The first visit to Tony’s K-Food feels kind of like discovering Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at Hogsmead Station. You just have to have faith and steer yourself firmly between the freezer-case aisles, stacked with frozen pork and vegetable-stuffed mandu dumplings, and the rows of chilled Korean pickles at East East Oriental Grocery in Chesterfield.
The eatery has, shall we say, one of the metro region’s less imposing entrances. Once inside, it ain’t all that impressive, either—just a little room with a few small tables. A square opening looks into the kitchen. A TV plays Korean music videos. And you’ll have to retrace your steps because you have to order at the front counter of the grocery store. There’s a menu there, with photos to assist you.
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You might remember a similar under-the-radar Korean eatery at the same market a few years ago. The space, connected to the market through a doorway, was just too expensive for the grocery to continue renting, and it closed.
Then, this spring, Tony’s K-Food opened in a diminutive space tucked in the store itself. The chef was born in Korea but reared in Springfield, Missouri. He worked his way through the kitchens of several Chinese restaurants and eventually opened a remarkably good, authentic Korean place in Springfield. Then he saw an opportunity inside his relative’s Chesterfield grocery store. In just a couple of months since opening, word of mouth has spread: Korean food without the frills? This is the place to go.
There are no tabletop grills here, no expansive spread of panchan sides you’ll find in abundance at other Korean restaurants. K-Food is one of those places which we’re seeing more often: informal, small dining spaces with limited menus, similar to Mi Tierra Tienda y Taqueria in East St. Louis and Baba’s in Overland, ethnic groceries with a few tables set aside for dining. They don’t take reservations, and the wine list is usually pretty slender. Still, they offer a dining experience unlike any other.
Sometimes—most times—diners like us eat without giving much thought to the history of what’s on our plate or in the bowl. Other times, like when digging into a bowl of jiampong, it’s like each mouthful has the flavor of the past in it.
Jiampong is a classic, a spicy soup with noodles, chopped onions, zucchini, and mushrooms. The dish comes from the Fujian region of China. Just as here in the U.S., Fujian Chinese immigrated to Korea and opened restaurants there. The soup was familiar to Japanese soldiers who occupied Korea in the early 20th century and saw it in Chinese-Korean restaurants, reminding them of champon, a Japanese noodle dish. Koreans eventually nativized the word and came up with jiampong.
What comes from the kitchen at K-Food is a bright carmine broth, heavy with garlic and chili peppers and gochugaru, a dry seasoning that adds its own distinctive chili kick. Chunks of tofu are added, along with green lip mussels, whole shrimp, and a scatter of tiny, delicate enoki mushroom. The broth tastes homemade. Once it cools, you can detect dried fish and kelp, and beyond the spice is a subtle sophistication. It’s like eating a bowl of the political and social story of the last century in China, Japan, and Korea.
Such Korean standards as beef and pork bulgogi are on the menu as well. The marinated meat is stir-fried and fragrant with garlic and soy sauce, perfect with a side of rice. The emphasis at Tony’s K-Food, however, is clearly on the soups, or jigae.
Doenjiang is homestyle Korean soup fare. Fermented soybean paste, the Korean version of Japanese miso, lends a pleasant earthy taste. Chopped vegetables swim in the soup, which is heavy with garlic. What’s less obvious is that the broth tastes, as it should, as if the water used as a base was the same used to wash the rice. This is saldemul, and it adds body to the broth, giving it a richer, more substantial taste.
Soondobu jigae is another typical Korean soup, probably the most familiar to American palates. Chopped green onions and other vegetables go into a broth that tastes like liquid kimchi, accompanied by a silky, gelatinous tofu that’s soft enough to be squeezed from a tube in thick blobs. There’s a faint waft of sesame seed oil; it’s a beautiful stew, and this place’s rendition is excellent.
A couple of appetizers are noteworthy. The first is deep-fried calamari, which displays the chef’s willingness to stretch a bit from typical Korean fare. The second is his unusual approach to dukbokki. Think of them as sort of the potatoes of Korea—they’re glutinous rice cakes, pounded to create an elastic feel and used as a starch in dozens of recipes. Usually, they figure in stews. Tony puts a different spin on it, pan-frying them until they’re crispy on the outside and gooey at the center.
Taking a break from his work, the chef shares some photos of his non-Korean culinary work: elaborate pastries, intricate presentations of seafood… “I have some pasta dishes I want to serve here,” he adds. It turns out he’s had formal training, and he’s eager to eventually add some of these dishes to K-Foods. For now, though, it’s all Korean cuisine.
Give it a try. Once you’ve found the hidden entrance, you’re in for a treat.
