At Chez Maeju, Soojin Kim lacquers grilled mackerel in a thick gochujang glaze. Every pore of that oily white fish flesh absorbs the red chili paste that, when heated, takes on the qualities of a delightfully gooey caramel. The skin, and maybe a couple of tiny white bones, crackle in one’s mouth for a quick couple of seconds before the sweet and spicy flavors begin to meld together.
A graduate of Le Cordon Bleu, Kim notes on the restaurant’s website that maeju is “where Korean fermentation begins.” Made from soybeans, it is “the foundation for soy sauce, doenjang and gochujang—the essential flavors of the Korean table.”
Chez Maeju’s mantra is “Happy Kitchen: If the kitchen isn’t joyful, the food will tell on us.” Kim embodies this mantra by greeting people at the entrance with a subdued but palpable mix of enthusiasm and that aforementioned joy—it radiates outward from her swift movements and her smile.
After Oken’s doors closed at the end of May, the forlorn facade began showing signs of life this summer. Though it seemed unlikely that a new restaurant could compete with the admiration and affection I’d felt for chef Albert Ok’s food, Chez Maeju exceeded my expectations. Kim has recreated the convivial atmosphere inside Oken’s dining room, spending her time equally between overseeing the kitchen and chatting amiably with her guests. Oken’s dark-blue tiles, vertical wood panels and many-petaled light fixtures have all remained in place.
After we praised her unusual choice to make kimchi with tomatoes—topped with sesame seeds and green onions shaved into spirals—Kim expressed her abiding love for fermented foods. She suggested we should try the green olive kimchi, too. Kim decided to use olives, like the tomatoes, simply because she loves the ingredient. To complement and amplify the olives’ familiar one-note of brininess, the chef smears them with her signature chili paste. On my next visit, I’d like to try the fresh kimchi salad whose lettuce leaves are “lightly dressed in a vibrant Korean chili vinaigrette.”
Kim’s personal approach comes through on every plate. Presentation at Chez Maeju is just as important and vital as the way things taste. Crispy snowflake dumplings are crowned with a delicate shrimp toast made in the amorphous shape of a cloud. There’s a play between positive and negative space. Thin strips of black seaweed heighten the attention paid to culinary decor. Even something as straightforward as a bowl of white rice comes with tiny pops of color from a scattering of small, dark grains or seeds. Quinoa, we thought, and not black sesame seeds.
The kitchen fills the dumplings with perfectly formed shrimp-and-pork meatballs. When I took a first bite into the golden-brown skin, juice splattered across my chin and on the dish and placemat below me. On subsequent bites I was more careful not to ruin the rest of the table.
Banchan doesn’t appear to be built into every meal, but we did get four side dishes with an order of grilled beef short ribs. Marinated with Korean pear and soy sauce, the ribs can’t be beat. They were cooked all the way through but remained tender. I’d eat one, try a bite of spinach, cabbage or anchovy banchan, and then hurry back to the platter of ribs. Just as addicting—a mess of white onions planted underneath the ribs that got sweet on the grill.
Hwe muchim is yet another exceptionally beautiful plate of food. Oranges, reds and greens arrive at the table like a still image of fireworks caught in the ascent to their apex. It’s one of three raw seafood dishes made with fish, crab or prawns. This fish salad is a mix of sesame leaves, cabbage and ribbons of basil that are drenched in a makgeoli-gochujang vinaigrette. Kim embraces the heat from chilis, but she also knows how to temper and pair it with herbs, vinegar and other bright flavors.
On the agenda for a return visit: bap, noodles or stew, to be followed by a yakgwa-and-red-bean ice cream sundae.
Chez Maeju, 6200 Claremont Ave., Oakland. Open nightly for dinner, closed on Tuesdays. chezmaeju.com
