Fatman was recently browsing the interwebs, and realized there is some confusion brewing over the vast sea of dishes covered by the term bibimbap 비빔밥. Now, the idea of bibimbap itself is pretty straightforward: It’s rice, mixed with . . . well, something else. But with so many regional and local kinds of bibimbap, it’s sometimes hard to know your Jeonju (전주) from your Jeonju (진주). So, Fatman humbly offers the following fieldguide for bibimbap identification:

비빔밥/bibimbap: If you see this on a restaurant menu, you are getting the most basic version possible ~ white rice and an assortment of vegetables both cooked and uncooked, usually lettuce, bean sprouts, carrots, zucchini, bellflower root, cucumber, dried seaweed, radish, spinach, ferns, and/or mushrooms. There may also be a bit of beef (ground or in small strips) and a fried egg to top it off. Properly done, there should be at least five colors (blue/green, red, yellow, white, and black/brown) arranged in a visually pleasing manner. If there’s no 고추장 (gochujang/ pepper paste) lurking under the egg, it’ll be in a jar on the table. Typically served in a stainless steel or ceramic bowl, but fancy schmancy places will sometimes use brass bowls. Of course, if it’s a fancy schmancy sort of place, you’re more likely to get . . .
전주 비빔밥/Jeonju bibimbap: Ah, the grande dame of bibimbap! Jeonju-style bibimbap is as famous as it is confusing. Many a hungry soul has wandered down Jeolla-way only to wonder what the hell makes this dish special. Well, for starts, this bibimbap claims royal antecedants, with local lore holding that it developed from court cuisine. Other typical differences are the inclusion of 황포묵(hwangpomuk, sometimes called 노랑묵/norangmuk), a yellow jelly made from mung beans and gardenia, 육회 (yukhoi, marinated raw beef), and local bean sprouts. Some restaurants cook the rice in beef broth for a richer flavor, but its the accompanying bean sprout soup (콩나물국/ kongnamulguk) that helps mark this local food for what it is. The Jeonju-style has come to dominate, so expect a dish that strongly resembles the standard-issue bibimbap, only more elaborate. And, because this is Jeolla-food, tasty.
진주 비빔밥/Jinju bibimbap: Moving east into South Gyeongsang Province, Jinju’s specialty bibimbap involves 육회: Lots and lots of raw beef marinated in sesame oil, garlic, soy sauce, sesame seeds, and sugar, accompanied by pine nuts, egg, and pear, gets slathered on top of hot rice, which partially cooks the ingredients. Mmm, beefy!
산채비빔밥/sanchae bibimbap: This virtually vegetarian version should include fresh mountain vegetables both root and leafy, and can often be found in restaurants near Buddhist temples. The best ones are made with just picked local vegetables from the hillsides, giving the diner a chance to taste some wilder kinds of vegetal matter, from the shoots of the hardy kiwi to aster leaves to stringy stonecrop. It all depends on what’s fresh and local, making it locavore and (minus the common inclusion of an egg) vegetarian and vegan friendly.
돌솥비빔밥/dolsot bibimbap: Basic bibimbap or some variation thereof, but served in a hot stone bowl. The bowl is usually greased with a little bit of sesame oil to keep the ingredients from sticking right away, and the egg on top is usually served raw and cooked by the heat of the bowl and ingredients when you stir it all together. Start stirring this the minute it hits the table, or everything will burn on the bottom, rather than achieving the much sought after crispy crunchy texture.
회덥밥/hoi deopbap: Despite the name, hoi deopbap is closer to bibimbap than deopbap. Leafy greens and raw fish (often tuna, salmon, or all those lovely chewy whitefish beloved here in Korea) are served on top of rice, seasoned with a splash of sesame oil and a dash of chogochujang (초구추장: vinegared pepper sauce). The most famous of these is probably . . .
포항물회/Pohang mul hoi: This variation uses raw halibut, pear, and a whole heap o’ cucumber.
안동헛재사밥/Andong heotjesabap: Think of this dish not as bibimbap for the weak, but rather the bibimbap of choice for those with a selective palate that doesn’t need the burn of peppers. That’s right ~ the distinguishing mark of this dish is that its flavored with soy sauce and sesame oil instead of gochujang. But why, particularly in a region known for the spiciness of its cuisine?
The name holds a clue: Rice for fake ancestral rites. There’s a lot of stories as to how this dish came to be, but the most famous is that a young man arrived back in town just a little late for a jesa (a Confucian ritual honoring a deceased family member), but still jonesing for the delicious dietary aftermath. These rituals involve symbolic offerings of meat, vegetables, fruit, rice, alcohol, and an assortment of fried goodies to the ancestor, and when the bowing is done the non-deceased feast. However, spicy foods and bright red foods aren’t part of this meal, since the color and flavor are too bold for a solemn occassion. But what’s a boy to do when the meal is already through? Ask ‘em to cook it over again, ancestors be damned! Hence, “fake” jesa rice.
Often served with another local specialty, salty mackerel, not to mention a wide host of mostly fried and meaty sides (echoing the delicious snacks for the ancestors), this mixed rice doesn’t have egg or spicy sauce, but does have a subtle and savory flavor to cherish almost as much as the dear departed.
Think of a version Fatman’s forgotten? Let us know, and we’ll add it to our field guide!