Tag: Sangil’s Life

One of the most memorable potato dishes I’ve ever had occurred during a work trip to the countryside with my mother. After completing our food trade, the household’s owner generously treated us to lunch.

It was a bitterly cold winter day, December 22nd, when I was around 12 or 13 years old. The snow was so deep that it reached above my knees. While Hyesan city had some frozen and dried fish available in the market, such seafood was a rarity in the farming villages of the northern mountain areas. It was impractical for villagers to travel ten plus kilometers through the snow just to acquire them. My mother and I had brought frozen and dried pollack, along with candies and cookies typically prepared for the New Year.

In my childhood, North Korea celebrated New Year’s Day on January 1. As we were close to the New Year, our business that day turned out to be much more successful than we expected. On New Year’s morning, a table was set for adults, anticipating the spirits of ancestors to visit and dine while leaving the front door half-open. Excited kids eagerly awaited the opportunity to enjoy fish, candies, and cookies after the memorial service.

The hostess of the house offered 10 to 12 kilograms (1 mal) of potatoes per pollack. We ended up with approximately 80 kilograms of potatoes that day, and it was impossible to carry them all back home. The lady of the house had a backpack resembling a gunny sack, which held about 40 kilograms of potatoes, while I had an army backpack filled with approximately 20 kilograms of potatoes. The rest had to remain there until our next visit.

The highlight of the day was undoubtedly lunch. As my mother often said, ‘The most generous table is set at a thatched-roof house, not at a royal palace.’ Indeed, both my mother and I were treated to a lavish feast. People in rural areas are consistently warmer and more affectionate than their urban counterparts.

I can still vividly recall the taste of the potato ball ograng porridge (감자 동그랭이 오그랑 죽) they prepared for the winter solstice. These grape-sized potato balls were crafted from starch and ground potatoes. Potato starch was a precious commodity, with only 1 kilogram extracted from 10 kilograms of ground potatoes. The potato ball porridge, cooked with beans and unglutinous rice, was a true delicacy.

But that was not all. The hostess, insisting it was her treat, served potato makggari cakes (감자 막가리떡) and frozen potato noodles (언감자국수). Of these two cakes, one was filled with stir-fried pork and vegetables, which I enjoyed. However, I had a preference for the spicy version, made with strips of radish stir-fried and seasoned with garlic.

In South Korea, sweet potatoes are more prevalent than regular potatoes. Roasted sweet potatoes are even sold on the streets as a winter delicacy. The northern part of North Korea experiences winter a month earlier and spring a month later than South Korea. Consequently, a larger portion of North Korea’s agricultural land is devoted to potato cultivation, particularly in provinces like Ryanggang, Jagang, and Hambuk, which surrounded my hometown.

For instance, out of the 17 cities and counties in Ryanggang Province, most areas, except for a few like Kimhyongjik County and Kimjongsuk County, focus on cultivating corn and potatoes instead of rice. Unlike sweet potatoes, which are often discarded when frozen or rotten, potatoes hold their value.

Many potatoes are left unharvested before the snowfall in late September or early October, as every household must balance work on a collective farm with tending to their private plots. Some fields receive snow with potatoes still hidden beneath dark, dried potato stems, while others face snowfalls with tons of potatoes piled up. The golden autumn season is a time of hard work.

When the first snow melts after a few days, everyone, except for infants and toddlers, is mobilized to harvest the potatoes, often assisted by oxcarts and ox sleighs. Despite diligent efforts, about 30% of the total yield is bound to freeze. North Korean potatoes are exceptionally large and visually appealing compared to those in South Korea. Their skin is easily peeled, and many potatoes are already split. Some grow as large as pumpkins, weighing up to 1 kilogram each.

The potatoes in North Korea are renowned for their appealing appearance, likely due to fertile soil rather than gravelly fields. They don’t resemble crumpled or elongated sweet potatoes but take on a bowl-like shape, usually without any sunken or worm-eaten parts. This round and clean form makes them easy to peel. After boiling, the skin naturally cracks, and their flavor resembles that of roasted chestnuts.

Around 30 percent of the total potato yield becomes frozen during the harsh winter months. These frozen potatoes are either left in the field or stored in the wooden attics of households. When spring arrives and the weather thaws, these frozen potatoes begin to melt, and their skin can be effortlessly peeled by hand. They are then thinly sliced and left to dry in sunny spots in the backyard. Alternatively, if there’s no mill available, they are pounded in a mortar, and the resulting soft, frozen potato starch is sifted.

To prepare a dish, a portion of this potato paste is placed in a container and soaked in water. The water is changed multiple times to remove any lingering bitterness from the potatoes. Once the paste is ready, boiling water is poured in and mixed with a rice scoop. This pre-cooks the dough. The glutinous dough, combined with boiled peanuts, is then either steam-cooked or fashioned into stuffed cakes, reminiscent of songpyeon (송편). For stuffing, stir-fried cabbage and pork, with an emphasis on the fat, are commonly used. Kimchi cabbage or radish, or any available wild greens, can also serve as suitable alternatives.

The unforgettable taste of these potato dishes likely stems from the extreme gratitude and solace they provided during the challenging journey I undertook as a heavily loaded 12-year-old boy alongside my mother, traversing snow-covered landscapes. Undoubtedly, the lady of the house must have been a skilled cook as well.

The ‘Harmonica House’ refers to a unique style of dwelling constructed in the 1960s to house laborers mobilized for North Korea’s ambitious construction projects. My family settled in one of these houses, a single-room compartment among six, and began our life as migrants under a porous roof. This roof, made of wooden lattice sticks, rice straw, and mud, allowed us to gaze at the stars above.

Our living space measured 2.5 meters by 3.5 meters, with a kitchen area in the front featuring four iron kilns arranged in a cross shape. The absence of a door between the kitchen and the room meant that upon entering, one could see all the way to the backyard through the back window. In the backyard stood a six-meter-high chimney constructed from wooden boards, and beyond it lay a two-meter-deep kimchi cellar.

When I reflect on how nine people managed to coexist in that tiny, shabby house, I can’t help but laugh. My mother always said, ‘It’s not the narrowness of the house but people’s narrow-mindedness that makes it challenging to live.’ They say women are weak, but mothers are undeniably strong. My mother was a testament to this strength.

Bearing and raising seven children might be hard to fathom, especially in the context of South Korea, where the birth rate is among the world’s lowest at less than 0.8. Fortunately, North Korean nurseries and kindergartens were still somewhat functional during that time. My mother worked at the Hyesan Blueberry Processing Factory (혜산들쭉가공공장) around the time of my birth on April 25, 1967. My eldest brother, Park Sang chol, also worked at the factory as the secretary of workplace public affairs after completing his military service in Gangwon Province.

The Hyesan Blueberry Processing Factory (혜산들쭉가공공장) stands as one of the few renowned enterprises in Ryanggang Province. Kim Il Sung himself visited this facility several times in the 1960s, providing field guidance.

Bog blueberries are a type of shrub, bearing fruit slightly larger than omija (magnolia vine). They start off blue when unripe, turning dark-blue in the fall, offering a sweet and sour flavor. Bog blueberries serve various purposes. The highest-quality alcohol is derived from the steam produced during the fermentation of these berries. This white-colored wine boasts an alcohol content ranging from 30% to 50% and is primarily exported. A lower-alcohol variant at 16-18% is pink in hue and enjoyed by the general populace. Unlike other bitter-tasting alcoholic beverages, bog blueberry wine has a unique sweet and sour flavor that can catch people off guard, especially women.

High-quality alcohol is intrinsically linked to good water, and Ryanggang Province, home to Mount Paektu, is unparalleled in terms of pristine air and water. In Uiyong-dong(위연동), Hyesan-si(혜산시), the 960-valley boasts a cold, year-round flowing well known for its purity. The wine produced from berries and water in such an exceptional environment is undeniably a renowned representation of North Korean alcohol.

My mother, a highly trusted and diligent worker, made the difficult decision to resign from her job due to my incessant crying as a baby. Apparently, I cried vigorously and continuously to the point where even the caregivers at the factory’s nursery found it challenging to manage. Later on, my mother would jest, ‘You must be a good singer now because you cried so much back then.

After leaving her job at the best workplace for workers in Hyesan, my mother embarked on a journey to the countryside with my older brothers and sisters to purchase food. She traveled to various farming villages in Pochon County, such as Uihua-ri (의화리), Pokgaebong (복개봉), and Tanbong (딴봉), which were 3.5 to 40 kilometers apart from our home. As I grew older, I accompanied my mother on these trips carrying 20 to 30 kilograms of potatoes.

Potatoes were, and still are, the staple crop for Pochon County, located along the border of Hyesan city. Potatoes were much more affordable, costing only 5 to 10 times less than other grains. However, unlike rice, potatoes were quickly digested, leaving you hungry again despite eating a significant quantity.

Due to financial constraints, my mother initially purchased consumer goods on credit from a wholesale store and traded them for potatoes in the countryside. These goods ranged from candy and crackers to combs and sneakers, sometimes yielding a profit ten times the original price.

People in the farming villages, despite their inability to afford rice or more expensive foods, could at least enjoy a filling diet of potatoes. Each household would dig a hole over two meters deep in a sunny area near their homes (to prevent freezing) and store potatoes to last them through the year. After toiling tirelessly through three seasons, farmers finally found relaxation during the winter. Men often played cards while enjoying alcohol, occasionally loading manure from their livestock into carts for the paddy fields. Women spent their winters playing yut (a traditional Korean board game) please describe yut and chatting.

Despite being considered a humble food, potatoes hold a special place in my heart. My mother’s typical potato-based meal recipe involved boiling water in a caldron. Once the water reached a boil, peeled and cut potatoes were placed at the bottom, followed by a handful of corn, sorghum, barley, or peanuts, and then rice on top. After 30 minutes of cooking, the meal was ready, with potatoes making up about 80% of it.

The smashed potatoes were served on my father’s bowl, followed by ours. What remained at the bottom of the caldron, scorched and sticking, was left for my mother. When we ran out of potatoes, she would prepare our meal with dried radish greens, harvested from the house’s surroundings and leftovers from winter kimchi making (kimjang). She would soak a handful of dried vegetables from the laundry line, then cook them with grain. Once again, her portion consisted of the scorched greens at the bottom of the pot.

At times, out of sympathy for her, we would try eating what my mother ate, knowing that she did all the strenuous housework and yet had only leftover greens with no grain to sustain her. We swallowed it down simply because we were hungry and fighting to survive. It was hardly food fit for human consumption. Later, in my late childhood, we acquired a dog, and my mother sometimes gave her own food to the dog because she couldn’t eat it. Even the dog refused the blackish-red scorched potatoes or vegetables because they tasted bitter.

As the saying goes, ‘a sun will shine into a mouse hole.’ My mother would prepare special dishes on official holidays with the small sum of money she had been saving. While it was never enough for our large family, it felt like a grand feast to us. She would cook dishes with 500 grams to 1 kilogram of pork, 1 kilogram of pollack, and an abundance of wild greens. Yet, the majority of these dishes were still made with potatoes.

Over the past three-plus years in South Korea, I’ve had the opportunity to try various cuisines, including Japanese, Chinese, and Western dishes. None of them were familiar to me from North Korea, but when it comes to the number of potato-based dishes, North Korea surpasses them all.