The Art of Waiting: Meju, Jamón, and the Universal Language of Fermentation

 

Hello, everyone. How is your winter beginning?

Here on the farm in Korea, the air has turned crisp and cold. This is the season when our most important winter work begins: making "Meju" (메주).

To be honest, I planned to take fresh photos of the Meju blocks hanging in our farm today. However, life as a farmer and a father doesn't always go to plan. My youngest child (7 years old) caught a bad winter cold, and I've been busy running between farm duties and caring for my little one.

Since I couldn't step away to take taking photos, I decided to use technology to share the spirit of this beautiful tradition with you.

A Note on the Image Above: The image you see was generated by AI to capture the nostalgic atmosphere of the Korean countryside in the 1960s and 70s. Please note that modern Korean farms (including mine!) are much more modernized now with different architecture and facilities. However, even though our buildings have changed, the traditional spirit of hanging Meju to cure in the winter wind remains exactly the same.

What are those hanging blocks?

The rectangular blocks you see hanging under the eaves are Meju. They are essentially the foundation of Korean cuisine.

In late autumn, we harvest soybeans, boil them for hours, mash them, and shape them into these blocks. We then hang them up during the winter to let them dry and ferment slowly. In the spring, these fermented blocks will become the base for two essential Korean condiments: Doenjang (Soybean Paste) and Ganjang (Soy Sauce).

Meju and Jamón: A Global Connection

As I look at the Meju hanging to dry, I am reminded that fermentation is a universal language.

Does this visual remind you of anything? Perhaps Spanish Jamón?

Just as Spain hangs cured ham to dry-age in the wind, we in Korea hang our soybean blocks.

• Spain has Jamón (Meat).

• France has Cheese (Milk).

• Germany has Sauerkraut (Cabbage).

• Korea has Meju (Soybeans).

Although the ingredients—meat, milk, vegetables, or beans—are different, the philosophy is exactly the same. We are not just drying food; we are inviting nature (wind, sunlight, and beneficial microbes) to transform raw ingredients into something with a deeper, complex savory flavor (Umami) that fresh food can never achieve.

It is fascinating how humans across the globe, separated by distance and culture, discovered similar ways to preserve food and enhance flavor through the art of waiting.

Patience in Nature and Family

Just like nursing a sick child back to health, creating good Meju requires time, warmth, and patience. You cannot rush fermentation. We have done our part by preparing the beans; now we must wait for nature to do its work.

Once my youngest recovers and things settle down, I promise to share real photos of our own Meju hanging in our modern farm setting.

I’m curious about your culture. Do you have any traditional fermented foods that require a long waiting period like Meju or Jamón? Please share your stories in the comments. I would love to learn about the fermented soul food of your country.

Stay warm and healthy!

---

P.S. As mentioned, due to a busy schedule caring for my sick family member, the header image of this post was generated by AI to illustrate the traditional sentiment. Thank you for your understanding.