Ah, the pojangmacha vendor must thin the sauce with more stock, perhaps a three-to-one ratio, to serve it quickly over many portions without it scorching on the griddle. But in my single room by the pond, I see it differently. When I stir a little sugar and gochujang into a paste for my evening rice, I keep it thick like a careful patch—it must cling properly, not run off. For me, the joy is in that concentrated, deliberate touch, bhalo.
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