Korean BBQ, Sushi and Doenjang Jjigae using the Solera Method

Korean barbeque runs in my veins, if you could possibly strap an IV to smokey, meaty goodness. The great thing about Koreatown is the endless variety of DIY tabletop barbeque, ranging from the uber high-end to the super ghetto. We have the incredible luxury here in the United States to be able to eat beef and pork in near limitless quantity, through the All-You-Can-Eat barbeque that was popularized in Los Angeles in the mid-2000's and remains a staple across town, though the concept hasn't seem to have ventured very far west of Crenshaw.

Last night a few buddies of mine decided we'd venture out to a new Korean BBQ concept that not only does AYCE (all you can eat) meat, but also SUSHI for just $25 a head. I'd had my fair share of terrible-quality AYCE sushi at places like Midori during my college days for the price of $25, but this was a new one. This new joint was as far west as I'd ever had Korean barbeque, on a blank stretch of Washington Blvd that seems better fit for Jamaican restaurants and woebegone taquerias. The industrial space seems scratched out of an old building on the south side of Washington, a few clicks east of Crenshaw. It all seems familiar inside - the gleaming stainless steel hoods, the makeshift tables and chairs that seem like they were procured among the myriad restaurant supply stores along Washington Blvd. The center-table grills are also pretty-standard issue, except for the wonderful little hole in the middle that craddles a clay pot made for the best Korean stew ever - doenjang jjigae. More on that in a bit.

First off, the barbeque. It's definitely a cut above, especially the long strips of short rib (kalbi) whose quality varies between something a bit less than "choice" grade to perhaps skipping the surface of "prime" grade. The marbled fat sometimes mesmerizes, resulting in tender, fatty meat that grills nicely. We're lucky to have a grillarin in the vein of my friend Frank, whose expertise in table-top grilling could earn him a nomination for a James Beard. He makes quick work of even the largest piece of meat, and likes to think that thick, tubular cow's intestines (dae chang), lightly marinated in a sweet transparent sauce, are his specialty. The offal, which looks like a malleable PVC pipe and takes on a tender brown color, tastes a bit like palatable rubber, with the corresponding texture. It's not my favorite, especially with my tender jaws (a credit to my decades-long battle with night-time teeth grinding), but it's the aficionado's choice for K-BBQ. The tongue and brisket, which are sliced paper thin like potato chips, are as good as you'd like, though not standout in the purview of K-BBQ.

And then comes the platters of fresh sashimi, served Korean-style above a bed of stringy white daikon radish. The fish is A-OK, not remarkable but also not likely to give you stomach problems. I wouldn't expect any higher for a place that offers it to you to your heart's content. Remember, food cost likely dictates a middling quality. As long as your expectations are in the right place, you'll be relatively satisfied, especially after the third platter of said sashimi. You can request sushi too, but the rice is an abomination (and stomach-filler).

Finally, the jjigae. The soy-bean stew is as Korean as apple pie, burgers, and chicken pot pie are American. Yet, the amalgam of such simple ingredients, namely lightly fermented soybean paste, diced vegetables, jalapeno chiles (in the American versions), makes the dish a bit like the Korean version of macaroni and cheese - subject to a million interpretations that are ultimately all satisfying when well made because it beckons one to remember childhood meals. And what they do here is probably not an innovation. It's just the first time that I've experienced it first hand, and happened to love the result.

They carry around this large metal bowl with the ready-made soup and fill your clay pot situated in the middle of the grill. They're sure to fill it when the jjigae is half-way full, so that the flavors of the previous batch melds with the fresh soup broth. I liken it to the solera method, what sherry (as in the wine) producers do, adding fresh batches to a barrel that could be years, perhaps decades old. What happens in this small clay bowl is magical - the older, thickened broth gets refreshed, and the resultant soup is wonderfully delicious, deep with notes of the older, developed broth and swept up with the lighter, newly added broth. It's like every bite of the molten liquid (and the stuff WILL burn your tongue so consume carefully) is different in a good way, displaying the distinct length of flavors from such a straightforward combination of ingredients.

Service here was pretty great for an AYCE joint. But that might be a combination of Frank's charm and our general table's likeability. At least that's what I try to tell myself.

Ssang Kogi Nara
3416 W Washington Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90018

Note: Ssang (or better sseng) means fresh, which means the meat is never frozen here. Kogi (which is pronounced with the soft "g" like "great" or "good") Nara means "land of" so the meaning of this place means "Land of Fresh, Never-frozen Meat"