So it seems as if the phenomenon known as Korean fried chicken, aka the other KFC, aka Korean fried crack, has finally begun to find some legs here in the Baltimore area. It’s been a thing in the motherland for decades now, but only began its widespread rise here in the States with a mention in The New York Times about four years ago, and more recently a piece in Saveur magazine. At the moment Baltimore’s involvement is limited to chatter among people who’d be predisposed to be aware of, let alone give a crap about, such things, namely foodie types and Koreans I suppose, since the closest place to actually buy some is more than 50 miles away. But hey, baby steps.

So what is Korean fried chicken? Well, the amount of potential overlap in defining such a term is kinda staggering. Here in Baltimore, we have the ubiquitous “chicken box,” which is simply fried chicken (usually whole wings), fries, and some sort of sauce—“mambo,” “tiger,” or plain old “hot.” And since many chicken purveyors around here seem to be Korean, it’s natural for locals to assume it just means fried chicken served up by Koreans. This was indeed the response from about half of the total strangers I decided to survey on a downtown street one afternoon, while the other half figured it was some obscure, possibly ancient, Korean delicacy.

While deep frying isn’t very common in Korean cuisine, there is a Chinese-influenced dish called ggahng-pung gi, which consists of chicken chunks coated in batter, fried, and doused in sweet-spicy sauce. That in turn sounds a lot like General Tso’s chicken, which is in fact probably more American than Chinese in origin. Then there is my personal experience with some of the best fried chicken I’ve ever had in my life, when I was about 13 and spending a summer in Korea. It was from a Popeye’s (yes, that Popeye’s), from what I can recall the first one to open in the country. But it was in Korea, and significantly different than any Popeye’s chicken I’ve had in the States, so that counts, right? I remember it being perfectly crunchy, extremely juicy, and really fucking spicy. Man that was some good-ass fried chicken.

Finally, there is something called tong dak, usually a small chicken, lightly floured, fried whole, and then chopped into small pieces, that is popular in Korea as anjoo, or foods that are specifically intended for consumption while drinking alcohol. And it is a variation of this that defines Korean fried chicken in the current context. The key distinctions are that instead of a whole bird, it’s usually just wings and drumsticks (as a countermeasure for the hormone-fueled hugeness of American birds, according to some), and that the pieces are seasoned almost entirely via a post-cook glazing of sauce, which, in order to stave off sogginess, necessitates an exceptionally sturdy coating. And that last part is why, ostensibly, the most talked-about aspect of Korean fried chicken exists—the double fry.

I say ostensibly, because double-frying is pretty common practice, at least in many Korean- and Chinese-owned carryout joints. With plain-old wings bound for chicken boxes, or even chunks destined to be General Tso-ed, the pieces are often par-fried in advance, if only as a time saver, shaving off precious minutes during a busy lunch rush. But in addition to reducing final cooking time, the second fry enhances crispiness, possibly because the first fry, and subsequent resting period, have eradicated much of the moisture from the skin and/or batter. Deep frying’s magic lies in the hot oil’s ability to rapidly vaporize water, enabling lots of delicious browning to occur, and for tiny pockets to be formed by the escaping steam, and then quickly cook into place within a coating. Long story short: crunchiness. So my guess is that double frying probably helped in birthing Korean fried chicken, since it definitely predates it, as opposed to it striking the Korean version of Harland Sanders like a million-dollar bolt from the blue. Similarly, the composition of the famed crust is not really original, since the aforementioned ggahng-pung gi, along with many other fried-then-sauced dishes, is coated in a batter made with cornstarch, which stays crunchy in the wettest of environments.

That batch of KoFC was acquired at the Annandale location of a chain called BonChon Chicken, the closest to Baltimore, but still a good hour away without traffic. Its product is pretty typical, with an aroma that slaps you in the face with garlic (definitely powder and fresh, in my opinion); a glaze that possesses a pretty straightforward combo of salty, sweet, and in the case of the “spicy,” a fast-acting, mouth-filling heat; and an exterior that although is often described as “shatteringly crispy” is more accurately somewhere between crispy and crunchy, with just a tiny hint of chew. The meat itself is unseasoned, but extremely moist, protected from drying by its cornstarch cocoon. It’s good, finger-lickingly even, but not life-changing, and probably not worth a trip halfway around I-495. Not on a regular basis anyway.

The good news is that apparently a KoFC place is opening up soon inside the HMart in Catonsville. In the meantime, the best option for the curious is to either find someone to be a chicken mule, or to suck it up and go DIY. So although I’m not very good at fried chicken (“The Man Who Fried,” Eat Me, Dec. 19, 2007), I spent three days experimenting with recipes, going through no less than 60 wings, trying to replicate BonChon’s chicken.

Initially I fell into the seductive trap of overthinking, as did many on the interweb, as their KoFC recipes seemed to indicate. Even the much-referenced NYT and Saveur recipes were just . . . off. The latter noted the exacting nature of oil temps and cooking times at one popular chain, but for home cooks such factors are less important than the end result, which is a reasonably good facsimile with minimal time, effort, and cost. The hardest part is the batter, because a thick cornstarch-and-water mixture is a complete bitch to work with. But outside of that, if you can make Buffalo wings, you can make KoFC. In fact, in the interest of better name recognition and avoiding trademark infringement lawsuits, I hereby nominate the term “Seoul wings.” Who’s with me?

Henry’s Seoul Wings

Ingredients

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