A restaurant reviewer's dream is to act as the Captain Kirk of gastronomy; to boldly go, to unflinchingly consume until one has searched out the least-talked-about, most-deserving eateries. So, it was with enthusiasm that we piled into the car and trekked down to the strip of Asian restaurants across from Fort Meade.
Our mission: Cho-Son Oak, a brightly lighted, 6-month-old Korean restaurant. Presided over by nurturing owner Chum Funk, Cho-Son Oak specializes in pleasant Korean classics, commendably fresh sushi and a smattering of Japanese and Chinese dishes.
To the Western palate, Korean food is probably the most feared of Asian cuisines. Asian-Americans could be seen around the dining room tucking into fiery fermented cabbage kimchi, bubbling hot pots and dishes like seasoned cod head or savory acorn gelatin, while other patrons, many in Army uniform, enjoyed tamer fare.
Despite our party's intrepid zeal, Funk steered us toward certain dishes and away from others, flat out refusing to serve us one dish she insisted was not accessible to non-Koreans. (Consequently, we're still itching to sink our teeth into the forbidden bibim naeng myun, a dish of spicy cold noodles with sliced beef and vegetables.)
Funk urged us to begin our meal with a tray of mixed sushi. Salmon, yellowtail, tuna, salmon roe and smoked eel nestled against slices of fat California roll, a pile of zingy pickled ginger and a menacing lump of wasabi (Japanese horseradish). All of it was well rolled and very fresh tasting. Another appetizer, fried dumplings, proved appealing as well, filled with ground pork and squiggles of rice noodle.
Every table here is inset with a "galbi," a small, domed burner for cooking meats. We opted for two galbi specialties -- bul go gi, or marinated beef, and sam gyup sal, fatty rounds of pork belly. Funk brought the raw meat slices on large platters and plopped them on the hot grill. We pitched in by turning them at intervals.
When the pork was done, we whisked it off the galbi, dipped it in sesame oil and ate it like strips of bacon. The sweet, smoky beef we rolled in lettuce leaves with bits of pickled radish and dollops of what tasted like fermented bean paste.
Hae mul pa jun was our only disappointing entree. A pancake as big as a manhole cover, it was full of chewy octopus and curls of scallion. It would have made a better shared appetizer; its size, greasiness and homogeneity made it a daunting meal.
