I had been invited to a Christmas family brunch at one of my classmate’s, and I remember being so impressed with the elaborate spread - rösti with a choice of smoked salmon or poached egg on top. Generous dollops of sour cream waited to adorn these layers of novel culinary marvels. A silver mini bowl brimming with glistening capers and the pièce de résistance – a heaping mountain of grated Gruyere cheese. This smorgasbord was considered casual weekend fare for this family. For me, it was an opulent culinary experience. It was the first time I was tasting cheese – real cheese – not a mystery powder from a packet of boxed mac and cheese or a rubbery slice of processed singles. The experience, rather the sensation, was something I liken to what a child would feel upon seeing all the gifts under the tree on Christmas morning. Only this time, feel-good dopamine was brought on by my taste buds indulging in that generous sprinkling of Gruyere. It was salty but sweet, creamy yet nutty… and simply delicious. I was seven years old. I would come to experience this new sensation of tasting dizzying joy again almost a decade later.
Menus in the Shin household were dominated by of our parents’ cultural backgrounds – reflecting Korean and Japanese staples. A bowl of white rice, a couple of vegetable banchans like kimchi or spinach gomae, with bulgogi or grilled mackerel and a cup of miso broth. Cheese, yogurt and milk were seldom in our fridge. Maybe a carton of cream, if guests were coming over for coffee. Occasionally my mother would attempt to use cheese by adding a slice of processed cheese on top of a burger patty or in a grilled cheese sandwich. Both insipid and distant from that eureka moment I had at the decadent brunch. By no means am I diminishing my mother’s ability in the kitchen. Quite the contrary. My mother is quite the talented home cook when it comes to Korean dishes. But, because traditional Korean cuisine does not include dairy, she just had no idea how to incorporate it into daily cooking. Even though we were living in Canada, dairy was a foreign category of ingredients to her, and her unfamiliarity meant it was largely omitted from childhood family meals.
The next chapter in my dairy journey unraveled during my adolescence. I had picked up a part time job at a boutique cheese/bakery/catering shop in the affluent neighbourhood of Rosedale in Toronto. The cheese selection was exquisite. They were well-stocked with local and exported artisanal cheeses. One of the perks was that we were required to sample and learn about all the cheeses and products in order to serve the discerning clientele.
At first, I was a bit apprehensive. Nothing looked familiar. And definitely, nothing smelled familiar. Initially, it was hard to embrace the pungency of blue cheese or the off-putting texture of some of the runny, soft cheeses. But I was in luck – our first tasting: Gruyere. I was flooded with memories of that rösti Gruyere brunch from childhood. That dizzying revelation in my taste buds that good cheese was really good. In that moment, spurred on by the delightful memory, all apprehensions melted away like a good raclette pull and the floodgates opened to a lifelong love affair with cheese.
As the sampling progressed, so did my excitement. Next up: Appenzeller, aged Cheddar, Gouda, Brie, then grew bolder: Parmesan, Stilton, Morbier, Roquefort and Époisses. For the following months, I drowned myself in cheese and nosed my way through most of the stock.
Although cheese was novel to me then, what I realize now, is that my growing appreciation of cheese was a natural shift within a subconscious familiarity. At the heart of many cheeses and the ingredients I grew up with (like kimchi, miso, anchovies and kombu), was the king of flavour – umami. As I’ve refined my gastronomic repertoire over the years, I don’t feel that I’ve moved away from my childhood staples or cultural origins. I’ve simply expanded my bandwidth for the familiar. Umami, whether in a slice of aged cheese or in a simple kombu broth, both elicit feelings of simultaneous comfort and euphoria.
As an homage to that Christmas brunch as a child, and my continued journey with dairy, I’m sharing this Rösti with Kimchi Salsa and Mountainoak Gouda. This dish brings together one of my favourite holiday childhood memories and a lifelong weaving of two cultural stories. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do, and make it a part of your holiday memories too.