Somewhere in America this summer, a grill is heating up, and the marinade going onto it is almost certainly built on soy sauce, sugar, and sesame: the sweet, glossy formula the world has come to know as Korean barbecue. It's a wonderful thing. It is also only half the story.
Long before that sweet soy glaze became the face of Korean grilling abroad, there was maekjeok: pork rubbed not with soy sauce but with doenjang, the deep, savory fermented soybean paste that sits at the center of the Korean pantry. It is earthier and funkier than bulgogi, the thinly sliced marinated beef you might order at a restaurant, and a good deal more rustic besides. It also happens to be one of the oldest grilled-meat dishes Korea can name. If you're already planning to grill this summer, it may be the one dish your guests don't recognize, and the first to disappear.
The Oldest Name on the Grill
Maek was an old name for the northern peoples later associated with early Korea, and jeok means grilled meat. Put the two together and maekjeok is, more or less, "the Maek people's grill."
Koreans often tell its story as the grandfather of all Korean barbecue: the ancient ancestor of bulgogi and galbi (the grilled short ribs), traced back to Goguryeo, one of Korea's early kingdoms, and to a centuries-old Chinese text that recorded a foreign grilled meat the locals couldn't get enough of. Food historians are more cautious. The line connecting that ancient record to today's bulgogi is far blurrier than the popular story suggests, and the old texts never quite name the dish the way we do now. What isn't in dispute is that maekjeok is among the oldest names we have for a Korean grilled-meat dish, and that somewhere along the way it settled into the form Koreans cook today: pork, marinated in doenjang, and grilled over fire.
That doenjang is the whole point.
Soybean Paste, Not Soy Sauce
If you've only met Korean barbecue through bulgogi, doenjang will taste like its more serious, grown-up sibling. Where soy sauce is sharp and quick to read, doenjang is slow and deep, closer to Japanese miso but bolder and less sweet. It carries the kind of umami that makes a good aged cheese or a long-simmered stock taste like more than the sum of its parts.
On pork, that depth does something soy sauce can't. The paste clings to the meat, seasons it from the surface inward, and turns gloriously nutty and caramelized when it hits a hot grate. What lands on the plate tastes deeper than plain grilled pork: rounder and savorier, its natural umami pulled forward rather than covered over. There's no need for a long list of seasonings to prop it up; a spoonful of good doenjang and a little garlic carry most of the flavor on their own.
It's also why maekjeok rewards good paste. A flat, overly salty doenjang gives you a flat, salty result. A traditional, slowly fermented one — the kind of doenjang made from nothing but soybeans, salt, and water — gives the meat a roundness you can taste. With that in hand, the rest is easy.
Making Maekjeok at Home
Maekjeok is forgiving, which makes it a good place to start if doenjang is new to your kitchen. You'll want pork with a little fat: shoulder or neck, often sold as pork collar, sliced about a quarter-inch thick is ideal, though thin-cut pork belly works beautifully too. The amounts below serve about four.
The marinade. A handful of good Korean pantry staples do most of the work here, so it's worth using ones you trust. For roughly a pound and a half of pork, stir together two tablespoons of doenjang, one tablespoon of toasted sesame oil, one tablespoon of rice wine (mirin or cheongju, or simply water to loosen), and a tablespoon of something sweet — sugar, honey, or rice syrup all work. Add four cloves of garlic, finely minced, a small grated knob of ginger, a spoonful of toasted sesame seeds, and plenty of black pepper. Because doenjang is already so savory, you won't need much soy sauce, if any; let the paste lead.
The meat. Before the marinade goes on, some cooks lightly score the pork in a shallow cross-hatch, or tap it all over with the back of a knife. It isn't strictly necessary, and everyone does it a little differently, but it tenderizes the meat and helps the doenjang sink in. Coat the pork thoroughly and let it rest. Thirty minutes on the counter is enough to season the surface; a few hours, or overnight in the refrigerator, lets the doenjang work its way deeper. Because it's a paste rather than a thin liquid, it stays where you put it — there's no need to drown the meat, only to cover it.
On the grill. Here's the one thing worth knowing: doenjang has more body and more natural sugar than soy sauce, so it colors and chars faster. Grill over medium heat rather than a roaring flame, and wipe off any thick clumps before the meat goes on, or they'll scorch before the pork is cooked through. Two to three minutes a side over charcoal or a hot grill pan is usually plenty; you're after deep, nutty browning, not blackened edges.
To serve. Maekjeok wants rice, and it wants a wrap. Pile the grilled pork onto a leaf of lettuce or perilla (a fragrant, anise-scented leaf Koreans love with grilled meat), add a spoon of warm rice and a sliver of raw garlic, then fold and eat in one bite. The classic partner is buchu-muchim, a quick salad of buchu (Korean chives) dressed with a little rice vinegar, chili flakes, and sesame oil; its sharp, grassy bite cuts the richness of the pork. A cold beer or a glass of makgeolli, Korea's cloudy rice brew, doesn't hurt either.
For the Cookout
The backyard version almost suggests itself. Thread the marinated pork onto skewers, alternating with scallion and pieces of onion or pepper, and you have a Korean answer to the kebab — one that holds its own next to burgers and ribs on a crowded grill and tends to disappear faster than either. The same marinade is just as good on chicken thigh if pork isn't your thing, and any leftovers, chopped and stirred into a bowl of rice the next day, make the kind of lunch you start looking forward to the night before.
For all the history layered into its name, maekjeok asks very little of you: good pork, good paste, and a hot fire. This summer, when the grill is already going and you've made the usual things one too many times, it's worth reaching for the jar of doenjang instead of the bottle of soy sauce. It's the older, quieter side of Korean barbecue — and once you've tasted what fermented soybean paste does over an open flame, it's hard to go back.
FAQ
What does doenjang taste like, and can I substitute miso?
Doenjang is Korea's fermented soybean paste: savory, salty, and deeply umami, with a rustic funk that mellows as it cooks. Japanese miso is its closest relative and makes a reasonable stand-in, but most miso is milder and sweeter, so start with a little more and adjust to taste. The result will be gentler than true maekjeok, but still very good.
Which cut of pork should I use?
Pork shoulder or neck (sometimes labeled pork collar) with a little marbling is the classic choice: tender, forgiving, and happy over fire. Thin-cut pork belly is richer and also excellent. Steer clear of very lean cuts like loin, which tend to dry out on the grill.
Can I make maekjeok without a grill?
Yes. A cast-iron or nonstick pan over medium-high heat works well; cook the pork in a single layer without crowding so it browns rather than steams. Under a broiler, keep a close eye on it, since the doenjang catches quickly. You'll miss the smoke of charcoal, but it will still be unmistakably maekjeok.
Is maekjeok gluten-free?
It can be, but it depends on your paste. Traditional doenjang is made from just soybeans, salt, and water, with no wheat — but many commercial versions, and most soy sauces, do contain wheat. If gluten matters, read the label, lean on a pure doenjang, and skip or substitute the soy sauce.