Halfway through our first meal at Kim’s, a Korean American restaurant, my dinner companions and I had forgotten that we were dining in an identical space that once served birrias, tacos and a duck mole.
Other than the few new earthenware pots on the shelf and several new bar stools, this restaurant still bears the handsome bones of its predecessor, Sooki & Mimi: the blonde herringbone floors, the cantina-esque bar, that beamed ceiling.
Kim’s, which opened in November, indeed feels wholly new. Is it the vibe? The bar is now filled with people angling for a table (the restaurant is now walk-in only). The kitchen brims with a little more energy. And the afterglow from all the publicity surely fills diners with hope that celebrity chef/restaurateur Ann Kim is now fully embracing her Korean American heritage.
She is. And through a team run by talented chef de cuisine Kyual Cribben, Kim delivers a menu that honors this duality: Apple Valley, where she was raised, and South Korea, where she was born.
Consider hotteok, a type of Korean street snack, traditionally a pancake resembling a flatted pin cushion, often filled with a brown sugar syrup. Here, it’s plainer, though no less gratifying. Appealingly chewy, like a dense, golden English muffin, Kim’s hotteok can be eaten with honey butter (my favorite), as a burger with a smashed beef patty (good) or with “Ann’s ham,” a riff on Spam, kewpie mayo and yellow mustard (better).
Two banchans, or sides, are equally diasporic. A small but potent pile of mustard greens cues the West via tofu tahini and salsa macha, and it packs a nose-throttling punch, while creamy kabocha squash is fermented in kombucha.
Calling the restaurant Korean American may feel like Kim is absolving herself for things that don’t feel authentic to assuage the purists, but they needn’t worry. The kimchi here is coiffed into a neat, miniature stack, and it’s forthright without tasting like it was fermented to abandon. The bibimbap is sized to Midwestern supper club proportions; the amount of bulgogi in there feels a little vulgar; and the socarrat can be spotty (crispy bottom one night; soggy the other). Yet it’s the only bibimbap rendition I’d return to in the Twin Cities. The ribbons of bulgogi in every bite are silky, the flavors true.
At many Korean restaurants around town, in fact, you won’t find dongchimi, a cleaner and more genteel take on kimchi. There is one here, called daikon kimchi, on the menu, and it’s stellar. You may not find gyeranjjim, or steamed egg, around town, either. Kim’s cleverly markets hers as a ”bubbling egg soufflé,” which is appropriate because the rise is just as virtuous as on any good gyeranjjim served at a restaurant in Seoul, even if the salted shrimp has been muted for the Midwestern palate.
