Inkyu’s Kkotgetang (Korean Crab Stew)
Inkyu Choi was born in Suncheon-si, South Korea in 1942. He was the third eldest one among four brothers and two sisters. He is the father of three daughters and one son and the grandfather of four granddaughters and three grandsons. He now lives in Paju-si, South Korea with his son, daughter-in-law, and beloved three grandchildren. He is the maternal grandfather of Jiwoo.
The Taste That Left With Her: Halmoni’s Crab Stew
Inkyu grew up during a time when food was often scarce, and meals were shaped by necessity and resourcefulness. He, despite all the obstacles of finance, social status, and health that he faced through the years, was and is a man of diligence, defined by discipline and devotion. Today he tells the stories of his resilience to an eager Jiwoo from his home in Yongin-si.
When I bring up the story my parents told me about crab stew, Halabeoji pauses. His eyes shift for a moment, then he nods.
“내가 좋아하니까 꽃게탕을 사서 끓여줬어. 된장을 풀어서 끓였지.”
“She would buy crabs and make crab stew because I liked it. She stirred in doenjang and simmered it.”
It was my grandmother’s dish, made not from any recipe but from instinct and care. The briny sweetness of crab, softened by the earthy depth of soybean paste — that was her way of loving him.
When I tell him that my parents cried as they remembered it, he sighs softly.
“응… 지금은 다시 못 먹지. 그 맛은 이제 없어.”
“Yes… we can’t eat it anymore. That taste is gone now.”
The dish has vanished with her. And yet, through memory, it lingers. A stew is more than a meal — it can carry absence, grief, and the shape of love.
I ask him what made that crab stew taste so different, so memorable. He chuckles, as though the answer is obvious.
“된장의 차이는 된장 차이야. 햇볕에 얼마나 뒀는지, 소금 얼마나 썼는지, 그 집안의 손맛이 달라.”
“The difference is in the doenjang itself — how long it sat in the sun, how much salt was used, the hand of the household that made it.”
Doenjang, he explains, is never the same from one house to another. It’s alive, changing with the jars it rests in, with the seasons it weathers, with the hands that stir it.
“시골 된장이 맛있지. 그냥 사는 된장은 그 맛이 없어.”
“The village doenjang tastes better. The store-bought kind can’t compare.”
Doenjang is more than seasoning. It is patience itself — beans transforming under months of sun, salt preserving, microbes working unseen. The flavor is not rushed. It is earned.
And perhaps, as Halabeoji hints, the same is true of life. Time, patience, and letting things grow — that is how both food and people find their depth.
🌸 Recipe Box: Kkotgetang (Korean Crab Stew)
Ingredients (4 servings):
2 fresh blue crabs, cleaned and halved
2 tbsp doenjang (soybean paste)
1 tbsp gochugaru (red chili flakes)
1 tbsp gochujang (optional)
5 cups water
1 small radish, sliced
1 zucchini, sliced
1 medium onion, quartered
3 scallions, cut into 2-inch pieces
2 cloves garlic, minced
Salt and pepper to taste
Instructions:
In a pot, combine water, doenjang, garlic, and onion. Bring to a boil.
Add the crabs and radish. Simmer for 10 minutes.
Stir in chili flakes (and gochujang if using), then add zucchini and scallions.
Simmer until vegetables are tender and the crab shells turn bright red.
Taste, adjust seasoning, and serve hot with rice.