The Ghost and the Gochujang

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Hello, friends.

It all started with a desire to do something completely different—for me, anyway. And the ghost, of course, encouraged it.

“I love a noodle dish,” he said from his favorite spot near the stove. “Nothing’s quite like it. Cures every hangover.”

“Not that you need that,” he added, dry as a martini.

I smiled. “Well… there are different kinds of hangovers these days.”

So I dove into Budae Jjigae—Korean Army Stew (Appetites, p. 58). Equal parts culinary experiment, cultural mashup, and pantry scavenger hunt.

First task: sourcing ingredients.

Dried kelp? Easy, right? Ha. The recipe calls for a polite little 3x5 piece. What did I find? A poster-sized sheet, 18x12. It now lives—awkwardly folded like a linen map of Middle Earth—in my pantry.

Dried shiitakes? Got 'em.
Gochugaru and gochujang? Already in the fridge from a former bout with some Cheese Buldak.

Rice wine? Check. In a bottle big enough to serve a wedding.
Korean rice cakes? Found in the cooler at the Asian market. No, they aren’t crunchy and good with peanut butter. Think: a chewier version of gnocchi.

Dried anchovies? Absolutely not. I searched every grocery near me, including the Asian market. I could’ve ordered them from Etsy if I’d planned for this two weeks ago. But my culinary cravings rarely give that much notice. So I used fish sauce instead. Google said it was fine. Turns out, it was fine.

The broth—made with kelp, mushroom, and fish sauce—simmered until the kelp resembled a live version of itself. The strained liquid tasted of the sea, but delicious. From there, it became a build-your-own battlefield: Spam, hot dogs, ground pork, rice cakes, kimchi, scallions, white onion, garlic, and exactly three tablespoons of baked beans—each in its own pile, arranged in a large shallow pan.

Next: gochugaru, gochujang (both readily available at most grocery stores), and soy sauce. Bring it to a boil and cook for 10 minutes.

As it bubbled on the stove, I thought of the Parts Unknown episode in Seoul. To quote the ghost: “Thank god there was no karaoke.”

Add ramen—Shin brand, preferred, the ghost reminded me. None of that Top Ramen weakness. Shin Black noodles are different: more substantial and chewier. Simmer 2–3 minutes, just until the noodles are cooked.

The first bite was a revelation. An epiphany, even. Do not doubt the power of these noodles, my friends. Comforting, with an edge. The kind of meal that wraps itself around your bones and tells you you’re going to be okay.

“Not bad for your first army stew,” he quipped later while I loaded the dishwasher with ten mise en place bowls.

“Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, saluting him with a spoon.

The moral of the story? Sometimes a hot, spicy stew is less about the recipe—and more about the resurrection.

🍜 Recipe: Budae Jjigae via Serious Eats
(Anthony didn’t write this one, but he’d respect the choice. Or just get your own copy of Appetites, if you haven’t already. And if not, are we even friends? 😉😉)

🛒 Kitchen Notes
– If you purchase something through a link in this newsletter, I may earn a small commission. Thanks for helping keep the ghost fed.

Until next time—
Keep stirring, stay spicy, and don’t let a lack of anchovies stop you.

In reverence and rebellion,
Michelle Davis

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