Collected Essays 1: Settling the Dakdoritang Debate

By Kim Dong-ryul · Original publication: September 25, 2024

English translation · Original: https://gujoron.com/xe/notice/1639922

Dakdoritang, a chicken stew, is commonly said to be a redundant compound of Korean dak (chicken) and Japanese tori (とり). But in redundant compounds, the borrowed word comes first. If this were such a compound, it would be toridaktang. The National Institute of Korean Language is ignoring Korean word order and making an elementary mistake on the level of folk etymology.

We say yeokjeon-ap, “station-front-front,” not ap-yeokjeon. We say sagi-geureut, “ceramic-vessel,” not geureut-sagi. In an agglutinative language, the following word explains the preceding one, so the native Korean term comes last. If yeokjeon were used alone, someone might confuse jeon (前, front) with jeon (殿, palace); ap, the native word for “front,” is added to clarify it.

Redundant compounds follow a principle: the newly introduced foreign or technical term must come first. Kong, “bean,” already existed; wandu was introduced later, producing wandu-kong, “pea-bean.” For dak-tori to work, dak would have to be a type of tori, or a newly imported foreign word.

Do we say jip-oega instead of oegat-jip, “maternal-family-house”?

Il-nongsa instead of nongsa-il, “farming-work”?

Namu-gomok instead of gomok-namu, “old-tree-tree”?

Gogi-yuk instead of yuk-gogi, “meat-meat”?

Eoreun-jangin instead of jangin-eoreun, the respectful term for a father-in-law, when jang (丈) already means an elder?

Beoseot-songi instead of songi-beoseot, “pine-mushroom-mushroom”?

Kal-keoteo instead of keoteo-kal, “cutter-knife”?

Seom-Iojima instead of Iojima-seom, “Iwo-Jima-island”?

These examples show that the borrowed word comes first and the native word follows to explain it. For dakdoritang to be a remnant of Japanese colonial rule, dak-tori would have had to be widespread then. People knew godori, but there was no word dak-tori.

If dak-tori existed, we should also find gae-inu, so-ushi, dwaeji-buta, and mal-uma: Korean–Japanese compounds for dog, cow, pig, and horse. Why would chicken alone become a redundant compound? The timing is also wrong: Japan imposed Japanese-language use only after the outbreak of the Second World War.

Korean was banned and the Japanese equivalents of everyday words such as chicken, dog, cow, pig, and horse were enforced after the Government-General promulgated the Korean Education Ordinance in March 1943. Moreover, tori means “bird,” not specifically “chicken.” Japan's edicts on compassion for living things prohibited meat-eating, so there was no Japanese toritang.

As kong-namul, kong-guk, kong-jaban, and kong-gireum—bean sprouts, bean soup, seasoned beans, and bean oil—show, the ingredient comes first. Dak + dori + tang is possible; dak-tori + tang is not. Kimchi fried rice is kimchi + frying + rice: ingredient, cooking method, dish type. Dakdoritang is a stew made with chicken using the dori method.

Redundant compounds arise because Sino-Korean and native Korean words have different ranges of use. Does yukryu, “meat,” include fish? Originally yuk (肉) meant pork and mutton, excluding fish and birds, so the redundant term yuk-gogi arose to distinguish it from fish.

Dakdoritang can be understood as stew made with chicken cut into pieces. Doryeonaeda means cutting around something with a knife, as when removing a rotten part of a fruit. Dori refers to turning, as in dorikkae, a flail. The dish uses chicken cut into rounded pieces rather than julienned or sliced into thin sheets.

Cutting paper with scissors is also called dorida. The name may mean that the chicken is cut up and cooked instead of boiled whole. Either way, the middle element names the cooking method. In Gyeongsang dialect, dak is dal. A redundant dal-dori or dal-dal-i would sound conspicuously awkward.

https://www.foodbank.co.kr/news/articleView.html?idxno=48356

Documents from the 1920s contain kkwong-doritang and tokki-doritang—pheasant and rabbit versions—settling the debate. Yet the National Institute refuses to concede. It wants to stand above the public. It apparently feels better insisting on jajang instead of jjajang. What, then, about kkanpunggi, rajogi, and ryusanseul? That becomes awkward.

In 1920, Japanese culture had not yet deeply penetrated Korean society. A new dish could not plausibly have emerged in the 1910s, immediately acquired a Japanese name, and appeared in a 1920 document. For the Institute's claim to gain even some credibility, four conditions would need to hold:

1. A new compound, dak-tori, combining Japanese tori with Korean dak, became popular.

2. The dori-tang form of cooking did not exist in Korea before colonial rule.

3. Before 1920, the new word dak-tori combined with a newly developed stew-making method.

4. Pheasant-doritang and rabbit-doritang appeared immediately after chicken-doritang.

The redundant compound dak-tori could not have formed, and people could not have become so familiar with Japanese before the 1920s. The Institute's claim is therefore untenable. Worse still, frying is frying and soup is soup—what is “fried soup,” bokkeum-tang? Korean cuisine does not normally name dishes this way.

Just as dak-tori would require gae-inu, bokkeum-tang would require bokkeum-guk. At this rate, we will get “fire-chicken-fried-soup-noodles.” Kkakdugi is cut into cubes; dak-dori is cut into pieces. Dori most likely names the cooking method. The Institute has failed to grasp the basics.

There is a theory of language evolution. We need to understand how language evolves. Language develops from bodily signs. In saying na, “I,” you pull your chin inward to indicate yourself; in saying neo, “you,” you push it outward to indicate the other person. With “my” and “me,” you draw your lips inward toward yourself; with “you,” you push them outward toward the other person.

“Father” is “mother” pronounced in reverse, just as appa is the opposite pronunciation of eomma. “Mother” and eomma came first, originating in a baby's action of closing its lips around a nipple while feeding. Most words can be traced to an ultimate etymological source.

The bouba–kiki effect demonstrates this. The evolutionary pathways of Indo-European languages have been established. The academic doctrine of arbitrariness is wrong. No word simply appears without roots. We must not take the principles of language formation lightly. Ideas do not arise easily, and they have a tenacious life.

More etymological material: https://cafe.daum.net/gujoron