I’m not a comic book reader, but I do wonder what captions are used to describe eating scenes… assuming comic books even depict meals. I’m sure there would be noises like SLURP mentioned, but would the artist try to portray the flavour elements with descriptions like POW or BAM?

What attracts me to Korean food is that POW of flavour that hits the taste buds and causes it to beg for more. A slurp of gamjatang or pork bone soup hits the tongue with saltiness giving away to spiciness and finishing off with a whole concoction of umami and garlic. That POW is what I was hoping for when I entered Mapo Gamjatang but was greeted with a KNOCK instead – as in, knock knock, where are you flavour?

I should have clued in when a dipping sauce was brought over with instructions that it was for the pork bones. Unfortunately, since it was given at the beginning of the meal with all the banchan, the dipping sauce was set aside and forgotten.

Why would we need a condiment for gamjatang? The soup is supposed to be powerful on its own. Yet, what I experienced was like a chunkier elevated version of the soup packages you get with ramen. Yes, there’s flavour, but it’s fairly one dimensional – there’s the initial burst but no layers afterwards.

Perhaps it’s because all the flavours were concentrated in the spices topping the pork bones – it provided a snap of tastiness when it hit the tongue but soon was relegated onto the plate or sunk to the bottom of the bowl. Good… if you get to the last drop.

Offering noodles in lieu of rice on their menu is a smart choice with three choices – ramen, Korean noodles, and hand pulled. We opted for the gamjatang kalguksu ($17.99) or the Korean noodles, which was the middle thickness between the other pastas. They were good, silky with a slight chew, but its density definitely needed a more flavourful broth to match.

I suspect the noodles were prepared and portioned into bowls ahead of time, then soup was added into the bowl when we ordered. The room temperature noodle quickly cooled down the broth so by the time the dish arrived, the soup was already lukewarm. The smart thing to do would be to undercook the noodles to allow chefs to re-boil it for a minute before serving. Better yet, invest in a larger stone bowl and serve the gamjatang kalguksu in a heated stone bowl so that it’s bubbling and piping hot like the rice version.  

Even the meat itself wasn’t the greatest. The neck bone was cut in a fashion that made it impossible to break apart to access the meat and gelatinous cartilage that’s wedged between the bones. Also, it just wasn’t tender enough. The only saving grace was the two pieces were fairly large and meaty.

So, the gamjatang didn’t create a POW, surely the bulgogi ($18.99) that’s described as being served on a sizzling plate surely will? Alas, no, it was also a KNOCK. Firstly, the beef was dispersed amongst so many vegetables – carrots, mushrooms, huge pieces of green onion, and bean sprouts – diluting the garlicky sweet soy flavours of the bulgogi. Secondly, the “sizzling” plate was more décor than function as the plate didn’t make a peep of noise. No sizzle, no aroma, no heat.

To be fair, the bulgogi was decent and the mushroom and vegetables does help break down the monotony of an otherwise meaty meal. Mapo Gamjatang should just set better expectations by properly describing it on their menu and drop the sizzling plate if it wasn’t going to be heated and actually sizzling at the table.

It’s a shame because I can see beginning of a great meal. I enjoyed Mapo Gamjantang’s bright clean décor and the friendly attentive service. Their food just needs more heat (both in terms of temperature and spice) and flavour to bring it from a KNOCK to a POW.

Aside from soup-based noodles, a comforting dish I crave in the winter is pork bone soup. There’s almost a primal sense of survival in picking up the massive hunk of bone in your hands and trying to get to as many of the meaty bits as possible, dissecting and sucking until it’s picked clean. Kam ja tang is served in most Korean restaurants, but Owl of Minerva introduced the dish to me and it’s where I return for a fix.

As difficult as it is to transport, Owl does delivery and takeout - the kam ja tang ($10.99) is vacuum sealed so that no drop of the fragrant soup is lost. Without the hot stone bowl, it’s warm on arrival, so we always re-heat it in a pot before tucking in. It needs to be enjoyed in its full glory: blistering hot, burning the fingers, and stinging the tongue. No pain, no delicious gain.

While waiting for the pork bone to re-heat, snack on an order of gu man du ($10.99). The deep-fried dumplings still surprisingly crispy and hot despite also being entombed in plastic. Truthfully, I’d much rather Owl switch to a piece of tin foil to wrap the beef dumpling instead of using so much plastic. We can all benefit from less waste and if someone wanted to re-heat the dumplings in the toaster oven, the tin foil will even save the customer a preparation step.

Back to the pork bone. Once it’s bubbling hot and placed into a bowl, here’s how I like to enjoy my kam ja tang: I help cool it slightly by placing a couple of pieces of kimchi into the bowl. I prefer the fermented cabbage hot and enjoy that extra bit of umami spice that the sauce adds to the broth. Then, it’s a hands-on marathon – first picking off the easy bits of meat with chopsticks, before switching to the primal eating ritual described earlier.

In between it all, I place bit-sized pieces of steam rice on a spoon before adding some broth to the utensil and getting a delicious mouthful of the salty garlicky soup. Some like to add all the rice into the broth and mix it with the meat, creating a Korean congee. I like mine separated, bite by bite. To each their own.

Once the pork bone is done, it’s down to the cabbage with rice. And if I’m feeling particularly ravenous, the hunks of soft potatoes will round out the meal. A meal from Owl of Minerva leaves you stuffed and almost uncomfortably full. It’s my quintessential meal during the winter, where a girl needs to eat to survive.