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| Seoul, South Korea |
Meintjeskop
Ditaba II/2000
Colleagues who know me will remember that,
when it comes to food, I have no principles whatsoever. I love to cook and love
to eat just about anything, provided that it does not talk back to me. This
rather ruthless relationship with my stomach has stood me in good stead here in
the Far East, because believe me the people here share my sentiments about
nutrition. They proudly claim to eat "everything that has legs - except
for tables; everything that flies in the air - except for Boeings; and
everything that is found in the ocean - with the possible exception of submarines".
One has to accept this guiding principle
(or lack thereof?) when one starts to appreciate the scope of their cuisine.
Even the most rudimentary life forms are appreciated for the tasty morsels that
they are.
Suffice to say that they do not keep pets,
because nutritious creatures can be much better utilised in the food chain. As
I have mentioned in an earlier letter, cats fall outside this category - they
are such reviled vermin that they are not even considered edible. Also as of
late, breeds of miniature dogs have found their way into the arms of stylish young
women, who seemingly wear them as accessories. The little mutts themselves are
not sardonically neglected either, because they sport nifty little designer
shoes and usually dyed hair to blend in with the neon-lit streets their “mothers"
roam on spiky heels.
Well aware of their social status they quickly acquire the
necessary snobbish look that comes from not using one's own legs. The sight of
them, unfortunately, ignites my otherwise diplomatically-oppressed natural irreverence.
I cannot resist freaking out their mothers by cheerfully addressing the little
doggies as “gheghoghi", which is the Korean word for the popular dish of
dog-meat that specialised restaurants offer. My heartless comment is always met
by loud protests, interspersed with the word "sa rang" (Korean for
"love') which are meant to convince me of the emotional bond these young
women share with their snack-sized canines.
But apart from their inclusive selection of
meat, Korean food is actually predominantly vegetarian. When I eat out, I
usually have no idea what I am consuming. They simply use every conceivable
root and foliage; even tree bark, which is then enriched with garlic
(omnipresent ingredient) and allowed to get mellow in a watery broth. I merrily
indulge in these concoctions and have grown so fond of it that other foreigners
think I am weird (Korean food is not yet popular among westerners). Even the
aggressive use of chilli has rubbed off on me and I now I have a stainless
steel palate - when I cook l triple all chilli measurements. It really is
addictive, and I worry that my soon-to-be-born baby will need chilli-flavoured
milk formula.
When the Far Easterners do eat meat,
however, they take it very seriously. I recently had the honour of tasting
imported Japanese steak, about US$ 100 per lady's sized portion. The steak is
this expensive because of the luxury life the cattle lead. The pampered animals
never step out of their sheds, lest they develop nasty things like muscles. To
the contrary, they are massaged all day long and fed beer! (which, I presume,
is a meat tenderiser). It sounds like the kind of life most of my male
colleagues would love to lead.
In Korea, as anywhere else, taste
determines the method of food preparation. I have learned to be very specific
when asking the Korean cleaning lady to help out in the kitchen, after one
morning finding the bacon simmering in a huge pot of water (I had wanted her to
fry it, to go with fried eggs).
But my single most instructive experience
was when I once asked her to wash a bunch of grapes. First of all I need to
explain something about the price of fruit in this country. It is at least ten
times the cost of fruit in South Africa; a true luxury item, served with much
dedication to special guests as dessert. This particular bunch of grapes was
enormous (and hence horribly expensive), because I had wanted to use it as a
centre piece for a stylish cheese-and wine- display that same evening.
So, on my way out for the day, I asked her
to "clean it and leave it in the fridge". I arrived back late that
afternoon to find a huge bowl of shivering, opaque, traumatised grapes - each
one meticulously (and no doubt lovingly) peeled by the dear cleaning lady. And,
of course, it had taken so long that she did not have time to do the normal house
cleaning.
As you must have guessed by now, eating is
taken very seriously in this country. Every meal is hot and has various
courses, usually all displayed at the same time on the table. The table, by the
way, is portable and is brought into the living room only at dinner time, at
which time the family sits down on the floor around it. Believe it or not, but
my flexibility-challenged husband had to do special stretching exercises at the
start of our posting here, in order to get used to all the floor sitting at
traditional Korean meals!
If there is one thing I particularly
appreciate about the Koreans, it is that they also eat in vast quantities, like
I do. Nevertheless, they manage to dwarf
even my appetite. The most challenging meal is when one is served "Royal Cuisine".
The first time my husband and I were treated to such a meal, we had no idea
that the first course would be followed by 18 others, the last of which would
be a bowl of rice. So we enthusiastically cleaned our initial three or four
plates in acknowledgement of our hosts' hospitality, only to find ourselves
staring in disbelief as the dishes kept coming. Even more unbelievable was
seeing slender petite Korean women, happily scoffing every morsel and looking
excited about the next round. We came to the conclusion that they had some
metabolic incinerator device. (Once I succeed in patenting it I will I will
retire a billionaire in the West.)
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