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Photo: Netflix.
Lee Chae-min as the Joseon-era tyrant foodie king in Bon Appetit, Your Majesty.

If the novel Crying in H Mart didn’t get you hungering for Korean food, an unusual new series probably will.

Hanh Nguyen, executive editor at Salon, starts a review with a line from a 14th century palace cook.

” ‘How could a woman know how to prepare a royal meal?’ asks a palace cook in the Netflix series Bon Appetit, Your Majesty.

“Set five hundred years ago during Korea’s Joseon era, the hit period k-drama reveals how courtiers back then only deemed men skilled enough to craft meals worthy of royal consumption. The woman in question, Chef Yeon Ji-yeong (Im Yoon-ah), not only delivers on those high standards but exceeds them, wowing the King (Lee Chae-min) with dishes, ingredients and techniques that haven’t been seen before – literally. It turns out that Chef Yeon is a time-traveling French cuisine chef from the future.

Bon Appetit, Your Majesty delights in trotting out Yeon’s modern, European know-how, ranging from whipping up vibrant-hued macarons to maintaining meat’s juiciness through sous vide cooking. However, the limited series similarly introduces viewers – accustomed to kimbap, ramyeon or bulgogi – to unfamiliar historical dishes: Korean palace cuisine.

“Junwon Park, who’s training to become a Korean craftsman-level cook, [says] ‘I think it’s a culture. And the reason I say that is because, just like in the Bon Appetit, Your Majesty show, they used food, not just to eat, but often as a ritualistic event. They were trying to send a message.’

“Throughout the series, the palace tasks Chef Yeon with crafting dishes to convey various intangible themes – often with her own life or the country’s future on the line. When instructed to cook a meal ‘fit for a king,’ Yeon turns to venison because deer had symbolized kings, and the tongue is seen as a rare delicacy only he has the privilege to enjoy. Therefore, the thought that goes into the care and feeding of monarchs reaches beyond mere culinary execution but also encompasses ingenuity, knowledge and a sense of diplomacy (not to mention flattery).

“ ‘That is just like how it happened in the actual Korean palace,’ Park confirmed. ‘One king, King Yeongjo, actually made a dish called tangpyeong-chae. He made this dish as a cold salad that mixes ingredients of different colors, each color representing a political faction that the palace was divided into. So by serving this dish and announcing the policy of having a quota that his palace is going to hire from all the factions, he was announcing that he wants the palace to be run like that salad – that people from different factions are coming together to create one flavor. So it was not just a dish.’

“Despite her expertise in French cuisine, Chef Yeon also demonstrates a deep understanding of Korean royal cookery and wields her modern knowledge to innovate while still maintaining the integrity of the royal dish. To embody the idea of filial piety to appeal to the Grand Queen Dowager, Yeon creates doenjang-guk, a traditional soybean paste stew, but adds two special ingredients: spinach and clams. She reveals that the spinach – an ingredient not regularly used in cooking during that time period – is full of iron and therefore can help Her Highness, who has been feeling weaker lately.

” ‘Food and medicine share the same roots,’ she says, citing the yaksikdongwon philosophy. …

“The clams, however, are the stew’s secret weapon. Knowing the Queen Dowager has long sought a doenjang-guk that tastes like her late mother’s, Yeon realizes that clams would add that mystery umami that only people who were raised near the Seomjin River or Nakdong River would have accessed. Once the Queen Dowager tastes the soup, she’s transported back to childhood and tearfully declares, ‘The soup contains family. She has given me my family through this dish.’

“Later in the series, while prepping the Grand Queen Dowager’s 70th birthday banquet, Chef Yeon must deal with a major menu-planning curveball: the birthday girl has been advised to cut out meat from her diet. Yeon certainly doesn’t want to cook dishes that would threaten the Queen Dowager’s health, especially for an occasion honoring her longevity. But dishes comprising the Korean royal banquet, such as gujeolpan, often include meat. The name gujeolpan refers to nine ingredients on a plate, with eight colorful vegetables or proteins sliced thinly and arrayed around the edge of plate, much like a mouth-watering sundial. Small crepes sit in the dish’s center and provide a wrapper for the ingredients.

” ‘One of the most grand dishes in Korean Palace cuisine is actually what she prepares for the Grand Queen Dowager, which is gujeolpan,’ said Park. ‘Today it’s often used for weddings . . . it’s to show that “I am putting in so much effort” that I’m preparing each ingredient separately, laying it out separately in a beautiful presentation, and then we are putting it together to create one ssam, just like a bossam, or the way that we eat KBBQ in lettuce today. So it has a ritualistic meaning.

“ ‘But when [Chef Yeon] prepares it, she prepares a special version of the dish that uses something like Impossible meat, so like a soy-based meat, rather than a regular meat,’ he added. The faux meat impresses the courtiers, who note the effort required for the dish.

“ ‘Seeing all of you enjoy it so much, I couldn’t ask for more,’ says Yeon, before addressing the Grand Queen Dowager, ‘May you always be safe in good health.’ ”

More at Salon, here.

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It always seems so limiting to put anything in a category. Some WordPress bloggers are good at categorizing their posts, and I’m sure that helps many readers, but my posts are never about one thing only.

Netflix makes movie recommendations based on categories that pigeonhole movies we’ve rated highly. But the approach seems clunky. Just because we have liked a lot of foreign films (Wadjda, Son of Rambow, Princess Mononoke), that doesn’t mean we like all foreign films. Maybe we like the ones we’ve seen for some other reason than being foreign. Maybe they are less glitzy, more honest, or more entertaining.

He are some funny categories Netflix recommended for my husband and me: “emotional, independent films based on books,” “critically acclaimed foreign movies,” “mind bending movies,” “anime,” “musicals,” “social & cultural documentaries,” “critically acclaimed emotional movies,” and “horror movies.” Horror!? Where did they get that?

At the late, lamented Kate’s Mystery Books in Cambridge, you could get pretty sound advice on books from Kate herself. She would ask you to name some mysteries you liked, and you might say you had read all of Tony Hillerman and Arthur Upfield. Then she would say, “Different cultures.”

Well, ye-es. But what kept me coming back to those authors were detectives who were likable and endings that were positive in some way. no matter how small. Kate did give me some authors I loved, like Eliot Pattison (mysteries about Tibet and, more recently, several about 18th century American Indians), but other books about different cultures might be too noir for me or too fluffhead, like mysteries with animal detectives.

I suppose categories help a bit. I just think they are clunky. Where would I file this post, now? Movies? Books? Retail? Misconceptions? Colin Cotterill, Dr. Siri, Laos?

Colin Cotterill writes a series that is both funny and deadly serious about a 70+ coroner in Laos, Dr. Siri, a likable antihero with an offbeat bunch of equally likable cronies.

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We watched a couple unusual documentaries last night and last weekend. Often by the time films are available on Netflix, all I remember about the review is that someone highly recommended them. I know only that we will get a big surprise.

“Marwencol” and “Waste Land” were amazing surprises. They turned out to have something in common, too — the idea that art can lift people from despair, help them see things in a way that opens up their world. What was different between the movies was that for the troubled guy who created art in “Marwencol,” showing his work in a NYC gallery is quite beside the point of his healing process and probably the last thing he needs.

The movie is beautifully executed, but one has the sense that the young filmmakers who think the protagonist will benefit from the big-time art world don’t understand psychology very well.

The protagonist of “Waste Land,” successful Brazilian artist Vik Muniz, although equally idealistic, understands his subjects better, having experienced a life similar to theirs in his impoverished childhood. He decides to combine an art project with helping “garbage pickers” in the world’s biggest landfill, in Rio. Getting to know a few of the workers really well, he develops tremendous admiration for them and their deep dignity. He pays a few to work with him on giant portraits on themselves, portraits that play on the themes of some famous paintings. They use recyclables to complete the images, which are then photographed and shown in galleries and at auction. The proceeds come back to the people and help them both individually and collectively.

But the biggest transformation is not monetary but rather what Vik anticipated based on his own life experience — that by seeing things in a new way, they would get new ideas about themselves and their possibilities.

 

 

 

 

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