Yogiyo! Old woman! Kimbap Juseyo!

I’m not a picky eater. I just happen to know about five or six people who would disagree with this statement. Those five or six people being my college roommates from senior year who watched me survive on canned soup, strawberry yogurt, cottage cheese, rice and the occasional sandwich for a year.

(However I will get to, and completely demolish, this counterpoint later on. Not to mention this article is really just about Korean food so bare with me through the damn introduction.)

This is not a trait I necessarily developed out of choice, but rather a mechanism for survival which I developed in order to survive as one of many (many being four if you counted my natural born siblings and half a hundred if you factor in the neighbors, friends, cousins and other clingers) children around a dinner table. In much the same way that a moment of hesitation on the surgery table can result in the loss of a human life, one moment’s hesitation before grabbing that last crescent roll, a lingering of the eyes too long on the last helping of mashed potatoes - any of these meant a potentially hungry night. As you can imagine, defense mechanisms were developed. Food became food and...I survived.

As a result up until college, I really didn’t care what I ate. Sandwiches were preferred, spaghetti was nice, I was willing to suffer through the occasional melted cheese on bread...

However once I got into college all of this changed. All of a sudden, if I so desired, I could have sushi or salad or soup for every meal. In fact I could even pay to have the people at the OU union invent sandwiches for me (example: the birth of the ‘sad sandwich’ a morose morsel which Sneed, Moelenbrock and I gave birth to in, I believe, the wake of a date party which didn’t go as planned).

In my usual manner of writing, I’ve taken too long to introduce the simple point of my article: I don’t really like a lot of food in the United States. In fact I consume more cottage cheese than is probably reasonable for one human being, a fact which continues to distress anyone I live with. Yet, ever since I’ve come to Korea I’ve fallen in love with just about every food I’ve come across.

No shit. Forget Kim Yuna, Kim-Tae-Hee or the Wonder Girls - what has really impressed me in Korea is the food.

And so I have created a list of my all time favorite, desert island, top (insert number) greatest Korean foods:

And a note to anyone who disagrees, “I am just saying” you’re wrong.

1. BiBimBap

Starting our list off is the initial food which I truly fell in love with. Don’t get me wrong, Kimbap was great...but BiBimBap? This is one bowl of korean deliciousness that I will miss dearly when I either finish my contract, am stabbed by a local, or make that ‘Cass tastes like shit’ comment in front of the wrong person for the last time.

What’s in it? The concept, like all great novels, movies and Seinfeld episodes is simple. You steam some rice...and you put this at the bottom of the bowl.

You gather loads of vegetables, some steamed some raw, all fresh...and you put these on the top of the bowl.

(sometimes) You take a sunny side up egg...and slap this on top.

Then you drown the entire bowl in hot sauce (It should be noted that this is not an option. I have tried countless times to eat Bibimbap without putting hot sauce on. All this does is result in an annoyed torrent of Korean being shouted at me by the local Aunt/owner of the restaurant who proceeds to take the hot sauce and cover the dish for me. I recommend covering the dish yourself.)

NOTE: Bibimbap can also be served in a heated bowl (doltsobimbimbap) as well as topped with a variety of foods. What I am describing is the very basic version. I have also had it topped with prawns.

As a result on my grading scale I give this a sober rating of 4 out of 5 stars. 80%. A grade my SG students can only pray to achieve on their monthly tests. However I will admit this dish fares poorly when you are drunk. Which leads me to my next dish...

Dokbokki

And I won’t limit it to just one kind of Dokbokki (as there appear to literally be many different variations) just about any form of Dokbokki is amazing. However - and this may be the neurotic part of my mind - it is just one of those foods. What do I mean by those foods? If you’ve ever eaten at ‘Fat Sandwich,’ any greasy burger joint, or any chinese buffet...then you know exactly what I mean. The kind of food that, the second you finish it, you feel like there is a baby inside your belly.

Dokbokki is the same way and, as a result, it is best consumed when you have consumed enough liquor/alcohol that - despite any evidence to support such a theory - you think you look cool, sexy, handsome or anything of the sort no matter what you eat. At this point...it’s Dokbokki time.

What is it: Dokbokki is difficult to describe, but it is basically rice cake served in a variety of manners. My preferred method is to douse it in cheese, melt the cheese, and then eat it.

Kimbap

If this were a greatest hits list of films, this would be the requisite mentioning of Citizen Kane or that one movie where the old men go to the moon and fight the aliens. Don’t get me wrong these are great movies! The first time I saw each of them I thoroughly enjoyed them. However part of this enjoyment sprung from the knowledge that I wasn’t going to have to watch Citizen Kane every day.

This is how I feel about Kimbap.

Chamchi Kimbap...cheesy kimbap...all of these foods opened my eyes to the possibilities of Korean food. I thoroughly enjoyed them the very first couple times I had them. Occasionally when I’m eating with a friend, we will split some kimbap and think about the days when kimbap seemed revolutionary...when it seemed to be something so new...

Occasionally I will see one of my students eating homemade kimbap, or a student will attempt to bribe me with homemade kimbap (I’ve made it clear that I don’t accept kimbap as bribes. I prefer Kimchi or Mandu) and I will crave it for a moment. But the truth is it’s just not as good as the Sushi which I’m really craving.

What is it? Kimbap looks a lot like sushi. It is rice, egg, ham, and a variety of other toppings rolled in rice which is then rolled in seaweed. My favorite? Ask for the chamchi (tuna) kimbap and ask them to take out the radish. Then eat it with Kimchi.

Samgyapsal

Samgyapsal is, quite literally, the perfect meal. Strips of meat cooked on a grill, then rolled in either lettuce or put on rice? Perfect. And I will explain why.

First there is the social aspect:

Rather than simply ordering then waiting hours for your food, with Samgyapsal you and your friends order, and are immediately brought a plethora of side dishes. These side dishes could be anything from the usual broccoli, to bean sprouts, to even the possible spam. You never know what is going to be brought for you.

Next, whilst you, your friends, and the beer you will likely be drinking (come on, this is Korea...it’s disrespectful not to drink with dinner) look on, the meat is laid before you on a tiny stove. You then proceed to cook this seasoned meat yourself. When the meat is cooked to perfection...you eat it! It’s genius. It’s like a little grill party that the restaurant throws for you. It’s absolutely genius. You drink some beer, cook some meat, laugh with friends...and then there is absolutely no clean up!

NOTE: I left out spicy pork, dolkgalibi, and duejigalibi because they are all very similar to samgyapsal. And samgyapsal is my favorite.

Mandu

The next food is a little boring, but I feel it has to be mentioned. Mostly because I once helped make Mandu. Then I wrote about it, in a photo album I called ‘I am all that is MANdu.’ Or at least I plan to make this photo album.

Mandu are basically dumplings. Kind of like pot stickers. In my opinion they are best eaten in Mandu soup with rice cake. Since they truly resemble what you imagine when I say ‘korean dumplings’ I cannot think of any better way to describe them. However in my defense I am very proud of Kim Yuna because she is very beautiful.

Last on my list?

Kimchi. Or as I like to call it, the spicy cabbage of the gods.

I cannot describe how much I love kimchi. I consume kimchi in frightening amounts. It is not unusual for me to steam some rice in my apartment, go buy a giant bag of kimchi, and consume this for my breakfast, lunch or dinner. In fact I almost didn’t meet up with friends going to an Italian restaruant because I knew in my heart that I would rather eat rice and kimchi. It’s just that damn good.

So what is kimchi?

And that dear readers, is a story for next time.

Does a Blog About My Life Make Me Pretentious?

Does a blog about my life make me pretentious?Is that sentence even grammatically correct? Maybe it would be better say, 'Is a blog which narrates the exploits of Blake Hoss, written and creatively controlled by Blake Hoss, pretentious?

Neither one of these are questions I've given any thought to. Or lost any sleep over for that matter. Besides everyone else was doing it, and it's this or keep a diary about Korea. And honestly, what better form of a private diary than an online webpage that everyone can see? At least it will keep me honest.

So now I'm over here in 'Happy Suwon', the city of 'Filial Piety' and I am ready to get my Suwon...on...

The nicest question (or at least the only one I’ve answered seriously since word got out that I was moving to Korea) I’ve been asked over the last six weeks goes something like this: ‘Korea? For a year? Are you nervous?’

Sometimes ‘nervous’ would be replaced with another word, like ‘excited’ or ‘worried’ but since all these questions were pretty much asking the same thing (that is: do you have any fucking clue what you’re doing?/If you were smart enough to graduate why are you not smart enough to go straight to law school?) I brushed them all off with an equal amount of sarcasm.

After all this first question inevitably lead to another round of questions which, despite coming from the midwest’s ‘affluent upper to middle class’ could only be described as racist. Questions like:

“What sort of things will you miss out on? Do they have running water?” To which I had to reply, “no, the united states is the only place in the world with running water.”

or

"Korea? Don't they eat dog?" To which the obvious answer is "only the cute ones."

or

“Now, you’re not going to North Korea are you?” At which point I would be forced to nod seriously, and quote some movie by saying ‘well the closer you are to danger the farther you are from harm, so North Korea is actually the safest place I could go’

and my personal favorite, which always came from my mom, “Now you’re sure this isn’t some scam for harvesting American’s organs?”

I was never really sure how to answer the organs question. My initial response the first time I was asked, was something along the lines of honestly? Who the fuck asks someone that? I’m about to move away from everything I know, and you put that image in my head?

That’s like leaning over to another passenger before takeoff and asking, “did you think the wings on the plane looked a little loose?” or having a nurse tell you before massive surgery, “Sorry the doctor’s running a little late, he’s going through an awful divorce and his mind has just been elsewhere these days...”

Well those are bad examples, but I think everyone knows exactly what I mean, and so as a result when i stumbled (25 hours of travel time + free sapporo on flight + no one to talk to + the movie on the flight was Dragonball: evolution, which can only be enjoyed intoxicated = stumbling) into Seoul and spotted the man holding a sign with my name on it, the first thought to cross my mind was ‘well he certainly doesn’t look like an organ harvester...’

Of course I’m not entirely sure what an organ harvester would look like. In fact, if I had to guess I would say that the one thing which would characterize anyone working in the organ harvesting profession is probably that they all strive to not look like organ harvesters...(A thought which, I realize, implied that, when looking for an Organ Harvester one would be advised to look for people who don't look like organ harvesters. Which also, I supposed, meant I looked like an organ harvester because I didn't look like an organ harvester...and that line of thinking is getting me nowhere)

Hoping to allay my fears somewhat and keep myself from falling asleep, I attempted to ask my driver a few questions about my new home. Unfortunately his english was limited to telling me that he didn’t speak english, so instead I had to sit in silence while he spoke on his cell phone (saying God knows what to other potential organ harvesters) and try not to fall asleep.

I wasn’t actually worried that my organs would get harvested, but I realized that (just to be safe) i might as well stay awake.

So when I woke up thirty minutes later, as my driver was pulling off of a main road into an alleyway (still trying to find someone on a cell phone) I was, how shall I put this, mildly terrified out of my mind.

Of course I quickly calmed down. My home is probably on this alleyway, and he’s probably driving me straight to my door...I told myself, just as he looked back and said in

broken english ‘You wait here,’ jumped out of the car and within a few seconds vanished up the road.

This left me in an interesting position since, I reflected, if I was in a horror film than this was the point where I did something ‘stupid.’ You know, where I either:

1. waited for certain death to come to me

(the part in the movie where everyone says, ‘This is the sort of fake shit I can’t stand - if he left me there I’d pull out that knife I always carry with me and go immediately to a police station)

1. Got out of the car and followed him

(Which is the part of the film where the audience thinks, ‘who the hell gets out of the car?’ Someone leaves me in a foreign country I’m sitting in the car, locking the doors, and praying to all the gods I know - from old ones to new)

Fortunately this story ends with me alive, fine, and passing out in my own apartment. Turns out the driver was simply lost. I still have all of my organs, I still have all my pride and, most importantly, my mom won’t get the satisfaction of telling me she warned me about organ harvesters.

Since I’ll be living in a country where I don’t speak the language, don’t fully understand the customs, and don’t really know what I’m doing, I’m bound to run into all the same sort of disasters which, up until this point, have steadily made up the narrative of my life. Fortunately these disasters usually make for pretty entertaining stories, which I’ll post here from time to time.

And if I stop posting, and I do get my organs harvested well, Mom, you told me so.