Shared Flavors , Shared Memories
What Kind of Kimchi Am I?
From Hungary to the Netherlands, making kimchi with local ingredients became less about copying tradition and more about creating a version that felt truly my own.
From Hungary to the Netherlands, making kimchi with local ingredients became less about copying tradition and more about creating a version that felt truly my own.
If there’s one thing I truly can’t live without, it’s kimchi.
There’s even a theme song that sings, “I can’t live without kimchi, I really can’t...” And honestly, it’s not far from the truth. A little joke, but also not a joke at all.
Koreans love kimchi so much that we have an entire appliance dedicated to it: the kimchi fridge (딤채). It was designed to mimic the old tradition of storing kimchi underground in winter, protected from freezing, yet cold enough to ferment slowly. I don’t know exactly how the technology works. I just know that most Korean homes wouldn’t be caught without one.
One of my mother’s biggest concerns when I moved abroad was this:
“What will you do without good kimchi?”
Thankfully, in many of the cities I’ve lived in, I’ve been able to find familiar Korean brands like Jongga (종가) or Pulmuone (풀무원). But in places where Korean ingredients were harder to come by, I started to improvise, learning to work with what I could find locally.
The most widely known version of kimchi is baechu-kimchi (배추김치), made with napa cabbage, but there are hundreds of types, each named after its main ingredient.
The word kimchi (김치) comes from dimchae (딤채), meaning “submerged vegetables.” At its core, it is simply salted vegetables. Early versions were made by washing vegetables in seawater and salting them, long before chili or garlic were introduced.
The essentials have remained the same: salt, and vegetables sturdy enough to stay crisp.
Once I understood kimchi this way, as a method rather than a fixed recipe, finding substitutes felt natural. Over time, I started using vegetables with similar texture or bite. Some turned out surprisingly well.
While exploring the open-air markets in The Hague, one of the largest multicultural markets in Europe, I encountered radishes I had never seen before. I didn’t know their names at first, but through trial and error, I learned which ones were good for kimchi.
→ Read more on how I made kimchi using various vegetable substitutes.
While there is kimchi without gochugaru (고추가루), coarsely ground red pepper remains the defining ingredient in the version most widely recognized today.
In Hungary, paprika is everywhere but it’s finely ground and either sweet or hot. It doesn’t have the same texture. I found that mixing Hungarian fine paprika with crushed red pepper flakes came close. Later, my mother-in-law even found a Hungarian-made paprika blend created specifically for kimchi — a sign that the dish is gaining fans far beyond Korea.
When I moved to the Netherlands, I continued adapting. I mixed local peppers with chili flakes from neighborhood shops. Not traditional, but close enough to evoke the heat I craved. In the process, I discovered something remarkably similar to gochugaru: pul biber from Türkiye.
Not all vegetables welcome red. Green radish and red cabbage, for example, don’t pair well with the color of gochugaru. For these, I skip it entirely and lean on other ingredients instead, like dill inspired by pickles, or green chili peppers for brightness.
Unless it’s vegan, most kimchi contains some form of fish sauce. Korean varieties range from clear filtered sauce to unfiltered anchovy brine. In a pinch, I’ve used fish sauces from Thailand or Vietnam — different, but layered enough to carry the spirit of the original.
While I love the depth that aekjeot (액젓) brings, I often skip it for my vegan or vegetarian friends. It still tastes good. It still tastes good. For gamchilmat (감칠맛), known as umami, I replace fish sauce with broth made from dasima (다시마) and mushrooms. I also grind fresh vegetables and fruits like tomatoes, sweet paprikas, dates, and persimmon (kaki).
Lately, I’ve noticed more non-Korean brands of kimchi appearing in mainstream stores: Albert Heijn, Jumbo, ALDI, even boutique grocers. They’re often chopped finely, sometimes sweet, sometimes mild — not what you would typically find in a Korean household.
But are they kimchi?
Yes.
Are they good?
Also yes.
They’re different, and still valid.
I’ve experimented with countless variations, trying to recreate the taste I remember from childhood. Eventually, I realized that not only was that impossible, I had quietly created something of my own. It’s not exactly Korean-style kimchi anymore.
