even in this economy, the market for Cosmos' kimchi is likely to expand. Kimchi is, after all, a Korean staple, like milk and bread. Then there are the shoppers who've begun flocking to Costco and Wal-Mart to stretch their budgets and have discovered the red-covered pails that cost about $6.
"I got a call from Costco's Southeast regional office, which handles Florida and Georgia, asking for pricing and a sample," Kim says excitedly from inside his office, where the sharp smell of garlic permeates the air. The 49-year-old also just got back from a trip to the Midwest, where he discovered one of the company's private labels (Cosmos also produces the brands Josan and Frieda's) in a Wal-Mart in Hastings, Neb.
Kimchi-making was once a family affair in which grandmothers, mothers, daughters and aunts would gather for the arduous task of grinding together a peppery paste to be stuffed by hand between each layer in a head of cabbage. Centuries-old recipes have been proudly passed down through the generations....
"Korea is changing," Kim says with a shrug as he walks through his compact factory, careful to avoid the pools of water that appear every few minutes as containers are rinsed and machines are hosed down.
"Young women don't know how to make kimchi; they buy it. Normally, Korean women stayed home, but now a lot of them are working, and making kimchi takes too much time."
Korean America has changed as well. While the first generation brought with it secret formulas for jars of pickled goodness, their American-raised children have, for the most part, been indifferent to learning how to make the dish. They rely on Mom and Korean markets that offer store-made versions by the pound, along with aisles of packaged brands.
Kim says Cosmos is the largest kimchi factory in the United States, an attribute acknowledged even by its main competitor, King's Kimchi in San Francisco, which has been around since 1965.
Traditional kimchi can take weeks and even months to ferment, but Cosmos' is ready in minutes.