When I’m in the mood for some good old home cooking I don’t head out to the nearest diner or bistro. I head straight for Gombawoo. So when a craving kicked in while my dad was in town, I drove 35 minutes from Herndon to the quaint town of Annandale to satiate my appetite. Of course my dad – who had been waiting hours so we can eat together, was dismayed. But he was soon to be swayed as well.
Since leaving my family in the Los Angeles area at age 18 to go to college, I discovered my love of Korean food. It wasn’t until then that I realized how lucky I was to wake up on occasion to a hearty meal of gook (Korean soup), bap (rice) and multiple dishes of banchan (Korean side dishes). I remember my mom advised against eating Kimchi before school; but I ignored her warnings to experience the Korean breakfast in its full glory.
Living alone now I know what a near impossibility it is to prepare this breakfast of champions on your own – not one but multiple banchan, a stew or soup, and always perfectly cooked rice. My Korean breakfast of champions was quickly replaced by an ordinary American one – a bowl of oatmeal or cereal and some fruit.
So I began to crave it and seek it out. All the regular haunts – Yechon, Lighthouse, Oegahjib, Sorak – were good for what it was but wasn’t the taste I was looking for. In particular the kimchi just didn’t have the right bite!
It wasn’t until I stumbled upon a review by the Washingtonian that I decided to give yet another Korean restaurant a try. ‘What could an American magazine possibly know about Korean food?’ But Todd Kliman’s review with his explanation of their delicious kimchi grabbed my attention:
Kimchee is, at best, an acquired pleasure for most Westerners. A staple of the Korean diet, the cold pickled-cabbage dish is for many too fiery, too tart, and often too limp. The version at this cozy, blond-wooded lair in a shopping center in Annandale’s Little Korea has the power to alter perceptions. The cabbage is firm, the pickling is light and fresh, and the thick red-chili paste it’s bathed in has an insinuating heat that encourages you to keep eating.
So I grabbed my then boyfriend and took him along for the ride.
As I walked in I surveyed the after work crowd of rough-looking older Korean men, I had a feeling I was in the right place. So we ordered Wooguji Galbi Tang (Chinese cabbage, Beef Rib in Dwenjang soup) and the Dogani Tang (Knuckle bone soup).
As is the case with Korean food, the waitress immediately brought us our banchan after taking our order. The kimchi was at its peak and what Koreans dub ‘yiguhssuh’ (ripe – just at that stage where the cabbage is slightly fermented). It was spicy, slightly tangy from the fermentation and still fresh and crunchy – just perfectly made. Their Kkakdugi (cubed radish kimchi) was fiery and also at the peak of perfection – the perfect complement to the Dogani Tang.
As every Korean knows – banchan are not JUST side dishes. It is indicative of a restaurant’s aptitude. Gombawoo had it right! Every banchan here was properly spiced, salted and marinated not the muted bland American versions of banchan at too many Korean places.
What left a lasting impression was that Wooguji Galbi Tang. The soup was reminiscent of my Grandmother’s soups. The dwenjang (fermented bean paste) soup had just the right consistency and flavor – like a thicker, more pungent miso-like broth full of soft braised cabbage, and chunks of Galbi.
The dogani tang is good –the bone broth was milky white and hearty. With a good sprinkling of salt and green onions (on the table in bowls) it was a pleaser. The dogani itself had just the right consistency, jelly-like and soft with a bit of a crunch. Dipping it in the ganjang/shikcho (soy sauce and vinegar) sauce completed the bite. At the end of the meal, my mouth was happy and my belly full.
Thus began my love affair Gombawoo… It is now my taste of home without having to fly 3,000 miles for it. With each visit, I feel restored…. invigorated. Every now and then, as the DC life wears me down and homesickness kicks in, I seek it out its comforts.
“Appah – Uhhddeh?” (Translation: Dad – how is it?)
I looked down only to see his entire bowl emptied.
Point taken!
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