For most of us, Korean cuisine can be difficult to like. First of all, it is the cuisine that gave the world kim chi, the notoriously stinky, fermented cabbage that is an essential part of any Korean meal, and an acquired taste at best. Then there is the fact that so few Korean restaurants bother to Americanize. Most cater to Koreans only, so in reality there is little need to do so.
But this is a healthful style of cooking, and there is a primal appeal to cooking at the table, an option available at traditional Korean barbecue restaurants.
Jin Mee Korean B.B.Q. Restaurant is no exception. Located in Commercial Center, an eclectic east Sahara complex home to La Barca Mexican seafood restaurant, Lotus of Siam Thai restaurant, the Green Door swingers club and several Korean eateries, Jin Mee offers the choice of sitting at a table with a built-in barbecue grill or with a faux granite top. In the latter case—always my choice—chefs in the kitchen cook the dishes for you. (They can do a better job than I can.)
Jin Mee might be the most inviting, visually, of the dozen or so Korean restaurants in the complex. Eating here is like being in a mitre box. There is a blond wood floor and a drop ceiling that looks as if wooden slats have been substituted for plaster.
The décor is a mixture of real corn plants and fake trees, and there are wooden chairs with tartan upholstery to sit on. One side has tables without barbecue grills, while the other, generally occupied by larger, Korean-speaking groups, has them. On a recent lunch, there were around a dozen Korean men wearing golf hats, who had apparently just finished playing 18. The beer flowed liberally and the scent of grilling beef fairly filled the dining room.
Beef tends to be the main attraction at Jin Mee. With almost any entree you order, you also will get pa'chan—around 10 side dishes. Korean food isn't, by the way, eaten in courses. After you order, the Korean-speaking waitresses bring your pa'chan, lidded, metal dishes filled to the brim with rice and house soup, generally a rather neutral soy-flavored broth with a few desultory strips of radish in it.
The pa'chan will vary somewhat, but count on dishes of kim chi; sliced cucumbers in a fiery red-pepper sauce; yellow bean sprouts; stewed, chunked potato in a sweet soy sauce; fish cakes; cooked soy beans; fermented radishes; and on occasion, savory little pancakes called bindaeduk; or little fish that make the steamed rice taste salty. Beer is the beverage of choice for most Koreans, and there is a nice choice of Japanese and Korean brews with which to wet your whistle.
The most popular beef dish is kalbi, broiled, marinated short ribs perfumed with garlic, sesame oil and rice wine, the holy trinity of Korean marinade. A huge portion of beef is served on a sizzling iron platter, but you can get it raw and cook it yourself, which I recommend for anyone who likes their beef rare.
There is also bulgoki, softer beef that curls up when cooked, served off the bone. Those with a sense of adventure may want to try hyemitgu, sliced beef tongue, not for the faint of heart when served raw. I also give high marks to agujim, broiled monkfish served with a mountain of bean sprouts. Monkfish lovers also can cleave to agumaeuntang, where the fish comes in a stone pot containing a spicy red soup.
I ordered this soup, and caused a small commotion when I removed something that had the shape of an olive, and the texture of a SuperBall. When I asked the waitress what it was, in English, a small pow-wow ensued. Finally, one of the younger waitresses came to the table and announced it was a sea plant called sea squirt. Live and learn.
There are at least three other dishes not to miss here, and all have a broader appeal than most of the others I've mentioned. Japchae are clear, bean-thread vermicelli noodles, sautéed and then served in an enormous tangle. The waitress comes over with an actual pair of scissors and cuts them before you dig in. Mingling in the pile is lots of beef and a few cut vegetables. It makes a delicious lunch.
Mandu are boat-shaped dumplings with meat fillings, which can be ordered in soup or deep-fried. The ever-popular rice casserole dolsukbap is a stone pot lined with cooked rice, topped with a cooked egg, diced beef and several cut raw and cooked vegetables. The idea is to mix it all up with some of the hot bean-paste served on the side. The rice, meanwhile, forms a golden crust against the inside of the pot.
Koreans don't eat dessert, but at the front register, there are Dum-Dums and sticks of Melon gum to sweeten the breath. You're gonna need something.