Dining 101

I think my memories of my year here will be punctuated by embarrassing eating experiences. It seems like almost everyday there’s a new one to add to my repertoire. In between our afternoon and evening teaching sessions, Chanta and I decided to try a local restaurant, Insang Tuna. From the outside it appeared to be a sushi bar; we were in the mood for some good sashimi and miso soup. Little did we know . . .

We entered the restaurant and were the only patrons. We asked if they were open, “Yes, Yes, sit down.” We took two seats at the bar. The manager (?) and chef greeted us as well. They brought the menu. Oh, no. Most menus here are picture menus. Literally. They have photographs of what is offered and the prices. So it’s very easy to look, make a decision, and point. Insang Tuna had a traditional menu. Words and prices. All in Korean. So Chanta and I started sounding out the letters, trying to see if we would recognize any of the words. We must have looked like a couple of kindergarteners. “Ssss – oooo – no, that’s the letter for aaaa – oh, look there’s the symbol for ng. Okay, so if we put it together, saaang – gu. No, no, oh, this says sushi. Duh.” On to the next line. We finally just picked the first two items on the menu, thinking we had ordered sushi and sashimi. All tuna. As the name suggested. We forgot that everytime we’ve been to a restaurant here we not only get what we’ve ordered, but tons of extras. So first they brought a green salad with a yummy sesame dressing. Then a salad with shredded root of some type and raw tuna and a spicy sweet sauce. Then bowls of miso. Then a sizzling bowl of rice that the waitress mixed lots of other things into. Then a seaweed soup. Then tempura. And sizzling mushrooms on a hot plate. Chanta and I just looked at each other – how were we going to eat all this? And then the sashimi and sushi. And small pieces of seaweed to make individual rolls, as well as bowls of additional ingredients – ginger, onions, and other things we didn’t recognize. Everytime they would bring something to us, they would smile, nod, and bow. We would do the same back. When they brought the actual sushi and sashimi, the manager stood there until we tried it, I guess to make sure we liked it. Chanta picked up a piece of sashimi (rice with tuna over the top) with her chopsticks and dipped it in her soy sauce. The manager about had a fit. “Ani-o, ani-o . . .” then a lot of words in Korean. We stared at each other. Then it dawned on me. A friend had told me that it was considered rude to dip your rice in the soy sauce, that you’re supposed to turn the sashimi over and only let the fish touch the soy sauce. I explained this to Chanta. She just looked at me like, “You have got to be kidding.” No, I’m not. Try it. She tried it, but then the fish fell off the rice, landed completely in the soy sauce, splattering it everywhere. The manager had another fit. And told Chanta just to use her fingers. Okay. So then he turned to me. And showed me how to put a piece of the raw fish on the small seaweed pieces, add an onion or ginger, wrap it, then dip it in another sauce. Okay, simple enough. My turn. I picked up the seaweed with my left hand, picked up a piece of tuna with my chopsticks, was bringing it to the seaweed, and – splash! It slipped from my chopsticks and landed in the seaweed soup. At this point I think the manager was glad no one else was in the restaurant. The positive aspect of all of this? Chanta and I learned a new phrase, “Mi an hamnida.” I’m sorry. And the waitress gave us her phone number, because she said she wants foreign friends. And, the next day when we passed the restaurant, the manager was outside and he said hello and smiled. So I guess he wasn’t that upset with us.

Getting Sick in a Foreign Country

As if I don’t have enough problems just figuring out how to eat here, I recently had the added experience of trying to figure out how to get medicine. After New Year’s I came down with a nasty, nasty cold and cough. The cough continued to get worse, so on Wednesday evening I went to the pharmacist. Smiles, hello, how are you? Then the charades begin. 1st word. Me. 2nd word. Sick. So I start coughing. Pantomiming runny nose, sneezing, more coughing. Oh, yes, yes, he nods. He disappears and returns with a sheet of capsules (they look normal enough) and a row of foil packets. Okay – haven’t seen anything like that before, but, I’ll work with you on this one. He tears off two of the capsules and one of the foil packets. And pantomimes to take them together. Got it. Two capsules, one foil packet, take until all medicine is used, I’ll be better. I pay him, thank him, and leave. I get home, pour some orange juice, take the capsules and open the foil packet. Oh, my goodness. There are about 20 tiny pellets – like little bbs – in the packet. And they kind of smell funky. Am I supposed to swallow these? All at one time? A few at a time? Or make a tea? Hmmmmm . . . So I decide to swallow them all at once. Then drink a lot of hot water. Just in case they were supposed to be a tea. Then I realize I don’t know how often to take the medicine. He only gave me 5 doses, so one a day for five days? Morning and evening? Morning, afternoon, and evening? The next day I take everything to school with me. I show Eun-Ju the medicine and ask her how often I should take it. Morning, afternoon and evening. So he only gave me enough for two days? Yes. Okay. Maybe it’s a miracle drug and will work quickly. I then ask her about the foil packets, if it’s ok to swallow them. She laughed. Of course. I asked her what they were. She laughed again and said she did not know the word. And, surprisingly, by the end of the day, I was feeling better. My cough is not entirely gone, but has diminished incredibly.

Random Observations

I don’t know what it is about whenever I’m in a foreign country, but I’m obsessed with keeping my apartment clean. Really. I sweep my floor every morning, always wash my dishes (all 4 of them) right away, put away my clothes as soon as I take them off. Why doesn’t this behavior translate to life in the US?

Another observation. They love hair color here. Everyone. Grandmothers, babies (yes, babies), children, teenagers. Both men and women. And it is cheap. The stripe look is definitely in. Not just blond stripes. Hot pink, electric blue, shades of green. One of my students has the finest, most precise hot magenta streaks in her hair. I want them to make that part of the Kate School uniform.

Okay – I’m about to fly to Seoul for the day. Tomorrow we head to Osaka to get our work visas. Supposedly then everything will fall into place. I can get a phone, I can open a bank account – we’ll see . . . .