Kimchi Fried Rice with Shrimp and Whatnot

Hailing, as I do, from the nether regions of the African continent, the arcana of Korean cuisine have never really been my bag. As a consequence of later life travels in the Koreatowns of Trumpistan I have learned that the Han-In diaspora makes a good fist of chicken wings and their indoor barbecue is an innovation that I fully endorse. While I have had occasion to taste it on the restaurant circuit, expanding my use of buried, fermented vegetable matter has hitherto not been high on my kitchen experiments list.

A Dutchman of this parish, with whom I compare occasional notes about cookery and home economics, has consistently extoled the virtues of Kimchi (a fermented cabbage matter, stewed in the hot sauce paste of the Korean people, and buried in their yards). Kimchi is, so the Hollander claimed, a cheap, versatile and healthy vegetarian snack one can store in the refrigerator for months without fear of tummy knack. What’s more, he has been known to say, it makes an excellent embellishment to fried rice, and as an ingredient to envelope leftovers in a veneer of culinary coherence and competence. Aha! I thought, and then thought no more of the matter.

As happenstance conspires, some enterprising Baltimorean Koreans have set up shop at the end of my street flogging a range of their foods under the guise of a convenience store. Wooed by their fine display of craft beers and reasonably priced Grana Padana I have taken to perusing the teeming ranks of the Asian aisle and have slowly acquired a vast range of tasty monosodium infused condiments.

Some time ago, clutching some DOP Grana and idling in the checkout line next to the cunningly arrayed display of pre-packed convenience foods, I happened to pick up some kimchi. Peering through the container, I saw the cabbage fermenting in vermillion splendor. I felt rather pleased at my impending adventure.

Thereafter, the sodden cabbage loitered in the back of the fridge looking like a collapsed red dragon waiting, presumably, to be unleashed. Wait it did, and the Dutchman was not incorrect in his contention that kimchi is predisposed to this condition.

And so, it came to pass that I was marooned at home, alone, with the impositions of a Democratic Primary debate and a sleeping one year old, and the indignity of needing to feed myself.

Having perused the fridge and countertop I assembled the following ingredients:

Half a large tomato – diced.

One yellow pepper – thinly sliced (some parts compromised by the passage of time were discarded).

Four-ish scallions – thinly slice the white bits, elegantly cut the green bits on an angle for artistic flair.

Two cloves of garlic – thinly sliced (Goodfellas stylez).

A third of a bag of baby spinach left over from other adventures.

About a third of a pound of Key West pink shrimp – take off the shells, I’m not bothered with the veins these days.

ONE (ish) CUP OF KIMCHI in all of its glorious juices. Chop it up if the bits are large.

One egg.

To add to this mix of culinary hocus pocus I would add:

One tablespoon of rice vinegar.

Two tablespoons of low sodium soy sauce.

Half a tablespoon of Calabrian chili paste.

Lashings of frozen peas.

Surveying the assembled throng, I felt quietly confident about the near future.

THE GARNISH FLAIR MAKES YOU LOOK BADASS

First up, make some rice. This house almost exclusively uses the brown family these days, in this instance half a cup of long grain brown rice in one and a bit cups of water with a generous pinch of salt. Bring to the boil, cover and drop to a simmer for 45min.

At this point, kick back, have a beer, and summon your powers for a frenetic endgame. Wait for the ten minute countdown to commence on the rice timer.

Generously dose a pan with olive oil. Place it on the stove at a medium high heat. Drop in the Calabrian chilis and you should hear a nice pop and swizzle when they hit the heat. Toss in the shrimp and season them with your finest salt. Cook for 2.5min and turn the shrimp (it’s a good sign if they stick to the pan a little bit), salt them again. Cook for another 2.5min. Remove the shrimp from the pan with cooking tongs; keep the oil and whatever shrimp and chili detritus remains. Keep the heat nice and high.

Lob in the white scallions, garlic, tomato and peppers. Fry this up nicely, keeping an eagle eye on the garlic so that it doesn’t burn (take off the heat if it starts to turn, pivot back when things are under control). Keep the contents of the pan moving.

With about a minute left on the rice timer, release the kimchi hounds and add the vinegar and soy sauce. You should now have a glorious popping humdrum of vegetables heaving in the pan. Stir to make sure nothing is sticking and scrape up any bits of shrimp that may still be clinging to the bottom of the pan.

Now transfer the rice to the pan (hopefully there is no liquid coming with the rice). Stir it altogether so that all the parts commune with one another. Lower the heat a little bit if things are looking dicey. Throw back in the shrimp and mix it all up again. Cook for a minute or so.

Excavate a hole in the middle of the rice concoction and drop in the egg. Compromise the integrity of the yolk, and let it cook into a scramble. Mix everything up, and then add the frozen peas and spinach. Mix again and cook just long enough for the peas to heat through and the spinach to wilt.

Remove from the heat. Serve and embellish with the green scallion bits.

I was rather pleased with the result!

On a side note: I’ve made this kimchi fried rice business one other time and consulted a recipe that called for the addition of a nob of butter with the kimchi. This does add some richness (much like butter dresses pasta) and you may want to try that here too. But no mind; I didn’t.