Pa Kimchi – Korean Green Onion Kimchi
Okay, confession time: I didn’t even know Pa Kimchi was a thing until last spring when my buddy Jae dragged me to his mom’s place for dinner. She plopped this little bowl of spicy green onions on the table, and I was like, ‘Wait, this is kimchi?’ One bite later, I was obsessed.
That crisp snap, the heat that sneaks up on you, the way it made my rice sing—it was love at first crunch. Pa Kimchi’s not the kimchi you see in every Korean BBQ joint—it’s more like the cool cousin who shows up with a wild story. It’s stupidly easy to make too, which is a win for someone like me who’s still figuring out this whole fermentation game.
So, I’m spilling the beans here: what it is Pa Kimchi, why it’s awesome, and how you can slap it together at home. Stick with me—you might just find your new go-to side dish.
What Is Pa Kimchi?
So, Pa Kimchi’s basically Korean green onion kimchi—‘pa’ means green onion, and yeah, it’s that simple. It’s not the heavy-duty napa cabbage stuff you’re probably picturing, all brined and intense. This one’s lighter, fresher, like the spring breeze decided to get spicy.
I read somewhere it’s a big deal in Korea when those skinny jjokpa onions pop up around March, but honestly, I just use whatever green onions I snag at the store—works fine.
You mix ‘em up with this killer paste—think red pepper flakes, a splash of fish sauce, some garlic that’ll make your kitchen smell like heaven—and let it sit for a day or two. Boom, you’ve got kimchi. It’s got this zingy kick, but the green onions keep it crisp, not soggy.
I swear, it’s like they bottled up a garden and threw in some attitude.
Why You’ll Love Pa Kimchi
Alright, real talk—Pa Kimchi’s got this magic that sneaks up on you. First off, the taste? It’s like a party in your mouth—spicy, tangy, and that green onion crunch just seals the deal.
I’m not even a veggie freak, but this stuff makes me feel like I’m winning at life. It’s not as hardcore as some kimchis that punch you in the face with funk—this one’s got manners, but it’s still got sass.
Pair it with a bowl of rice or some grilled fish, and you’re golden. I legit caught myself eating it straight outta the jar once, no shame.
Plus, it’s good for you—probiotics and all that gut jazz, not that I’m counting. The best part? It’s so dang easy to make. No soaking cabbage for hours or praying you don’t mess it up.
You slap it together, let it chill, and bam—you’re a kimchi wizard.
Oh, and it lasts in the fridge forever, though mine never makes it past a week ‘cause I’m weak. You’ll see what I mean once you try it.
What You Need to Make Pa Kimchi
Before you start, here’s the must-have stuff to throw this together. No fancy nonsense—just the core goods. Hit the store or raid your pantry for these:
- Green onions – A solid bunch, like 10-12 stalks. The star of the show.
- Gochugaru – Korean red pepper flakes. It’s the spicy backbone—2 tablespoons, no substitutes unless you’re desperate.
- Fish sauce – 1 tablespoon for that salty umami punch. Soy sauce works if fish ain’t your thing.
- Garlic and ginger – 1 teaspoon each, minced or grated. Fresh is best—don’t be lazy with the jarred stuff.
- Sugar – Just a teaspoon to chill out the heat. Trust me, it matters.
Everything else—like salted shrimp—is bonus points, but these? Non-negotiable. You’re set with this crew.
How to Make Pa Kimchi
So, here’s the deal—I’m no chef, but this recipe’s so forgiving even I can’t screw it up. Last time, I spilled half the pepper flakes on the counter and it still turned out fire. Here’s what you need and how to not mess it up:
Stuff You’ll Need:
- A fat bunch of green onions—like, 10-12 stalks, washed and trimmed. Fancy jjokpa if you’re extra, but the grocery store kind works.
- 2 tablespoons of gochugaru—those Korean red pepper flakes. Don’t skimp, it’s the soul of this thing.
- 1 tablespoon fish sauce—smells funky, tastes like gold. Swap it for soy sauce if you’re veggie-only.
- 1 teaspoon garlic, minced—I just smash a clove with my knife ‘cause I’m lazy.
- 1 teaspoon ginger, grated—peel it with a spoon if you’re feeling pro.
- 1 teaspoon sugar—trust me, it balances the heat.
- Optional: 1 tablespoon salted shrimp or anchovy paste if you’re feeling wild. I skip it half the time.
How to Do It:
- Rinse those green onions good—nobody wants grit in their kimchi. Pat ‘em dry-ish, keep ‘em whole or chop ‘em into chunks if you’re impatient like me.
- Mix the paste in a bowl—gochugaru, fish sauce, garlic, ginger, sugar, whatever else you’re throwing in. It’ll look like spicy mud, and that’s perfect.
- Smear that paste all over the onions. Get in there with your hands—wear gloves if you’re scared of the sting, but I just raw-dog it and regret it later.
- Stuff it in a jar or Tupperware—something with a lid. Let it sit on the counter for a day, maybe two if you like it punchier. Burp it once so it doesn’t explode (learned that the hard way).
- Chuck it in the fridge after that. Give it a taste in a few hours—it’s good right away, but day three? Chef’s kiss.
Heads-Up: Spice it up or down—your call. Keeps for weeks, but mine’s gone in days ‘cause I’m a pig. If it starts bubbling like crazy, you’re winning at fermentation.
Tips and Variations
Okay, so you’ve got the basics down, but here’s where you can flex a little—or save yourself from my dumb mistakes.
Fermentation’s a wild ride—leave it out too long and it’s like a funky science project. I did that once, forgot it for three days, and my kitchen smelled like a fish market took a wrong turn.
Stick to 12-24 hours on the counter if you want it mild and snappy; go two days if you’re into that sour kick. Cold fridge slows it down after that, keeps it crisp.
If you’re a spice fiend, toss in more gochugaru—I did that last batch and nearly cried, but in a good way. Wanna switch it up? Throw in some shredded carrots or thin radish strips—looks pretty and adds extra crunch.
No fish sauce? Soy sauce works, or even a splash of miso if you’re feeling weird. I’ve heard some folks add a pinch of sesame seeds for flair—haven’t tried it, but sounds legit. Oh, and store it right—glass jar’s best, but my cheap plastic container still does the trick.
Just don’t let it sit near your milk unless you want spicy dairy vibes. Experiment, mess it up, figure it out—it’s half the fun.
