Korea, Part II: eating.
Maybe this is showing how much I've become Japanese, when my 2nd chapter on a foreign holiday is about food. However, food was a highlight, and being there for 7 nights, I had at least 40 meals. See, people in Japan often ask me what my favourite Japanese food is. I usually reply "don-buri". Japan has these "fast food" restaurants with stuff-on-rice: "don", the most popular of which is cringingly translated to "beef bowl". That doesn't sound like something I would voluntarily eat myself. But basically, the don is plain rice with some some kind of meat and onion/ mix. They are delicious, and provide the most hunger relief for the least amount of yen. I am a big fan. My favourite flavour happens to be called the "bibinba-don". This is some miraculous combination of meat, kim-chi, bamboo and other wierd vegetables, and egg. It is incredible, and unlike any other flavour.
The reason for this; it isn't Japanese. It is an approximation of Korean "bibimbap". You see, all Japanese food pretty much tastes the same. I had a heated argument with a Japanese person that Yaki-niku, suki-yaki, and shabu-shabu is exactly the same. They are all plain meat, cabbage and other vegetables. The only difference is that one is cooked on a hot-plate and dipped in sauce, one is boiled and dipped in egg, and one is boiled and dipped in sauce. When I was translating for the Dutch group that came in April, we had these three meals on consecutive nights. On the last night, they asked me, out of Japanese earshot: "how is this different to the other 2 nights?".
Don't get me wrong, it is delicious. But there is a lack of flavour. You even find yourself craving the taste of plain white rice (which they annoyingly serve at the end). There is such a limited range of flavours in Japan. The only spices people generally use is salt or pepper. They even sell okonomiyaki sauce, takoyaki sauce and tonkatsu sauce in separate bottles with different labels, while being EXACTLY the same. I think Japanese cuisine is based on a deep respect for the actual flavour of stuff. Fish tastes like fish, meat tastes like meat, vegetables taste like vegetables (and sometimes fish). My point is, although Japanese food is delicious, after a week or more of it, it makes Chinese or Korean food taste like a revelation.
I got off the airport bus somewhere in downtown Seoul. I was carrying my bags. Opposite me was a Dunkin Donuts. I was supposed to wait here to meet my friend . It was a pretty cold night, and I was a tad overwhelmed by the big city. I went into the Dunkin Donuts, and I was about to order a coffee and doughnut when a thought crossed my mind: 'Do I really want my first food transaction in Seoul to be an authentic American coffee and doughnut, just like I get several times a week in Japan?'
I waited outside in the cold.
My friend showed up. I hadn't seen her in about 1 1/2 years, but she was more concerned about feeding me. She took me to a Korean BBQ.
It was meat and vegetables cooked on a hot plate. Just like Japan... Well, not quite. I was warned that I would smell like Korean BBQ for a long time after. The difference was in the copious amounts of kim-chi and garlic, and the 5 bowls of chilli dips ranging from "spicy", to "ring-burner". Brilliant. I was also impressed at the table-scissors. Yes, scissors at the table! It just makes too much sense.
Korea is noted, at least in Japan, for having steel chopsticks. They are longer, and more difficult to use. What I found more interesting than that, was the use of spoons. There is a very old joke about Asia: "why don't you use spoons?". Even Jerry Seinfeld had a go. Well, it turns out Korea has been using spoons for well over 1000 years. I just thought that interesting. That little bit of western "we are too civilised to eat with sticks" or "why couldn't you invent the spoon?" supremacy is kindof lost. I guess we will have to stick to the "why can't you pronnounce the letter R?".
On my 3rd day, my friend and her mother took me out to the countryside, right in the middle of South Korea. They kept telling me that food just tastes better in the countryside. I politely agreed with them in advance, as you must. But anyway, we came to an old traditional village, just after the peak tourist season. It was very quiet, and most of the restaurants/dining halls were closed. One happened to be open, but I can guarantee that if it were in a country with any kind of health regulations, it wouldn't have been. This place can only be described as an embarrassment. There were mis-matched plastic table cloths, stained and peeling wallpaper, and hundreds of flies. We had our own small room with a small square doorway, without a door. There were so many flies, that after a few minutes we gave up pretending to swat them away.
Luckily, I'm never sqeamish about sanitation. I adhere by the 10 second rule (the amount of time that may elapse after dropping . Most people use the 3 second-rule, whereas Japanese will give you new chopsticks if you drop them on the floor.) It turns out that the flies in Korea are food critics. I don't blame them for wanting to eat our meal (or lay eggs in them, which is what flies do, right?).
We ordered the meal of death. It was the meal Koreans leave on the graves of dead people. It sounds strange, and you'd think, since no-one will be eating it, it probably wouldn't taste that nice. Well, in Korea, they give offerings to the dead, but they have to be quick, otherwise they will eat it for themselves. Again, it just makes too much sense. The main difference with the meal of death, is the absence of the colour red. In Korean cooking, you could imagine this is quite a big deal. The reasoning behind this is that ghosts are afraid of the colour red. Yes, that is exactly what I was thinking: Korean ghosts are probably the wussiest in the world. But probably the most well-fed.
Street food is such a great idea. It combines streets with food. It makes so much sense. I tried a lot of different things, although I stayed clear of the giant woks filled with either small conical shellfish, or bugs. I literally stayed clear of them; the smell is truly awful. I can't possibly descibe the nastyness of it. The best I can come up with is: a combination of lower intestine contents and someone else's boogers. Some of the better items were "things on sticks", things wrapped in dumplings, and soupy things. It's so cheap, and because it's on the street, you don't have to commit yourself to a whole meal.
There are also a lot of sweet street stalls. It all looked so good. Most of it was some form of caramelisation, often with some kind of cereals. I decided though, that it was rather dissappointing. I grew up on New Zealand cereals, which were much sweeter than these. 
My friend pointed out several stalls with huge lines behind them. They were selling "hotto", which she assured me was really good. I had a whole week left, so we didn't think it worthwhile to line up.
My friend took me to a nice restaurant. Well, the word "restaurant" doesn't really apply in Korea. Every place I went to looked more like a school dining room. There is no concept of atmosphere, or food presentation. I really like this aspect of Korean food. To me, the atmosphere is in the sky, and I eat with my mouth- not my eyes. This "diner" served meat which must have been marinated long before the pig was slaughtered. It was so tender and juicy. Of course, there were hundreds of clay thimbles on the table with different species of kim-chee.
Before leaving to Korea, I took down a list of Korean foods that I was reccommended to try. Brilliant. I showed this to my friend's mother, and she got excited. First on my list was "Sangue-tan". 
I was a huge fan of this. It was a chicken that contained a chicken. And it was for one person. Inside the chicken was rice. The decor of this particular restaurant faithfully recreated a 3rd world makeshift hospital waiting room.
Naengmyeon. About 4 years ago, before I knew that Korea was a real country, my parents wanted to take me to a Japanese restaurant in Christchurch. I ended up ordering kim-chee cold noodles. (Most Japanese retsuarants in Christchurch are owned by Koreans). This meal was so good that it stuck in my memory. Naturally, it was on my list. My friend's mother ordered for me. I was excited. The waitress came over and put a big bowl of noodles infront of me. Before I could do anything, she started chopping the crap out of it with scissors. It was incredible. And this meal would have scared away any ghosts. My friend's mother kept asking me if I was okay. Koreans are apparently always worried that their food is too spicy for foreigners. Sure, for Japanese foreigners this may be true, but I can hold my own. In my university days, I used to drink through a 750ml bottle of Thai sweet chilli in about 2 weeks.
The next day when I was at the Korean folk village, I decided to eat there. I should have known it would be dissappointing when I saw the menu was also in Japanese and English. This was foreign Korean food, right in Korea. That would be like selling cheese-less pasta in Italy. I was so glad that I knew some people there who could show me the real taste of Korea.
On my very last night, I was walking around the markets. I had said goodbye to my friend in the morning, and was already coming down from the holiday. That's when I noticed a stall selling "hotto", and there was no line. I felt almost guilty eating one alone. But it was my last chance. It was basically just a fried ball of dough, filled with brown sugar. It was cheap, it wasn't glamourous, it was warm and filling, and sweet inside. It was delicious. That was my lingering taste of Korea.
