Swiss-inspired budae jjigae with cervelat, nussschinkli, Emmentaler, kimchi, Shin Ramyun, tofu, and gochujang in a hearty fusion stew. A pot born from cold nights, long hospital days, and whatever the Swiss pantry would give us. Korean comfort, Alpine survival, one bubbling jjigae.
Our last few days in Zurich felt strange. Not rushed, but heavy. The routine had become familiar by then, morning errands, afternoons at the nursing care facility, evenings walking back through cold streets dusted with snow. Life was moving, but not forward in a way that felt normal.
On one of those nights, after visiting my mom, we passed by Coop, Migros, and Aldi. It wasn’t planned. We were just walking, filling time, picking up small things to bring back to New Zealand and ingredients we could still cook with at home. Then we saw Shin Ramyun on a shelf, and without thinking too much about it, the idea landed: why not budae jjigae?
Of course, this wasn’t going to be the budae jjigae you’d make in Seoul.
A Jjigae Born from Circumstance
Budae jjigae has never been about purity. It was born in post-war Korea from necessity, resilience, and improvisation. Cooks used what was available, Spam, hot dogs, canned beans, layered with Korean flavours to stretch meals and comfort communities.
So making a Swiss version felt strangely appropriate.
In a country where Korean sausages and luncheon meat are hard to find, we leaned into what Switzerland does best: cured meats and cheese. Cervelat stood in proudly for hot dogs. Nussschinkli brought cured depth. Young Emmentaler melted into the stew in a way that felt indulgent and oddly comforting. Add kimchi, tofu, Chinese cabbage, spring onions, gochujang, and Shin Ramyun, and suddenly the pot made sense.
This wasn’t novelty cooking. It was survival cooking.
Swiss Pantry, Korean Soul
What surprised me most was how naturally everything came together.
Cervelat had the smokiness and snap you expect from budae jjigae sausages. Nussschinkli added weight and savouriness that held its own against the heat of gochujang. The Emmentaler didn’t fight the broth, it softened it, mellowed it, and made the stew feel fuller, warmer, more forgiving.
Shin Ramyun anchored everything. That familiar spice, chew, and nostalgia grounded the dish back to Korea. Kimchi brought acidity and funk. Tofu absorbed everything quietly, doing what tofu does best.
It tasted like comfort, not confusion.
The Swiss Army Knife of Jjigae
If classic budae jjigae is a dish of adaptation, then Seuwiseu Budae Jjigae is its Alpine cousin. It’s flexible, practical, and built from what’s on hand. It doesn’t apologise for substitutions. It embraces them.
Much like those weeks in Zurich.
Cooking during that time wasn’t about creativity for creativity’s sake. It was about filling the gaps, between hospital visits, between meals my mom could no longer eat, between emotions you don’t always know how to process. This stew did that. One pot, one burner, one small sense of control.
A Dish Tied to Place and Memory
This jjigae could only have been made there, in that moment. In a city of snow and silence, in supermarkets filled with cheese and cured meats, in evenings spent walking back from places you wish you didn’t have to visit.
It’s Swiss not just because of the ingredients, but because it tells the story of cooking in Switzerland, adapting, adjusting, and finding warmth where you can.
And like budae jjigae itself, it proves that authenticity isn’t about following rules. Sometimes it’s about honouring the spirit of a dish while letting it carry your own story.
Stir in kimchi and gochujang. Fry briefly to deepen flavour, then add water and bring to a simmer.
Add cabbage, tofu, Shin Ramyun seasoning, soy sauce and sugar. Simmer for 3 minutes.
Drop in the noodle block and cook until loosened and tender.
Add Emmentaler and let it melt into the broth. Scatter spring onions just before serving.
Notes
Serve bubbling hot. The cheese melts into the spicy broth like an Alpine fondue meeting a Korean army base. Messy, comforting, and exactly what it’s meant to be.
From Switzerland with love . . . thank you for sharing your feelings and the results these produced . . . you will remember the days for all time to come . . . thank you for allowing us to share and feel a little also . . . including a beautiful dish right for its time . . .
Definitely not something I would eat, but it does look quite comforting and I love that you adapted the recipe and used what you could find in Switzerland.
I love how you just forged on to create a fun fusion meal here. It is so important to find joy wherever we can during difficult times; cooking does that for me and it seems for you, too.
Well done, Raymund. Well done. What a stunning and fun fusion recipe you’ve created to celebrate two different cultures. I know the past weeks have been difficult on you, but it seems like cooking has been an outlet of sorts. This sounds deliciously comforting!
It was, that to make my mind busy thinking of not so good things. Reason for cooking now was greater, as a hobby, as a content, as an outlet and most importantly to serve and feed my mom on her last few moments she have left.
From Switzerland with love . . . thank you for sharing your feelings and the results these produced . . . you will remember the days for all time to come . . . thank you for allowing us to share and feel a little also . . . including a beautiful dish right for its time . . .
Definitely not something I would eat, but it does look quite comforting and I love that you adapted the recipe and used what you could find in Switzerland.
I never even considered the possibility of Swiss and Korean fusion! What a wonderfully comforting dish that makes the most of both culinary cultures.
I love how you just forged on to create a fun fusion meal here. It is so important to find joy wherever we can during difficult times; cooking does that for me and it seems for you, too.
Love your creative fusion take on budae jiggae with the ingredients you had on hand! So comforting and delish!
Well done, Raymund. Well done. What a stunning and fun fusion recipe you’ve created to celebrate two different cultures. I know the past weeks have been difficult on you, but it seems like cooking has been an outlet of sorts. This sounds deliciously comforting!
It was, that to make my mind busy thinking of not so good things. Reason for cooking now was greater, as a hobby, as a content, as an outlet and most importantly to serve and feed my mom on her last few moments she have left.