Hong Kong's FilMart Gets Animated as More Toons Join Project Market Lineup
Asian animation continues to evolve and grow its profile on the global stage in both artistic and commercial terms. That is perhaps most evident at this year's Hong Kong — Asia Film Financing Forum, where a half-dozen promising projects will be pitched to potential buyers, sellers and co-producers. A seventh animated project will also feature in this year's Indonesian spotlight.
Held alongside FilMart, HAF received 60% more animated submissions than last year. This year's animation slate features industry veterans and newcomers alike, including acclaimed director Toe Yuen, who won the 2003 Annecy Cristal for best feature with 'My Life as McDull.' The following is an overview of the animated films at HAF.
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Cloud of the Unknown
Director: Gao Yuan (Hong Kong, France)
Based on Yuan's short of the same name and produced by Isabelle Glachant and Camille Li, this 2D feature is a surreal exploration of dreams and reality. Produced by Chinese Shadows and Shasha & Co. Production, the film follows Yun, a girl who vanishes into strange worlds when she falls asleep, and Sha, who dreams of being a paralyzed painter in a dystopian world. As their paths cross, they begin to question the nature of their existence. 'The encounter between Yun and Sha motivates them to explore themselves further,' said Yuan.
Fly!
Directors: Pelixiano Saputranovic, Ellen Xie (Indonesia)
'Fly!' is a tale set against the backdrop of Bali's spiritual landscape. Produced by ArtCodeStory and MOAI Entertainment, the film follows Wayan, a young Balinese boy who embarks on a mystical journey to reunite with his lost father. As he navigates the spirit world, Wayan faces a choice that could alter his destiny forever. 'In a world where so many have experienced loss and longing from separation, 'Fly!' is a reminder that love never truly fades — it simply transforms,' said Saputranovic. The film is currently in development, with an estimated finish date of 2027.
Light Pillar
Director: Xu Zao (China)
Produced by Da Peng and Lu Xiaowei, 'Light Pillar' is a story set in a nearly deserted film studio that mixes live action and animated sequences. Lao Cha, a janitor, finds companionship in a stray cat and befriends a woman named Li in a virtual world, only to discover that Li is actually a 10-year-old boy. Produced by Fengduan Film, the film explores themes of love, happiness and cycles of renewal. 'Love and happiness sometimes need to be pursued, but more often, they need to be discovered,' said Zao, who previously won DOK Leipzig's Golden Dove for a feature with 'No Changes Have Taken in Our Life.'
A Mighty Adventure
Director: Toe Yuen (Taiwan, Hong Kong, Malaysia)
Keeping up with a resurgent dialogue-free trend in top animation — think Oscar-winner 'Flow' and nominee 'Robot Dreams' — action-packed comedy 'A Mighty Adventure' follows three insects — a grasshopper, spider and butterfly — as they navigate a vast concrete jungle. Produced by Zero One Film and Flystudio, the film blends live-action footage with CG insects to create a raw yet enchanting visual experience. 'This isn't just a visual experiment — it's a universal, entertaining ride for all ages,' said former Annecy winner Yuen. The film is currently in post-production and should be finished by summer.
MIN
Director: Li Jiajia (China)
'MIN' delves into the silent struggles of its titular character as she navigates the complexities of marriage and motherhood. Produced by the China Academy of Art, School of Animation and Games, the film explores the delicate balance between personal desires and societal expectations. 'The movie uses animation, a medium most distant from 'reality,' to present a story with a strong sense of realism,' said Li Jiajia, who previously served as art director on the Berlin competition player 'Art College 1994.'
Wildheart
Director: Marceau Nakayama (France, Belgium, Japan)
'Wildheart,' co-written by Nakayama and John A. Scott, is a Showa-era family drama set in late 1960s Tokyo. Produced by Keytales Studio in France and Forerunner Films in Belgium, the story revolves around Makoto, an 11-year-old girl who cares for her younger brother Kenta. As they search for their mother, Makoto grapples with the guilt of hiding a crucial piece of information from Kenta. 'Wildheart' employs a unique CineMation approach, blending live-action storytelling with the visual freedom of animation. Nakayama described the film as a fusion of Japanese and international cinema sensibilities, resulting in a distinct and original narrative.
The Tale of the Holy Beast
Director: Triparna Maiti (India)
Produced by Bejon K Vinod, 'The Tale of the Holy Beast' is a heart-wrenching story of a young elephant calf who loses his herd to poachers and is subsequently sold to various owners throughout his life. Produced by FAEM, the film explores the bond between humans and animals through the lens of captivity. 'Using animation, we are exploring the wild emotions and complexities of captivity,' said Maiti. The project is currently in development, with an estimated finish date of October 2028.
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Time Business News
a day ago
- Time Business News
Andi Sklar: The Visionary at the Intersection of Art, Identity, and Experience
In a world increasingly divided between digital immediacy and physical disconnection, few creators manage to connect emotion, place, and memory as powerfully as Andi Sklar. A multidisciplinary artist, designer, and cultural storyteller, Sklar is recognized for crafting immersive environments and intimate fine artworks that capture more than just aesthetics — they capture a feeling. From contributing to global theme park experiences to creating tender watercolors that celebrate queer life, Sklar's career defies traditional boundaries. He is not merely a painter, or a designer, or a creative director. He is all of these things — and, more importantly, a visionary who bridges commercial design with personal truth. Born in Highland Park, Illinois, Sklar grew up in a midwestern town known for its tree-lined streets and proximity Andi Sklar to Chicago's vibrant cultural scene. He was a reserved but observant child, drawn more to museum halls and sketchbooks than to soccer fields. Family trips often revolved around cultural landmarks — the Field Museum, the Art Institute of Chicago, and the Milwaukee Public Museum. But one trip changed everything: a visit to Walt Disney World shortly after its opening. Sklar was mesmerized not by the rides, but by how everything — from the pavement to the lampposts — told a story. That realization planted a lifelong obsession: how to build a world that makes people feel something real. Following high school, Sklar enrolled in the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD). There, he explored everything from architectural rendering to theatrical lighting design. What made him stand out wasn't just his technical skill — it was his deep emotional awareness. His portfolio, even then, contained spaces that invited people to feel joy, memory, or introspection. During his time at RISD, Sklar began exploring themes of identity more openly, particularly his experience as a gay man. For his senior thesis, he created a conceptual exhibit titled Invisible Rooms , which combined architecture, lighting, and narrative to explore hidden queer histories. After graduation, Sklar joined Walt Disney Imagineering, entering the dream factory of themed entertainment. At Disney, he contributed to a variety of global projects, most notably Hong Kong Disneyland, where he worked as an Area Art Director. In this role, he didn't just design facades — he crafted emotional architecture. Everything from the curvature of pathways to the color of rooftops was carefully planned to evoke story. His work on Fantasyland was particularly noted for balancing classic Disney themes with Asian aesthetics, a subtle but powerful act of cultural adaptation. Sklar became known for his attention to detail and his ability to lead multidisciplinary teams with empathy and vision. While many would consider a career at Disney the pinnacle of success, Sklar saw it as a stepping stone. His passion for storytelling through space led him to projects with Universal Studios, DreamWorks, Nickelodeon, Warner Bros., and Sanrio. His work at Bollywood Parks Dubai was a standout. There, he helped develop attractions based on Indian cinema, such as Sholay: The Hunt for Bandits . Unlike other designers unfamiliar with the cultural source material, Sklar dove deep into Bollywood history and aesthetics to ensure authenticity. This commitment to research and representation set him apart. To Sklar, design is not just visual — it's anthropological. Despite success in commercial design, Sklar began to feel a pull toward more personal work. Themed entertainment was collaborative and large-scale — but it didn't always allow for introspection or vulnerability. He returned to painting, a medium he had loved since childhood. In 2018, he debuted a series titled 'Desert Trails', showcasing life in Southern California and the American Southwest through a queer lens. The watercolors were quiet but emotionally potent: a man lounging by a motel pool, two friends walking under desert stars, a couple having breakfast in a sunlit diner. These weren't grand statements — they were human moments made sacred through attention and care. Unlike much queer art, which leans into either political activism or flamboyant aestheticism, Sklar's work sits in a middle ground. His subjects are ordinary people in extraordinary lighting. His colors evoke 1970s postcards: teal blues, dusty pinks, and pale oranges. Sklar's art creates a queer nostalgia — not just longing for the past, but longing for the spaces where queer people have always existed quietly and beautifully. His piece The Sandpiper Inn features a retro beach motel, its sign glowing against a dusky sky. No people are present, but their existence is felt — towels hanging over railings, a drink left on a table. This subtlety is Sklar's signature. Throughout his career, Sklar has been an advocate for inclusivity in design teams. He emphasizes hiring creatives from diverse backgrounds and ensuring that narrative decisions in entertainment design include input from those represented. He believes that empathy is a design skill — one as important as drafting or rendering. Whether mentoring junior designers or consulting on DEI-focused design initiatives, Sklar uses his platform to make sure future creatives feel empowered, not excluded. As he once put it: 'It's not enough to build a world — you have to ask who gets to live in it.' Sklar's technical skills are vast. In themed design, he works with 3D software, architectural drafting tools, and digital painting. But in his fine art, he returns to traditional media — watercolors, pencils, ink washes. His watercolor process is loose and layered. He starts with a light pencil sketch, blocks in colors with translucent washes, and finishes with sharp details like signage, reflections, and textures. The final work often looks sun-bleached, as if it's been living in memory for years. He embraces imperfection, stating that 'a brushstroke out of place can tell the truth better than one that's perfect.' Though Sklar avoids the spotlight, his work has earned him growing recognition. His paintings have been featured in LGBTQ+ art festivals across California and the Southwest. Collectors often cite the emotional familiarity in his scenes, even if they've never been to the exact places he paints. He's also been highlighted in design circles for his contributions to themed entertainment, including guest lectures at design schools and panels on queer visibility in architecture and public art. Still, Sklar remains grounded. He maintains an online archive of his work not to promote himself, but to make his art more accessible to those who connect with it. Today, Sklar splits his time between consulting for design firms and working in his home studio. He lives in Palm Springs, surrounded by the landscapes that so often appear in his art. In the mornings, he paints. In the afternoons, he might review attraction blueprints or host virtual design critiques with students. On weekends, he visits vintage roadside motels and old diners, snapping photos for future inspiration. His life is balanced, intentional, and infused with the same thoughtful narrative that defines his work. Andi Sklar may not dominate headlines or flood social media with self-promotion, but his impact is profound. He has built worlds we've walked through, seen stories we've felt without words, and captured lives that rarely get portrayed with such dignity. His legacy is one of care, craft, and cultural empathy — values often missing in both commercial design and fine art. In an age of noise, Sklar's work is a whisper — but one that lingers, resonates, and redefines what it means to be both seen and felt. TIME BUSINESS NEWS
Buzz Feed
a day ago
- Buzz Feed
11 Celebrities Who Died Right In Front Of Their Fans
On Dec. 8, 2004, "Dimebag" Darrell Abbott — formerly of the legendary heavy metal band Pantera and widely regarded as one of the best guitarists of all time — was doing a club show with his new band, Damageplan. Only 90 seconds into their first song, Nathan Gale, 25, a six-foot-three, 250+-pounds man with a shaved head, strode through the crowd and onto the stage. Fans watched in horror as Gale, at point-blank range, raised a pistol and shot Abbott in the forehead. Pandemonium broke out as Gale killed two more people and took a hostage, inching toward the exit with the gun at the hostage's temple. However, before he could escape, a police officer shot him dead. Adding to the horror of it all, this happened on the anniversary of John Lennon's murder, when he, too, was shot and killed by a troubled fan. So why did Gale murder Abbott? It later came out that Gale, a former Marine with mental health issues, held Abbott responsible for the breakup of his favorite band, Pantera. In 2016, Irma Bule, 26, was an Indonesian pop singer specializing in Dangdut, a popular music genre in her country. A mother of three, she was not yet a nationally known singer but had a following in the Karawang area of West Java. For performers like Bule, who were still looking to go national, singing in rural areas wasn't especially lucrative, and net only $20 per concert (plus tips from the crowd). However, if they performed on stage with a snake, the pay jumped up to $25. Another Dangdut singer, Yeyen, told local media. "If there are snake dancers, there will be more audience. Therefore … we have snake dancers." Bule had performed with snakes onstage for three years, but the snakes were normally nonvenomous and/or had their mouths duct-taped closed. On the night of her death, the snake she was asked to perform with was neither nonvenomous nor duct-taped. Bule's show began as it always did, with her dancing and singing, until — in a flash — the snake bit her. Footage online shows Bule crouched at the side of the stage just after the bite, with the snake handler tending to her. Forty-five minutes later, she was dead. In the category of "Yikes! That Would Never Fly Today!" we have William Ellsworth Robinson, an American magician of Scottish descent who captivated audiences using the persona of "Chung Ling Soo," a Chinese conjurer. To sell the lie, he never spoke English on stage and wore face paint to pass as Chinese. That's bad enough, but it gets worse — his entire act was almost entirely stolen from an actual Chinese magician named Ching Ling Foo. (He didn't even try to hide the theft — he changed only two letters of his name!) The two magicians had a major rivalry, and honestly, there's probably a movie there, but this post is about dying in front of your fans so... On March 23, 1918, during a performance at the Wood Green Empire in London, Soo (the fake Chinese magician, to be clear) tried to perform his most famous act, the "bullet catch," which involved catching a bullet fired at it went terribly wrong. A malfunction caused a real bullet to be fired, striking Robinson/Soo in the chest. Breaking character and speaking English onstage for the first time, he exclaimed, "Oh my God. Something's happened. Lower the curtain." He died the following death shocked the public, revealing that the "Chinese" magician was, in fact, a white dude from America. His commitment to his stage persona was so complete that many were unaware of his true identity until his untimely demise. (From the vantage of 2025, you'd think a white guy in yellowface would be pretty obvious, but maybe not 100+ years ago.) On June 10, 2016, 22-year-old Christina Grimmie — the talented young singer who'd placed third on Season 6 of The Voice — had just finished a performance in Orlando, Florida, and was holding a meet-and-greet inside the venue. She was in good spirits as she worked through the line of fans, signing autographs and taking selfies. The joyful night took a horrific turn, though, when it was 27-year-old Kevin James Loibl's turn to meet Grimmie. According to a fan behind Loibl: "The one guy in front of us was walking up to meet her. Her arms were open, waiting to greet him with a hug. Then there was a sound of three pops, like balloons. People had brought balloons to the show, and the security guards were popping them, so at first I thought it was that." The sounds weren't balloons — Loibl shot Grimmie three times at point-blank range. Grimmie's brother tackled the shooter, and the two fought before Loibl broke away and shot himself. Grimmie was rushed to the hospital but pronounced dead less than an hour after offering Loibi that learned that Loibl was obsessed with Grimmie, spending his free time watching videos of the singer and poring over her social media accounts. He believed they were soulmates, so to make himself more attractive to her, he underwent Lasik eye surgery, got hair plugs, and lost 50 pounds. When he was told it was unlikely they'd ever be together, Loibl became angry and defensive. Somewhere along the way, he decided on this new, horrible course of Mohandie — a clinical, police, and forensic psychologist — told BuzzFeed News that social media can create an unnatural obsession for some fans. "There is all this social networking stuff that is happening right now and to an unstable person that can really complicate into them thinking they do have a relationship with this person. They read more into it because of their misperceptions." When Cleveland Indians' shortstop Ray Chapman arrived at the Polo Grounds in New York on Aug. 17, 1920, he was having one hell of a season, batting .303 with 97 runs scored. That wasn't out of character, though. Chapman had hit .300 twice before and to this day holds the single-season record for sacrifice bunts. It was rumored that Chapman, who was newly married to a pregnant wife, planned to retire when the season ended to focus on his family. Tragically, while facing Yankees' submarine pitcher Carl Mays, he was hit in the head with a fastball. This was before batters wore helmets, and the ball met Chapman's head with a sickening thud. The impact was so strong that the ball bounced into play, and Mays threw it to first, believing it must have hit Chapman's bat. A dazed Chapman stood, asked someone to call his wife, and added: "I'm all right; tell Mays not to worry." He then collapsed and was rushed to the hospital, where he died the next day. Following the incident, many felt Mays had hit Chapman on purpose for crowding the plate, and Hall of Famer Ty Cobb even suggested someone should do the same to Mays. Chapman's death led to some changes in baseball. Beforehand, pitchers were allowed to dirty up the ball with soil, licorice, or tobacco juice. That was forbidden after Chapman's death, as it reduced the visibility of the baseball and made it harder to see (and thus evade).A minor leaguer died the next season in the same manner, but even so, batting helmets weren't used widely until the 1950s. Barbara Weldens, 35, was an up-and-coming French singer-songwriter who had already won several prestigious music awards. Her fans loved her emotional lyrics, haunting voice, and theatrical stage presence — often performing barefoot. On July 18, 2017, Weldens was performing at a packed church during the Léo Ferré Festival. After finishing a particularly powerful song, Weldens smiled, soaking up the crowd's applause, then suddenly collapsed. At first, some audience members thought it was part of the show — a dramatic flourish. But Weldens didn't move. Paramedics arrived quickly, but it was too late. An autopsy determined that Weldens had been electrocuted; she was performing barefoot as usual, and when her foot made contact with a defective piece of electrical equipment, it sent electricity shooting through her body. Owen Hart may have been born into a legendary wrestling dynasty (his dad was Stu Hart; his brother was Bret "Hitman" Hart), but he was a star in his own right and at the center of some of the biggest '90s storylines of the WWF (now the WWE). However, on May 23, 1999, during the WWF's Over the Edge pay-per-view event in Kansas City, Missouri, his life (and those storylines) ended. Hart was set to make a dramatic entrance as his superhero persona, the Blue Blazer, by being lowered from the arena rafters into the ring. Tragically, a malfunction occurred, and Hart fell a long distance — approximately 78 feet — landing chest-first on the top rope. He was rushed to the hospital but pronounced dead not long after arriving; the cause of death was internal bleeding from blunt force trauma, resulting in a severed aorta. The incident was not broadcast live, as a pre-recorded segment was airing at the time. The audience in attendance witnessed the fall, though, and the frantic attempts to save his life afterward. Despite the tragedy, WWF owner Vince McMahon decided to continue the live broadcast after a 15-minute widow, Martha Hart, was horrified, writing in a book about her husband, "As he lay dying in the ring, he struggled to live for our children and me. After he lost his fight for life, they just scooped him up and ordered the next match out. Where's the humanity?" In the aftermath, Martha Hart filed a wrongful death lawsuit against the WWF, claiming they were negligent and hadn't hired qualified riggers. The WWF settled for $18 million, and she used the settlement to establish the Owen Hart Foundation, supporting various charitable causes. Tommy Cooper was a towering figure in British comedy — both literally (he was a big dude, standing 6′4″) and figuratively. He was famous for his bumbling magician act. Basically, his whole shtick was that his magic tricks always went hilariously wrong, which made what happened on April 15, 1984, during a live broadcast of a variety show extra horrific. Cooper walked on stage to thunderous applause, started performing, and then collapsed backward into the curtain. The audience burst out laughing, assuming it was part of the act. But it wasn't. For several agonizing seconds, Cooper lay on the stage floor, unresponsive. The host, Jimmy Tarbuck, told the show's producer: "This isn't it [part of the act]. 'Now', he said, 'you know how he is.' He's put this in... And...I said, No... this is not him!" The cameras kept rolling — broadcasting Cooper's death live to 12 million viewers. Stagehands eventually dragged him offstage as performers tried to keep the show going. It was later confirmed that Cooper died of a heart there onstage. Nick Zoricic was a 29-year-old Canadian freestyle skier, rising fast in the dangerous, high-speed world of ski cross — a sport that combines downhill racing with motocross-style obstacles (and has been referred to as "NASCAR on skis.") But on March 10, 2012, at a ski cross World Cup event in Switzerland, Zoricic's final race became a tragedy seen by hundreds of spectators. As he approached the finish line at full speed, Zoricic flew off the final jump — but something went wrong. Instead of landing cleanly, he veered off course and slammed into the safety netting and a solid boundary structure just past the finish. He hit the barrier with brutal force, disappearing in a spray of snow. When the snow cleared, Zoricic was lying motionless. Officials quickly waved off the other competitors and rushed to his aid, but Zoricic had suffered severe head trauma. He was pronounced dead a short time incident sparked international calls for greater safety measures in ski cross and other high-speed winter sports, especially since Zoricic's death was the second high-profile skiing fatality in two months — freestyle skier Sarah Burke previously crashed and died during halfpipe training. Japan's Sankai Juku dance company was famous for their version of Butoh, a rebellious dance movement that gave the middle finger to both Western culture and traditional Japanese art. Sankai Juku's version was different, gentle and poetic. They made their American debut at the Olympic Arts Festival in Los Angeles in 1984, then toured the country, eventually stopping in Seattle on Sept. 10, 1985. There, they planned to perform a piece entitled "Jomon Sho," where four dancers hang upside down from a building by ropes attached to their ankles (a metaphor for life and death or something artsy like that). They were supposed to dance while being slowly lowered to the ground, a process expected to take 30 minutes, but after only a couple of minutes — and while still 80 feet in the air — one of the company's most senior dancers, Yoshiyuki Takada, noticed his rope was He tried to carefully reach up and grab the rope above where it was fraying, but it snapped before he could. He fell the long distance to the ground silently, landing with a thud. A doctor in the crowd tried to help, but it was no use — Yoshiyuki Takada was later came to light that they only tested one of the four ropes to be used, and that they'd requested old ropes because new ropes caused the dancers to twist and turn too much. The company stopped performing the hanging outdoor dance after the tragedy, but has since added it back into their repertoire. (The photo above is an example from a more recent performance.) British actor and comedian Sid James was famous for starring in the Carry On films (a massive British comedy franchise comprised of 31 films released between 1958 and 1992). But his life ended on April 26, 1976 — in front of a packed Sunderland Empire Theatre — as he acted onstage in the comedy play The Mating Season. The performance was proceeding as usual, according to costar Olga Lowe. "I came on, said my first lines and he answered as normal. Then I sat on the sofa with him. I said my next line and he didn't answer." James had suffered a heart attack and slumped over on the couch. "I thought it was a gag," Lowe added. "Well, you would with Sid. He was such a rascal... Ten minutes earlier, he had been the same old laughing Sid." Once the gravity of the situation set in, the curtain was dropped. James was 62.
Los Angeles Times
2 days ago
- Los Angeles Times
What this tiny restaurant in Australia reveals about L.A.'s Korean dining scene
At the end of a nearly two-week trip to Melbourne, Australia, early last month, I drove with a friend 50 miles outside the city to a rural town with the amazing name of Cockatoo. She teetered her pickup truck at the edge of a steep driveway, double-checking the address to make sure we were in the right place. She inched her way down to park and we walked the short path to a house nestled in the woods. Yoora Yoon greeted us at the door and welcomed us inside. We had made it to our Saturday lunch destination: Chae, a six-seat restaurant centered on the talents of Jung Eun Chae, to whom Yoon is married. Yoon stood at the crook of the L-shaped counter where the diners had settled and introduced Chae as she quietly glided between tasks in the open kitchen we sat facing. Then he left the room. Chae placed pots of ginseng tea on burners in front of us. We were in her hands. A trio of bites comprised the first of seven courses. Sanjeok can refer to skewered meats and vegetables; Chae reconceived the dish as minced chicken marinated in ganjang (the Korean version of soy sauce that Chae makes herself) and pan-fried. She hid a lightly candied walnut half in its center for crunch. It was flanked by two jeon, or fritters. One was a loose ball of shrimp and julienned king oyster mushrooms nipped with spring onion and chile, flattened where it had browned in the skillet. The other was a zucchini coin cooked in translucent egg batter. Each was a microcosm of mixed textures and savory flavors. I looked over with 'ok, wow' raised eyebrows at the friend next to me, Besha Rodell. Longtime food-obsessed Angelenos will remember Besha as the last food critic for L.A. Weekly, from 2012 to 2017. She's currently the chief restaurant critic for the Age and Good Weekend in Melbourne, and this month her memoir 'Hunger Like A Thirst' was published. We've been close for 20 years and shared many exceptional meals. Chae was shaping up to be one of them. A stone bowl filled with more diverse tastes arrived next. Pyeonyuk, striated pork meat and fat pressed into square slices for satisfying chew. Yukhoe, a tangle of chopped raw beef glossed with just-made sesame oil. The dish often includes Asian pear; Chae spritzed it instead with a fermented apple extract she had concocted. Cilantro leaves dressed in nutty perilla oil acted as mulchy contrast against poached octopus and a ojingeo-jeot, squiggly fermented squid. In the center of the plate, to season and balance the tastes, was a dense pool of cho-gochujang, a vinegared variation on the ubiquitous Korean chile paste. Chae had made this, too, from the very building blocks of Korean cuisine: She ferments her own meju, the bricks of crushed soybeans also used to craft ganjang and doenjang, the paste analogous to miso. I'm generally a fast eater. This collage of small dishes, where every element felt so considered, managed to slow me way down. Something beautifully simple followed: chicken noodle soup, its poultry-intense broth sharpened only by thin triangles of radish kimchi. Chae, who was born in Seoul, had been working in Melbourne fine dining when she injured her ankle in a motorcycle accident, forcing her to step away from the extreme demands of kitchen work. She was considering her next move when she watched the season-three episode of 'Chef's Table' on Netflix about Buddhist nun-chef Jeong Kwan, who lives and teaches at the Baegyangsa temple in South Korea. Moved by the clarity of her philosophy and relationship to nature, Chae went to study with her. It set the path for her tiny home-based restaurant, where she would make her own jangs — as she remembered her mother doing in her childhood — and serve meals only two days a week. I read up on all this after my meal with Besha, but aspects of the cooking registered as familiar even in the moment. Kwang Uh, the chef and co-owner of extraordinary Baroo in Los Angeles, also studied with Jeong Kwan; he met his wife and business partner Mina Park at the temple. With a couple of day's notice, Uh will make a vegetarian or vegan version of Baroo's set menu. When I think of its bowls of wondrous, seaweed-seasoned rice and banchan of seasonal vegetables, and treasures like dried acorn jelly with the thick chew of cavatelli, I can trace the through-line of Jeong Kwan's influence to both chefs. I'm remembering Chae's finale of rice crowned with spinach and mushrooms and sides of kimchi and spicy radish salad; she served it alongside jeongol (hot pot) of mushrooms and croquettes of minced beef and tofu. Los Angeles, we all know, is blessed with one of the world's great Korean dining cultures. If I'm hungry for jeon of many shapes, I can head to HanEuem in Koreatown. For soup that seemingly heals all ills, we have Hangari Kalguksu. For chefs that turn the essence of Korean cuisine into personal, meditative tasting menus, we have Uh at Baroo and Ki Kim at his new Restaurant Ki. And still: How rich to have a meal, on the opposite side of the world, that expressed another side of the culinary Korean diaspora unlike anything I've experienced. The economics of a small operation like Chae's must sometimes feel precarious. But the impressive structure and flow of the meal, balanced with a forested home environment in a room full of honeycomb-colored woods, was singular. Would a chef anywhere in the Los Angeles area be able to age meju, produce their own jangs and serve meditative meals to a tiny number of people? Unlikely, but if nothing else, it reminds me that the Korean dining possibilities here are inexhaustible. I'll be writing more in detail about my time eating in and around Melbourne in the coming months. Australia is on our minds at the Food section this weekend since the Times and Tourism Australia will present the 2nd Annual Great Australian Bite on Saturday, featuring chefs Curtis Stone of Gwen and Pie Room and Clare Falzon visiting from Staġuni above Adelaide in South Australia. The event has sold out, but food reporter Stephanie Breijo wrote about the Malibu property where Stone will host the event — and where he's building a new lifestyle empire.
