Papa Jjamppong, the Charm of Precariousness

I don’t like jjamppong. And the seafood jjamppong that dominates the Korean variety, even less so. The way it hides a fishy taste behind spiciness and masks the spiciness behind fishiness has never sat right with me. It’s probably because of my temperament, which favors things that are clear and unambiguous.

But every so often there is something that, even while standing precariously, holds a strange balance. As if perched on the edge of a blade. When something looks like that, there’s simply no way not to admire it. You might think it’s a bit much to heap such flowery praise on a mere bowl of jjamppong, but there is one place I love exactly that much, and keep going back to. It’s Papa Jjamppong, somewhere in Yeongdeungpo. I won’t write down the exact location, for fear that the taste might decline if too many customers show up.

The virtues of the jjamppong here are these. It knocks the soul out of whoever eats it with its spicy broth, while subtly revealing the smoothness of the stock. It pushes the stimulation of seasoning to the very limit, then soothes it with the crispness of a single piece of cabbage. It doesn’t bother you needlessly with fake mussel shells, yet now and then it grants you the pleasure of chewing pork.

Of course, there are downsides too. The ingredients change a little every day, and the taste varies quite a bit as well. It is, in the truest sense, a precarious taste. But that’s exactly why there’s the joy of wondering what it will taste like today. In the end, the precariousness becomes its charm. That’s why I never get tired of it, no matter how often I go.

And to add one obvious thing: who you eat with cannot be left out either. Sharing the delicious food I enjoy together with the people I cherish, the people I love, is a joyful thing. It is probably one of the most primal joys a person can know. I’d like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to the precious people who have enjoyed those meals with me.