The wind has changed in the mornings and evenings. Midday still carries traces of summer, but once the sun dips, the air turns decidedly cool. It is at this time of year that a steaming bowl of mandu soup — dumpling soup — feels especially welcome.
Dumplings have long been part of the Korean table. Joseon-era records describe a dish of dumplings simmered in a clear broth, which the royal court sometimes called byeongsi. Seongnyutang, which appears in the cookbook Eumsik Dimibang, was likewise a dish of dumplings floated in broth, one of the old recipes that connect to today's mandu soup.
Dumplings are especially tied to the food culture of the northern provinces, including Pyongan. In a climate of cold weather and wheat cultivation, dumplings naturally became an important food. When the winter kimchi was ripening, families mixed tofu, mung bean sprouts, meat and kimchi into a filling and sat together in a circle to fold the dumplings.
That is also why mandu soup suits the cooler season so well. In the height of summer, hot broth feels like a burden; in the depths of winter, piping-hot broth is a necessity. But at a moment like now, as summer gives way to autumn, a spoonful of warm broth is welcome in just the right measure. The broth can be simmered clear with beef brisket or drawn lightly from anchovies and kelp. Add shiitake or oyster mushrooms, and the taste of autumn follows naturally.
A cool breeze has begun to blow. It is the season for a warm bowl of mandu soup. As you lift a dumpling from the broth, something may come to mind before the food itself — the laughter of family folding dumplings, a window clouded with steam and the cold wind beyond it. Perhaps the reason we return to mandu soup each time the season turns is that the time we spent eating together still lingers in that warm broth.
