It’s crisp, juicy, and in some cases so chilli-drenched you’ll be at risk of hallucinating. Some places let you order up to 16 different versions, yet they only come in one size: large.
They’ve been fried not just once, but at least twice and sometimes three times, and licking your fingers is perhaps the best part. To paraphrase the late Leonard Nimoy, it’s KFC Jim, but not as we know it.
Korean fried chicken is probably the messiest food craze to hit our shores. From its first introduction to Western media by food journalist Julia Moskin in the New York Times, where it swept the city by storm in 2007, its appeal has been unstoppable thanks to its liberal use of sugar, chilli, MSG and the signature twice-fried technique to produce its thin, crackly and almost transparent skin.
Never greasy, always delicious, the finger-licking becomes a second course, so it’s always served with a box of tissues and a bin for bones.
It was about this time that Korean fried chicken began to appear in Sydney and Melbourne, first as additions to already-popular Korean BBQ menus, then in dedicated eateries. Paired with a beer they’re known as Chi-Mc, short for chicken-beer in Korean, and the perfect meal for two with the countless banchan side dishes Korean restaurants are known for. Today, you’ll find Korean fried chicken in places far and wide, making this less of a craze and more a conquest. So how did it all begin?
The legend goes that US soldiers, on tour during the Korean War, wanted fried chicken for meals off-base and keen locals catered to their demand. When they left, they experimented with using different flours and starches to coat the chicken, brining the flesh to keep it juicy and frying it twice – like chips – to maximise crunch.
They began tossing the just-cooked bird in the seedless chilli powder which forms the basis of Korean cooking – gochugaru – and gochujang, a fermented chilli paste. The high sugar content of the paste, combined with the heat of the wok, caramelised and made the chicken extra crisp. It was then only a short step to add other fresh ingredients like hot chilli, spring onions, rice cakes and peanuts for texture.
Now, you’ll find endless variations, bone-in or boneless, and even dusted in powdered nacho cheese flavouring sometimes dubbed “snow leopard”. The world was waiting. Today, you’ll find Korean fried chicken outlets clustered anywhere there’s a decent student population or a deft Korean cook.
Places like Sydney’s Koreatown near Pitt and Liverpool Streets, and in the heart of Melbourne’s CBD around Little Lonsdale Street. Naru One, a favourite late-night chefs’ haunt in Sydney was one of the first here with three types of chicken, while Arisun in Chinatown, and Arisun Express at World Square offer a paprika and cinnamon-dusted version you can take away in a paper cup. Gami, a chain slowly taking over Melbourne, throws in a mystery daily flavour while even old bowling clubs are getting in on the act, with the Strathfield Sports Club a beacon for the fried bird.
Just be sure you’re sitting down when you try their hot and spicy flavour, and ignore the wallpaper. It’s you swooning, not the room moving.
