Brilliance abstracts where simplicity begins.
Yeah I caved and got the famous perilla oil noodles.
Yeongdonsik presents itself as a deceptively simple endeavour with a limited and concentrated menu; scratching my head, I initially questioned its popularity, after eating, I understood and wholeheartedly accepted the full-house 10 minutes after opening queue. On a Wednesday mind you. I give thank yous to my best friend for snagging us a table early because they only take walk-ins (hint: all the best restauraunts do). And also another thank you to the same best friend forcing me to overcome my gripes with cold noodles. I am reformed and anew.
Now this is where to get THE cold noodles. Yeongdonsik welcomes a side of Korean cuisine deviates from the regular Bunsik/Pocha venues that spread like wildfire over Sydney, and upon looking at the menu, we see its offers of hangover curing broths that are magical and medicinal and other classic bits and bobs. Barley tea is also welcomed by our crowd of three in brief sips, we assert a game plan and warm up from the late- April chill.
Originally a summer-exclusive item, the perilla oil noodles are now considered a permanent and well-loved feature at the venue. Served in one large bowl of grey ceramic, the storm-cloud coloured buckwheat noodles were covered in a shower of powdery seaweed and white sesame seeds. Perturbing the grassy terrain in our bowl, a firm grip, spoon and two chopsticks were deployed to coat and mix all the noodles evenly. After the earthquake settles, the first bite arrives. It’s a cooling sensation, slippery. The noodles are made with a high calibre of technique, the grit of buckwheat is preserved but subdued to make room for the peppery-sweet perilla oil. The instinctual reaction is to grin but we then we began to bully each other because our smiles are coated in freckles of dark green. I loved swirling a heap on my spoon like pasta and the chewing the lot… It felt like a head massage in a spa… Even if I have a gangrene-esque smile.
Did you think we would show up to Lidcombe to just get a bowl of noodles? My big back gene always makes a special appearance after a gruelling day of university.
Our plate of sliced boiled pork belly (suyuk) arrives, with her, a medley of sundae – Korean blood sausages comprising of an animal’s intestine stuffed with glass noodles, pork blood, and glutinous rice. It’s warm. The pork was a plain white colour, seemingly unseasoned. It didn’t need to be. It was heart soaringly tender, not juicy nor greasy. It wasn’t cooked with oil. A single piece is layered unsuspecting yet frivolously, white-grey meat surfaced with a provocative strip of gelatinous fat. I now understand what the metaphor of a ‘silver lining’ means. And tastes like. The pork, though a textural sensation, begs to be dipped (coated) in the leftovers of the perilla oil sauce or the table-side spicy ssamjang. As if the pork belly wasn’t a reckoning itself, the crispy panfried fritter with chives and prawns (saewoobuchu-jeon) descends from the servers hands. Remember the edge pieces of anything that everyone fights for? That’s this whole dish. It’s crispy, offering a reprieve from the chewy-slippery of the meat and noodles, It’s also masochistic in a way where you question why you’re actually liking getting the inside of your cheeks and gums cut up. Biting into the tiny plump curls of shrimp hidden under chives was a highlight. The dipping sauce the jeon was paired with was dark in colour with chopped white onion squares. What a hero of a taste, the closest match being sweet sukiyaki. The consistency of it was thicker than soy or ponzu, but thinner than roux or béchamel.
A hidden MVP, the banchan was stellar. I could only infer that the kimchi was made with experienced ass ahjumma hands. Halmeoni even. Only an older woman could perform a masterclass ferment. Our favourite however, was definitely the pickled radish. Cut in elongated prisms, they snapped in my mouth and burst with an acidity that slung like a comet across the sky. I don’t want it if it’s not going to linger in my breath for the next 6 hours. I’m very happy.
Thank you for deceiving me “simple” Yeongdonsik. You are brilliant.
Very Busy Bee 
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