Pyeongyang Cold Noodles
Our host and friend is bouncing with excitement. In ten minutes, she will be eating cold noodles at one of Seoul’s top naengmyeon (cold noodles) eateries. She is nervous though that we will be bewildered by this dish and tries to temper our expectations: “The broth is tasteless, like water, but it is very refreshing. I love naengmyeon so much!” We enter the restaurant infected by her joy, though still none the wiser as to why a seemingly flavourless broth should inspire such passion.
Like many places in Korea, Pildong Myeonok has a very limited menu. Not much deliberation is required. You order your bowl of naengmyeon and maybe, if you fancy, a side dish of suyok (boiled pork) or mandu (dumplings). Everything, including a radish kimchi banchan, lands on your table with remarkable efficiency and speed. Served in a large metal bowl that is cold to the touch, you observe a mound of thin buckwheat and potato starch noodles in a generous serving of broth that looks (as we had been forewarned) much like water. There is not a slick of oil on its surface, not a hint of cloudiness to suggest long hours of simmering with meat and aromatic vegetables. It looks plain. Sliced spring onions, sesame seeds, and a sprinkling of fine chili powder provide a touch of colour. A few grey slices of pork loin and a boiled egg round off the bowl. The noodles, once you dive in and start eating, are a textural wonder—perfectly al dente and with a springy bite that delights your mouth. They feel joyously alive. You lift the bowl to your lips and drink the broth. It is not tasteless, but you struggle to identify what you are tasting. Salt is dominant, but there are also hints of vegetal sweetness and a very faint shadow of savoury meatiness. It tastes like a broth that has made a scarcity of ingredients into a refined virtue. Each sip slips a sesame seed or a sliver of green onion into your mouth and a burst of flavour lifts the blandness of the broth. You find yourself attending to these moments; it is akin to watching a lone and unexpected firework bloom in a dark night sky.
We eat mostly in silence. Our friend is in a rapture. We are quietly enjoying the noodles but also puzzling over this enigmatic dish. Once she has downed her bowl, she tells us that South Koreans love cold noodles these days because it is considered a light meal and, consequently, healthy. Compared to the richness of grilled beef or fried chicken, its simplicity is certainly pleasing. A deeper broth derived from a larger and fattier cut of meat would seem extravagant, even perhaps crass. Naengmyeon teaches us that what we truly crave is lightness, not richness. It is a dish for ascetics.
Today, in affluent South Korea, naengmyeon lovers are ascetics by choice. In the past, naengmyeon was most likely a kind of cucina povera, its restrained flavours a quality enforced by scarcity. Its current popularity is perhaps a sign of a hankering for a more humble and less complicated past, or expressive of a need to reset jaded taste buds. Indeed, there is something soul cleansing to naengmyeon. That barely flavoured chilled broth is reminiscent of pure, cold spring water. We drink it and connect to something elemental within us. Quenched, we then walk away restored.
If you end up falling in love with naengmyeon, make sure to also visit Woo Lae Oak.
