In the parking lot of a Koreatown supermarket on the corner of 5th and Western is a final vestige of everything I love about winters in L.A. See, it used to be that once Thanksgiving threatened to come around and I could actually see my morning breath vaporize in the cold(-ish) air, that’s when I knew the street vendors would soon be out.

No one knew exactly when or exactly where, but one day there they’d be: the huge wooden crates—granddaddies to La Caja China—where sweet potatoes and chestnuts roast on beds of polished stones. Or portable griddles that flattened rice-flour cakes into gooey disks. It was all the traditional foods of Korea’s bitter, bitter winter—incongruously translated under the California sun, yes, but delicious and satisfyingly warm nonetheless.

You can blame the scarcity on global warming; I blame it on industrious city inspectors and the rigmarole of obtaining permits. But, hey, po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

Now it’s just this humble aluminum cart right outside the eastern entrance to California Market. Don’t let the angular Korean lettering on the cute green awning intimidate you. The menu consists of one thing, and one thing alone: ho-dduk. Or, as the yellow proprietary sign taped against the window translates with flourish: Koo’s Sweet PanCake.

Dduk, in the Korean food lexicon, refers to any pastry made with sweet rice flour—kind of like mochi but not Japanese. Here, it’s formed into a ball, filled with brown sugar, cinnamon and crushed peanuts, then pressed down onto a hot griddle until the dough flattens and turns translucent. The exterior takes on a crunchy fried patina while everything inside caramelizes and oozes together into earth-toned, sugary magma. A couple of posters at Koo’s actually chronicle the metamorphosis of the treat—in case you’re really into seeing the gestation of your food.

Ordering is easy: Tell Mr. Koo, the kindly, moon-faced ah-juh-shee, how many you want. Each is just one dollar. If you want to eat one right then and there—which is highly recommended—Mr. Koo will fold a small paper plate around the steaming cake and hand you the portable pocket. Koo’s cart is in service every day from 11 in the morning to 11 at night, year round. Gotta make the most out of the permit, you know.

My mom says the ‘ho’ in ho-dduk has some etymological reference to anything with a sweet, goopy center. I like to think the ‘ho’ indicates the exhaling sound that’s unavoidably made when one bites into the hot cake and tries to hold the molten contents in one’s mouth. (Fine, insert irresistible dirty Santa Claus joke here.)

There are other Korean street treats out there to make me go ho-ho-ho. I found them, but they’re super secret. Really they are. Give me a holler, and I may just tell you.

Jiyeon Yoo is Restaurants editor for Metromix Los Angeles, and wishes you a ho-ho-ho this winter.