Detox diets come and go, like any other fad. In
South Korea, one popular diet has staying power. It has been around
for at least 1,600 years, ever since the founding of the Jingkwansa
temple in the mountains outside of Seoul.
This Buddhist monastery sits at the convergence of
two streams, amid twisting leafy trees and soaring peaks. It's one
of many temples in the countryside outside of South Korea's
capital. Each temple has its own specialty. Jingkwansa is famous
for two reasons.
First, it's run entirely by women. The day before
our visit, Jill Biden, the wife of the U.S. vice president, was at
the temple learning about Korean women's education.
But we came here to learn about Jingkwansa's second
claim to fame. The place is renowned for preserving the ancient art
of Korean temple cuisine.
"You can't understand monastic culture without
understanding monastic food," says Gye Ho, the Overt Nun who runs
this temple. She has been a practicing nun for more than 50 years.
Like all of the nuns here, Gye Ho has a shaved head and wears
traditional gray robes. "The food creates the entire human being,"
she says. "It shapes our mind and body."
My interpreter and I are escorted to a small room
with sliding doors. Inside, at least 25 different dishes are
arrayed on the table. That variety is typical of a Korean lunch.
Sun Woo, who directs the temple visit program, explains what makes
monastic food different.i
"There is no meat and no fish and no MSG," she says.
"And no garlic, no onion, no green onion, no spring onion, or
leek."
That may sound remarkably bland. But the dishes are
pungent, fiery, funky, or puckeringly tart. There are fermented
radishes, mushroom fritters, marinated tofu, and crispy greens.
Thinly sliced eggplant and fried potato slices sit next to clear
soup and a bowl of rice.
Once we can't eat any more, Sun Woo escorts us to a
roped off corner of the temple grounds to divulge one secret of
this monastic cuisine.
On top of a gravel-covered platform are dozens of
ceramic urns of different sizes. Inside these jars, the nun
explains, "we ferment many different soybean sauces, or soybean
paste."
The monastery makes up to 30 different kinds of
sauce from fermented soybeans. The jars sit in a spot that gets
full sun all day long — that's important for the fermentation
process. In these urns, some soybeans have been fermenting for 20
years, others for as long as 50 years. The smell is as layered and
complex as any aged whiskey or ripe cheese.
Through pickling, fermenting, dehydrating and other
traditional practices, the nuns infuse their simple cuisine with
dizzying layers of flavor.i
People from all over the world come to the monastery
to experience this lifestyle. During our visit, 240 visitors were
participating in the temple stay program, waking up at 3:30 each
morning to meditate and detox.
As we speak with head nun Gye Ho about the
philosophy of the temple, we sit on mats, drinking iced tea made
from local berries. The drink is served with melon and squares of
sweet, sticky rice topped with fruits and nuts. The nuns eat these
sweets on head-shaving day, to replenish their energy.
Gye Ho explains that for the nuns, cooking and
eating are spiritual as well as physical practices. "We prepare our
food with a clear mind," she says. "We recognize that the best
sauce in the world is the heart that we put into our
cooking."
She says everything here is natural; while the rest
of South Korea uses metal chopsticks, those at the monastery are
made of wood.
At the risk of sounding impolite, I finally ask this
aged nun, "Do you ever just crave french fries or
chocolate?"
"Everyone has cravings," she replies. "When I have
them, I focus my mind by making noodles."