The Catskill Chronicle

At the lunch break of a workshop my sister, Janet, was recently facilitating in the city, a couple of women stood nearby, helping themselves to the offerings on the buffet table. One of them mentioned that she’d contributed the platter of  multi-colored sliced tomatoes, a handful of torn basil leaves scattered on top, which she’d bought at a farmer’s market in Callicoon in upstate New York. “My sister and I have a house in Callicoon,” Janet said. “Oh, there’s a fantastic Korean restaurant not far from there,” the other woman said, adding, “it’s in Swan Lake at this funky motel called the Golden Swan.”

When Janet told me about the Golden Swan, I immediately “Googled” it. They had no website, but I clicked on Yelp and found seven rave reviews, all extolling the grilled eel, apparently the only dish served besides trout. One contributor did mention that the place was pricy, yet absolutely worth it, considering the amount and variety of banchan (side dishes) that accompany the meal, as well as rice, soup, and lettuce leaves for making wraps.

We found the motel, at 4797 route 55, with little difficulty. The facade was nondescript-looking and not terribly inviting, and the motel rooms behind the restaurant looked deserted. Inside, we were greeted by a pleasant Korean woman, the lone chef, who seated us and brought out a pitcher of hot tea. The taste reminded me of Chinese herbal remedies, reminiscent of bark and other strange ingredients; not undrinkable, but one cup was enough. We were the only customers, but it was an odd time of day, around 2:30 p.m.

In lieu of a menu we were told there was eel and trout. “We’ll have the eel and the trout, then,” I said. “It will be about 20 minutes. You can walk around the pond outside. Very pretty,” the chef instructed in slightly halting English. We nodded, but first I had to take, with her permission, a bunch of photos of the interior, which was an odd hodgepodge. Nothing much matched anything else. The artwork was strange and surprising (for want of a better description) and there were quite a few stuffed animal heads protruding from the walls, as well as an entire small creature or two, perhaps beaver or possum, I couldn’t tell. A taxidermist somewhere had been kept busy.

We walked a few hundred feet from the motel and saw a lone black man fishing the pond and, interestingly, quite a few Orthodox Jews in their long garments pushing carriages and trailed by two or three young kids. They were strolling down the sidewalks and through a small park that was across the way from the restaurant. A young boy was also casting his reel by the pond and I asked him what fish were in those waters. After responding hesitantly, he ran off to join his dad, the man we’d passed and nodded to on our way to the park. Blacks, religious Jews and Koreans: an odd little town indeed.

When we returned to the restaurant, we found that our banchan had been laid out. There were eight in total: traditional spicy Savoy cabbage kimchee; lightly pickled vegetables such as mung bean sprouts; jalapeno rings; dandelion greens; parsley; chayote (squash); radish; and regular green cabbage. The chopsticks were unusual in that they were flat metal sticks engraved with a simple design. Also on the table was a basket filled with tender lettuce leaves and also slightly bitter dandelion leaves and stems. As we nibbled our delicious banchan, we were brought what the chef’s husband called miso soup, though it was unlike any I’ve ever had, and not in good way. It was an uninteresting brown broth with some cabbage, onions, and perhaps a potato chunk or two. We could not taste a hint of miso. Bowls of white rice tinted light purple were brought over, and I saw that the rice was studded with tiny black Japanese adzuki beans, which explained the color.

“I’d love a beer right about now,” I said to Janet. “Ask if they have any.” she said. Coors in a can was the only choice. Normally, due to the Coors’ past political affiliations, I would’ve had to boycott, but I reasoned that they had tried to make amends by giving generously to various agencies we supported, and I wanted the beer. Nothing goes better with Korean food.

Our two main courses arrived. One platter was piled high with the most delectable thick slices of glazed grilled eel. At one end was a healthy amount of   deeply flavorful fermented bean paste, a couple dozen raw garlic cloves, and a mess of raw sliced jalapeno rings. The whole crisp-skinned broiled trout came with the same strange accompaniments and a ramekin of thin, sweet and just slightly spicy chile dipping sauce. The trout was quite mild in flavor and was far overshadowed by the fantastic eel. We kept popping pieces into our mouth and moaning with delight. A few times we took a curly lettuce leaf and made a bundle by smearing it with miso, then adding a spoonful of rice, some crunchy banchan strands, a piece or two of eel and rolling it up as best we could. A messy and unwieldy affair, but worth it for the juxtaposition of tastes and textures.

We picked the platters clean of seafood, leaving a tangle of trout bones on one and just a smear of glaze on the other. The garlic and jalapenos went  untouched. While Janet went to the bathroom, I went up to the counter and spoke with the chef. I pointed to a sign written in Korean and listing prices. “What’s that?” I asked. Turns out there were a few other dishes to be had; a couple alarmingly expensive. She read the list to me: the eel was $33; the trout $28; pheasant $50; rabbit $40; squid $18 and frog’s legs $20.

Our lunch tab was $65 and I left a $12 tip. It struck me as outrageous, though I would’ve found it more than reasonable if it had been dinner-time. And it will be dinner-time in the near future, and we will most likely be sampling the frog’s legs and squid. “How long have you been here?” I asked after I’d settled up. “We own the motel for 28 years,” she replied, smiling at her husband.

Janet and I have been in Callicoon for 18 years and I have to say I feel gypped that we could have been eating phenomenal Korean food all this time. But now, happily, the secret is out.

Asian Pickled Vegetables

Serves 4

 

These subtlety pickled vegetables are a good accompaniment to fiery Asian dishes, such as those made in Korea, but are also used alongside the foods of Malaysia, and in Vietnam they are a component in the popular sandwich, Banh Mi. For contrast to the mild pickles, I make the cabbage spicy with the addition of Korean coarse red pepper flakes called gochu garu (available on line) or you can use any chili powder you favor.

 

6 ounces (about 2) Kirby cucumbers

6 ounces (about 3) carrots

6 ounces (6” long and 1 1/2” wide piece) daikon radish (or substitute regular large red radishes if you can’t find daikon)

Kosher salt

Rice vinegar

Sugar

 

Peel the vegetables and slice them on a mandolin or as thinly as possible with a sharp knife. Try to slice them on the diagonal to give length to them and so that they are not perfectly round circles. You should have approximately 1 cup of each vegetable. Drop them as you slice them into a fine mesh strainer or colander set over a bowl. Sprinkle the vegetables with 1 ½ teaspoons Kosher salt and toss to distribute the salt. Let sit for 15 – 20 minutes to release water. This will make the vegetables crunchy. Rinse the vegetables in the colander in cold water and then place them on paper towels and blot them dry. In a small bowl mix ½ cup rice vinegar with 2 teaspoons sugar. Mix until sugar is incorporated. Place the vegetables in a shallow bowl or platter and pour the vinegar mixture over them. Chill in the refrigerator, covered, for at least an hour. Drain and serve. Best eaten within a couple of days.

Spicy Cabbage Pickles

8 ounces white cabbage

Rice vinegar

Kosher salt

Sugar

Korean chili powder (gochu garu) or similar flaky chile powder

Core the cabbage and cut it into wedges, then into pieces approximately 1 – 1/2” in size. Place in a mesh sieve set over a bowl and sprinkle with 1 ½ teaspoons Kosher salt. Let sit 15 – 20 minutes. Meanwhile, in a small bowl mix ¼ cup rice vinegar, 1 ½ teaspoons sugar and ¼ teaspoon Korean chili powder. Mix to combine. Rinse the cabbage with cold water and blot dry with paper towel. Place cabbage in a shallow bowl and pour vinegar mixture over it. Toss to combine. Chill in the refrigerator, covered, for at least an hour. Best used within a day or two.