If you want a reliable barometer for how good something really tastes, get a Covid vaccine beforehand. That’s how I first encountered the tongdak at Bokman, a Korean restaurant on a corner of Stokes Croft in Bristol. I arrived covered in a film of sweat, body aching like I’d done an Ironman in a duvet. In that state, convinced I had hours left and melting like a candle, I sat in the basement at a plain wooden table with a cutlery drawer tucked underneath and ordered this tongdak – a wood-fired roast chicken cooked on a rotisserie spit stuffed with sticky rice, served with cubes of pickled mooli and a dipping sauce.
This style of whole stuffed chicken roasted over a wood fire hails from the streets of Seoul in the 1970s. You’ll still find it in the Korean capital in food truck-style pojangmacha (covered‑tent stalls) or mobile rotisserie carts, especially around busy nightlife and market districts like Hongdae, Myeongdong, and near Hannam Station.
This tongdak was – and I say this with absolute clarity, despite the fever – one of the best things (if not the best thing) I’ve ever eaten in a restaurant. Chicken soft and yielding, the skin with a lacquered crunch, the rice chewy and unctuous with chicken fat and the occasional snap of pickled mooli to wake you up. It made me feel, briefly, like I might live after all.
Naturally, I’ve been trying to recreate it ever since. And naturally, I’ve failed. Mostly because I live in a one-bedroom flat without a rotisserie and wood-fired oven (bloody landlords). Here is my version: chicken marinated in soy, honey, and ginger, rice cooked around the bird in chicken stock, spring onions, and the roasting juices – requiring no spinning poles or furnace-hot ovens. It still captures the essence – a juicy bird and umami rice, spliced with a sharp pickle.
A few things to note. One: soak your glutinous rice beforehand, according to the packet instructions, or you’ll end up with bullets. Two: don’t use a bird bigger than 1.5kg, otherwise you’ll have to roast it for longer and your rice will be overcooked and gloopy. And three: line your tray. Sticky rice welded to a roasting tin is a misery I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. This is a Sunday project for when you can’t face another beige roast. Invite friends. Pour soju. Try not to mention the vaccine.
