Surprisingly close to Oxy, past the chaotic strip of Alvarado known as Filipinotown and through a dizzying maze of strip malls, there is a magical place called Koreatown, home to the dining craze, Korean barbecue.
To describe my first BBQ experience in K-Town as overwhelming would be like describing Lindsay Lohan as an occasional drug user. Respectively, I have never been so confused and Lindsay has never had more reason to be in rehab. Upon entering Chungkiwa, I was too befuddled to even speak to the hostess about my dinner reservations. I instead stared at the enormous tables, set ablaze by tiny Korean women, empowered by their fire-starting ability and shared knowledge that they could serve unsuspecting white folks cow tongue without them knowing.
I was seated near a table of Korean business men and my party was late, so I had the opportunity to observe the process prior to placing my own order. I watched, simultaneously intrigued by the giant pit in the center of my table and the giant plates of raw meat being brought to the men beside me. Studying the menu proved fruitless, as most of it was in Korean, and I saw no buffet to uncomplicated the procedure—I was in pretty dire straits.
Mustering what courage I could in this culinary equivalent of a wild-life safari, I peeped at the waitress and pleaded for guidance. In what little English she had in her, she got the point across that we should order five plates of meat for our party of seven. We’d be needing two plates of the kalbi, their specialty beef short ribs, some chicken and pork for the less adventurous and a plate of kalbi with mushrooms. I have been having a love affair with mushrooms this summer and always make a point to order them, no matter the format in which they are being served.
I sensed we were being duped into spending too much, but figured that was almost unavoidable in a situation like this. Our waitress made a production of the routine fire-starting I’m sure she does hundreds of times in a day. In a flash of lighter fluid and matches, the pit in the middle of the table was set ablaze and soon enough slabs that closely resembled extremely thick-cut bacon were being tossed on, grilled and diced up with industrial-strength scissors.
I should mention that prior to the meat, our table was blanketed with countless mis-en-place dishes filled with various unidentifiable appetizers and accompaniments for our meal. The star of these snacks, known as panchan, was the sweet black beans—shiny and jet black, the sugary things appeared far healthier than they tasted. Winner of the most intriguing award definitely went to the bluish white sponge that tasted like nothing and turned out to be egg. What kind of egg and cooked in what way, I have no idea, but the waitress didn’t understand when I posed these inquiries. Oh, and did I mention all of these dishes are refillable?
Soon enough, the kalbi was roasting and filling our tiny back room with an aroma so intoxicating that I thought I’d accidentally downed one of the 40 oz. Korean beers available to those old enough to buy one—I, unfortunately, am not. Chungkiwa prides itself on serving all USDA-certified Angus beef from extremely juicy, lean and flavorful cows, and it shows—or should I say it tastes? Either way, we had no trouble finishing what I had originally considered an exorbitant amount of food. The steak is coaxed by the burners into wilting capitulation, melting in your mouth between the rice noodle sheets, given to wrap around the beef in a distant approximation of a sandwich. Fresh, thin daikon slices are also offered for this purpose.
The mushrooms were, of course, too delicious for their own good once steeped in the smokey aroma of Angus beef. Large silver pots of cold barley tea were constantly being refilled as we washed down swallow after swallow of the spicy kimchee and kalbi. Rather than having food leftover, my table was left picking at the scraps in the burner bowl as our waitress tried to carry it away.
My advice to those considering this adventure is to bring a Korean if you can find one—a wise Oxy student offered me this counsel and I ignored it. It isn’t that you can’t survive without knowing the language, because I’d like to think I did quite well for a first-timer with just a few years of high school French under my belt. However, it would have been nice to know what exactly I was dipping my fork into in those mysterious white dishes, how to ask about dessert or how to inquire about prices. At about twenty bucks for a plate of meat with all the accoutrements, the bill could be kept under control if you exercise caution, but I’ve heard that other K-Town offerings have all-you-can eat buffets for as little as $14.99. Chungkiwa’s Angus beef was undoubtedly spectacular, but you might want to try something like Tahoe Galbi if you’re pinching pennies. And, let’s face it, aren’t we all? Chungkiwa is located at 3545 W. Olympic Boulevard; Tahoe Galbi can be found at 3986 Wilshire Boulevard.
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