I had never noticed jeon in my youth, not the way I do now.
Maybe because they were always there, at every party, holiday, Tuesday night dinner.
While the mothers gathered in the kitchen to fry up brimming platters of the Korean fritters – with ingredients like meat (wanja jeon), kimchi (kimchi jeon) and cod (daegu jeon) – the fathers played cards in the dining room and we children ran amok upstairs playing video games.
The smell in the air, fried oil, was singular.
The word jeon (pronounced JUHN) encompasses a vast category of fritters and savoury pancakes.
But “fritter” and “pancake” aren’t adequate words for the breadth that the Korean word, jeon, encompasses. That’s why I think of it more as a cooking style, technique or method than a single dish.
The quiet practice of dipping peak-season fish, vegetables, herbs and grasses in beaten egg, then pan-frying them in hot oil is a labour of love – timeless and joy-inducing, not to mention effusively Korean.
Jeon can be traced back to at least the Joseon dynasty (1392 to 1910), where it (and many of today’s most delicious Korean dishes) featured in royal court cuisine.
As with bulgogi or kimchi, many things can be jeon.
Chef Mingoo Kang’s favourite vegetable is the thin-skinned variety of Kermit-green summer squash known as aehobak, or Korean zucchini, which is slightly sweeter and more aromatic than American zucchini.
When it’s “sliced to the right thickness, lightly salted, dusted with flour and coated in egg before being gently pan-fried,” said Kang, of Mingles, in Seoul, South Korea, “it becomes incredibly delicious,” a fleeting pleasure.
Depending on the base ingredient, each requires a slightly different cut, cook and dipping sauce.
Nadia Cho, founder of Jeong Culture and Communication (and a co-author of Kang’s Jang: The Soul of Korean Cooking, gravitates toward the simplest forms, like napa cabbage (baechu jeon).
“There is something confident about showcasing a single vegetable in its entirety,” she said, “rather than chopping it up.”
The seafood scallion pancake known as haemul pajeon, arguably the homiest of jeon, is most poetically enjoyed on rainy days indoors with the milky rice wine makgeolli.
“In Korea, we say that the sound of rain reminds us of the sound of jeon sizzling in a pan,” Cho said.
Don’t forget to use plenty of oil; that’s the real secret to the staccato of pan-fried jeon.
For something different, you can change up the starch. It’s incredible the amount of satisfaction one can get from transforming a single russet into gamja jeon, Korea’s answer to the potato pancake.
This non-traditional version – mostly egg, cornstarch and potato that’s been half grated and half cut into fine matchsticks – is crisp on the outside and tender-chewy on the inside.
Pan-frying enhances the humble potato’s starchy flavour, like a Waffle House hash brown that came home from college with a nice, squidgy belly.
As does the dipping sauce called choganjang (vinegar soy sauce), which has many iterations. Mine is a careful calibration of soy sauce, vinegar, water and sugar.
Pair it all with a good drink, for a celebration of everyday wins. When there’s jeon, life itself is the party. – ©2026 The New York Times Company
Serves 1-2
It’s incredible the amount of satisfaction one can get from transforming a single potato into gamja jeon, Korea’s answer to the potato pancake.
Not quite a hashbrown, nor a latke, jeon has no exact English translation.
In Korean cuisine, it’s a rich category of pan-fried fritters, including vegetables, seafood and meat often dipped in flour, egg, then hot oil.
This nontraditional version of gamja jeon is crispy on the outside and tender-chewy on the inside.
Mostly made with egg, starch and potato and paired with choganjang (vinegar soy sauce), it highlights the spud’s flavour, earthy and full of French-fried goodness.
For the choganjang:
- 1/4 small white, yellow or red onion, finely sliced
- 2 tbsp soy sauce
- 1 tbsp distilled white vinegar
- Pinch of sugar
For the jeon:
- 1 large russet potato (about 300g), peeled and rinsed
- 1 large egg
- 3 tbsp cornstarch
- 1/4 tsp baking soda
- Salt and freshly ground black pepper
- Canola, vegetable or peanut oil
To make
Prepare the choganjang: To a small bowl, add the onion, soy sauce, vinegar, sugar and 1 tablespoon water, then stir to combine. Set aside until ready to eat.
Prepare the jeon: Cut the potato in half lengthwise. Turn one of the halves into fine matchsticks. To do this easily, cut the potato half lengthwise into 3mm-thick slices, then stack a few slices at a time and thinly slice at a diagonal into 3mm-thick sticks.
Transfer the matchsticks to a medium bowl, cover with water and set aside to remove some starch, about five minutes. Drain well and return the matchsticks to the empty bowl.
Meanwhile, make the batter: Grate the remaining potato half into a liquid measuring cup until you have about 1/4 cup.
Add the egg, cornstarch and baking soda, then season with salt and pepper. Stir until you have a thin batter. Pour this batter into the bowl with the matchstick potatoes and toss to evenly coat.
Cook the jeon: Heat a 25-30cm skillet over medium-high, then add enough oil to generously coat the bottom (about 2 tablespoons).
When the oil is loose and shimmery, carefully add the potato mixture in an even layer. Cook without disturbing, lowering the heat as needed, until the edges start to turn golden and a little shake of the skillet releases the jeon from the bottom so it moves in one sturdy piece, two to three minutes.
You should be able to hear the jeon scratching against the bottom of the skillet as it moves around.
Flip the jeon: Using a large spatula or two, carefully flip the jeon, then cook until the second side is crispy and golden brown, two to three more minutes.
If desired, flip the jeon once more so the matchstick potato design is on top, then slide it onto a cutting board. Let the jeon cool slightly to set, then cut into a nine-piece grid. Serve warm with the choganjang.
