Bulgogi meatballs recipe defies tradition, but its flavor remains Korean
Until just a few years ago, I winced whenever I heard someone use the word “bulgogi” to describe anything other than the classic Korean dish of marinated, thinly sliced beef. Bulgogi tacos? No, thanks. Bulgogi cheesesteak? Pass. Bulgogi burger? (Wait, that might be good if you swap out the ketchup and mustard for some spicy ssamjang. But I’m getting ahead of myself.)
I used to be a Korean-food traditionalist — ironic for an academic who teaches about third-culture kids, a term used for people who grow up in immigrant households and forge a unique “third culture” that draws on both their home and extrafamilial cultures. When it comes to food, however, some third-culture kids hold fast to tradition as if to preserve a part of their ethnic identities. My mom emigrated from South Korea in 1967, bringing a set of flavors, techniques and recipes that would fossilize from that moment. It was a challenge to find ingredients to cook traditional Korean food in metro Detroit then, but she pulled it off brilliantly, managing to pass on to my sister and me her “sohn mat” — Korean for taste of the hands, usually conferred from mother to child.
When I traveled to Korea with my mom almost 50 years after she emigrated, we were both disappointed to find that much of the food had, in our minds, become Americanized — it was milder and lighter than what we thought Korean food should be. When we inquired about where to find the more pungent, traditional dishes we craved, locals laughed at us. “You’re so old-fashioned!” they said. “No one in Korea eats that way anymore.”
That was an overstatement, to be sure, but it made us realize something: Our palates were stuck in 1967 Seoul, whereas the cuisine in Korea had naturally evolved. Bulgogi, in fact, evolved tremendously from its origins as a skewered meat during the Goguryeo era (37 B.C. to 668 A.D.). The literal translation of “bulgogi,” “fire meat,” seems like a misnomer now, as these days bulgogi is often cooked in a pan and is sometimes even simmered in a broth (ideal for drizzling over rice).
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Recognizing gastronomical evolution as more than a theoretical concept helped me become more open to contemporary Korean cuisine, both in Korea and in the diaspora, letting me reframe my identity as a biracial Korean American without requiring that I remain a staunch food traditionalist. I may never come around to putting American cheese in my kimbap (as many Koreans now do), but I no longer equate traditional with authentic. The bulgogi meatballs below are a perfect example of third-culture cooking, which describes so much of the best American cooking today. They evolved from the traditional recipe I used to cook with my mom to quick and fun meatballs I developed with my own kids.
Like all traditional bulgogi, it starts with the classic Korean barbecue marinade ingredients: soy sauce, sugar and garlic. Mirin (sweet rice wine) is often added to help tenderize the meat, though grated onion or Asian pear also does the trick. That said, one of the benefits of using ground beef instead of thinly sliced steak is that it doesn’t require a tenderizer or marinating time. You just mix the ingredients together, roll into balls and pop them under the broiler. The resulting meatballs can be served many ways: as passed hors d’oeuvres; for dinner with rice or noodles and sautéed greens or sliced cucumbers; or our favorite way, with ssambap — Korean lettuce wraps with rice. Rewarmed leftovers (if only!) on top of a little scoop of rice make for a terrific thermos lunch the next day.
Traditional or not, any way you serve these meatballs, their flavors are true bulgogi.
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