The Irony of the Menu . . .

Last night, I went to dinner with Chanta and Tom. We tried to read the menu. It was exhausting. So many letters. So many words. I finally said, “Tonight, it’s going to be Korean roulette. I’m going to point. And that’s what I’ll eat.” Tom agreed. “Yogi-yo!” Please come here . . . We randomly pointed at the menu. One of these. One of these. One of these. Oh, the anticipation! What will arrive? What have we ordered? Minutes later we were met by kimchi rice, a chicken/cabbage/vegetable combination, and a squid omelette/pancake concoction. All were absolutely delicious.

Tonight Ted and I went out to dinner after class. We got the menu and started reading. Okay, this section is soups. Don’t want soup. Skip ahead. This section is chicken. Ted chose an entree from there. This section, I’m not sure what it is, but oh, look, here’s kimchi, kim something. Kim is seaweed, this ought to be good. Okay. “Yogi-yo!” We ordered. Moments later our food arrived. A platter of suspect looking fried chicken was placed in front of Ted. A platter of french fries and cut up hot dogs was placed in front of me. “Kimchi????” I asked in bewilderment. [insert very fast Korean phrase ending with kim-cha] Oh. I guess that vowell really does make a difference.