Eating Chinese In Korea (Is This the Epitome of Fusion?)

Chanta and I went out with a Korean employee of the school, Mark. He wanted to take us to a very nice Chinese restaurant. The most famous in Daegu. I haven’t had Chinese in quite a while, so I thought, sounds good. We entered. Mark had an animated exchange with the maitre’d, we were led to a private room. We asked him what had occured (e.g. why were we in a private room?). Mark had told him we wanted a private room and the maitre’d looked us up and down (we were wearing blue jeans) and asked, “Are you planning to only order one dish to share amongst the 3 of you, or will you be ordering special dishes?” Mark explained to him we would be ordering many special dishes and told him who he was. The maitre’d ushered us to a private room right away. Guess in any society it depends on who you know.

And order special dishes he did. Chanta and I told him to order for us. The task of reading Korean, translating into Chinese, then trying to figure out what we were actually getting was just too taxing. We started with the side dishes. Kimchi (of course), pickled radishes, raw onion, miso paste, pickles, a hot sesame oil. The first dish. Seemed like noodles. Cold. Some seafood included. We ate it – and liked it. Mark asked us to guess what we were eating. That no American is ever able to identify what we are eating. Chanta and I exchange glances. Do we want to know? Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss. We guess. Radish. Noodles. No, it’s a seafood. We have no idea. Jellyfish tentacles. Okay. I can handle that. They’re kind of chewy. Not much taste. But edible.

The next course. Sea ginger. Kind of spongy. Looks like big fat octopus tentacles. “Mark, what does sea ginger look like?” He starts explaining – Oh! Sea cucumber! Chanta’s comment, “I always wondered what those things were good for.” For eating. And there was a semblance of beef chunk with the sea ginger/cucumber. Both Chanta and I had just finished eating it when Mark said, “Oh, I don’t think you should eat that.” Hmmmmm. . . just a little late, Mark. “But why? What is it?” “Well, I think it’s beef, but I don’t think it’s very good.” “Oh, no, we just tried it and it tastes fine.” “I think it is that part of the beef, what is it? The tongue. Yes. The tongue.” Oh. Well, it still tastes better than the liver.

And the dishes keep coming. Next. Jumbo prawns and mushrooms. But not any mushrooms. The finest mushrooms in all of Korea. So fine that almost all of them are exported to Japan. And they were tasty. A rich, woodsy, yet so delicate taste. Each mushroom I savored for as long as possible before chewing and swallowing. The taste was so unusual, I wanted to remember it forever.

The next course. Very slippery. Oh. I have done so well up to now. I’ve been able to use chopsticks and not drop anything. Not splatter sauces or chunks of food on my face. Not propel chunks of food across the room. But this is serious slipperiness. I’m trying, I’m trying, I’m trying. Mark asks us, “Do you know what this is?” No idea. Please tell us. “Shark fin.” And it’s good. I’m still attempting to eat mine when the next, and the next, dishes arrive. I have a plethora of bowls and plates around me. And then the soju arrives. But of course. How did I ever think I could have a meal in Korea without soju? My hand is cramping from trying to pick up the slippery shark’s fin. I put my chopsticks down, breathe deeply, try to become one with the chopsticks. I can do this. I can do this. The key is not to grip so hard. So I try the gentle approach to eating. Still doesn’t work. I’m wondering how I’m going to finish. I’m already 3 dishes behind. Nothing like a little pressure to make you perform.

The next dish. Abalone in the shell. Delicious. But the sauce is a concoction of vegetables diced into incredibly small bits. At this point, I’m choosing my battles. I eat the chunks of abalone. And put the shell to the side to be cleared. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Or, attempt to pick up with my chopsticks.

Finally, the last dish. Noodle soup. This is the bain of my existence here. No matter how hard I try, I cannot eat this gracefully. I pick up the noodles with my chopsticks. If I bite them, the ends drop into the soup, splattering soup all over me. If I slurp them, I splash soup over me as well. I try to watch the others. They’re not making a mess. I feel like I was the only one not allowed into the secret club. How to eat noodles without making a fool of yourself. I eat the minimum amount of noodles to be polite, drink some broth, then push the bowl aside.

Dessert. Served with toothpicks. Finally. A untensil I can use. The rice ball with honey. Mmmmmmmm. . . A slice of pineapple. Mmmmmm . . . . A slice of the famous Daegu apple. Mmmmmmmm . . . . And a cup of green tea. I finish the meal with panache.