seattle. I especially like that they offer a selection of trout dishes, including an interesting skin-on trout salad.

For pho, there are so many choices in town. And many of those places have numbers in their names, which made me interested in finding out why. More straightforward is the use of a number in Time 4 Pho, Magnolia’s pho joint. There’s a fuller menu that includes salads, vermicelli bowls, and rice plates, but I was there for the $7 large bowl of pho that came with a choice of meats and use of the pho condiment bar.

The Signature opened in the old Moxie space in lower Queen Anne. It’s a family-run operation, with friendly folks who are working seemingly endless hours to bring some new dishes to this part of town. (They also have seemingly endless happy hours. After lunch, all but 6-8pm is happy hour?)

But I’m not sure whether the soup bowls are an indictment on the restaurant, or its customers. The pho ($8 small, $9 large) broth isn’t bad, though I can travel and get something better for half the price. And those bowls will include choices that go beyond rare beef, well-done beef, and beef meatballs. Where’s my tendon and tripe, providing textures and tastes that I love in pho?

Then there’s the bun bo Hue, which The Signature calls “spicy beef rice noodle soup” ($10). Again, it’s got good flavor, and I’ve seen other customers enjoying it. But I missed the congealed pork blood cubes and pork feet–or at least a hock–that make this bowl beautifully special. (And that I can enjoy by driving to the south of Seattle.)

The Signature says that they fear people won’t eat these soups as they’re meant to be served. I say that omitting these key ingredients is dumbing the dishes down, and not allowing people to discover a bowl of dreams.

End of rant, except to add that after all these months, I don’t understand why a quote from the PR firm representing The Signature appears on their “reviews” webpage. That makes the Yelp quotes seem, well, credible.

Is it better Vietnamese soups you’re seeking? Get to the International District or further south on Rainier, and you’ll find some restaurants offering good ones. But one I’ll miss is Tu Oanh, which offered some delicious bowls until it closed recently. I liked the Hu Tieu Nam Vang Nuoc/Kho (Cambodian rice noodle soup) with its ground pork, fish meatball, prawn, and “meat load” (I couldn’t resist sharing that typo!), but even better was the Bun Mang Vit – a noodle soup with fresh baby bamboo shoots and cabbage salad with herbs, fried shallots, and bone-in duck breast, served with a sauce that contained grated ginger.

Transitioning to Chinese food, I checked out the recently opened Noodle King upon hearing that they offer hand-pulled noodles. For $2, it’s fun to watch the noodle show, but the Taiwanese beef noodle soup was disappointing, as the broth was weak.

Chiang’s Gourmet receives much fanfare, especially from folks on the northside who don’t want to travel to the International District or Bellevue for Chinese food. I’ve had brunch there and found it consistently, well, brown. Not bad, but as with all the other dim sum places in the area, not compelling enough to make me return. I continue to hold off on dim sum until I get north of the border to Richmond. Dinner offers a variety of Chinese fare, from congee with pork and egg preserved in lime to tea-smoked duck to stuffed bittermelon. Overall, the dishes are a mixed bag, though I do like that they serve “steamed tofu of strong odor” (stinky tofu).

One of my favorite restaurant find, courtesy of food-loving friends, is Ton Kiang B.B.Q. Noodle House in the International District. The modest little restaurant is basically a brother and sister act delivering quality dishes at quaint prices. There are soups (noodle and otherwise) and other items on the menu, but the real reason to come here is the beauty of the meats. There’s roasted and BBQ pig and duck, but my favorite is the poached chicken. Given my love of spicy food, my love of this subtle dish might come as a bit of a surprise, but the chicken, which is free-range (!), is simply delicious. Oh…and the sauce that accompanies it spices it up nicely. Seriously good stuff.

And finally, on the BBQ front, way back when I visited Old Village Korean BBQ Restaurant. The service was strange and the music mix from Michael Bolton to Led Zeppelin was even stranger. The food was okay. I’ve found better Korean food in Federal Way, and have a few new places on the to-do list. We did a lot of grilling; after all, who can resist “born less short rips”?

I discovered BCD Tofu House a few years ago when shopping at the Ranch 99 in Edmonds. Now there’s another branch, this time in the same shopping center as H Mart in Lynnwood. If you haven’t been to H Mart, go. It’s a fabulous Korean grocery store found in a baker’s dozen states. We’re lucky to have the Lynnwood store, as well as one in Federal Way, though I’d love to have an outlet right in Seattle. The meat and seafood sections are amazing (pretty much anything you can imagine), the produce selection large, and there’s quite a bit of good kimchi both fresh and aged.

BCD’s got a bunch of locations in California, as well as one in Tokyo and a couple in Korea. There are various items on the menu, but the main draw is the soon tofu menu of soft tofu soups. They’re all $8.99, with a choice of beef, pork, seafood, seawood, dumplings, mushroom, and more. Me? You can count on me getting the “gut premium,” which naturally drew a look of curiosity from the woman who took my order. What can I say? I like intestines.

The tofu is silky soft, and the soup is nice and spicy. (I order mine extra spicy, but you can also request a milder version.) The order comes with rice in a stone pot, and a decent selection of banchan – including a whole fried fish.

I’ve had better, but this stuff is pretty good, and it’s cheap and convenient when I’m loading up a shopping cart of bargains at H Mart.