“Kimchi!”

24Mar07

“Pay go pa?”

“Ung, chokumb. Dha pay go pa?”

“Na chincha pay go pa! Bring on the food!”

Twelve days of daal bhat later, we sit on the sunny step in front of our hostel. Twelve days of aching legs, blistered feet and daal bhat. Not that I have anything against daal bhat, in fact it was an instant hit with my vast midsection and fast becoming one of my hunger-busting all-time favourites. And not because of how delicious it is, which it certainly is. Most of the time. No, it’s not for how widely available it is or quick it is to prepare. These are some of its other qualities. The reason that the words daal bhat on a Nepali menu make the sides of my lips curl up is because of it’s special quality. You see, daal bhat is the Nepali equivalent of the Indian institution that they call Thali. One plate, one person, and the food just keeps coming! These are the all-you-can-eat dishes of the East! Man, now that is something! Anyone who knows me for longer than a lunch hour knows that feeding me can be quite an expensive activity to undertake. And in a continent packed with little people with even littler appetites it’s been quite difficult to survive on less than three dishes per sitting. But the hapless restaurateurs didn’t count on me “eating Nepali”, avoiding the common western bastardisations (the latest of which includes the mars bar spring-roll) and going for the king of the East-Asian table. The never ending plate of rice, lentils, veg and… kind of a… pickle? Whatever it is, it keeps coming!

But still, my love affair with daal bhat was tested during those twelve days. Walking across the mountains through the wind, rain, snow, sun and sand-storms for up to eight hours a day requires some serious Nepali fuel. But twelve days of daal bhat later, I was ready for a change.

“Kimchi!!”

The cry escapes our Korean companion the moment we make it through the door of the restaurant. She’s picked the restaurant, and the restaurant is as close to Korean as you can get outside of Korea. Young Korean tourists line either side of long, low tables piled with dishes of vegetables, rice and meat. Bacon fries on gas hot-plates and friends lean across each other chatting and downing the food as only happy Koreans can. Our waiter, the only thing Nepali about the room, hands us menus as we sit at one of the high tables. After the knee-nightmare that was the vipassana squatting there was no way that the two Irish men could handle an entire meal sitting cross-legged. Bowing to the superior knowlege (and ability to read the Korean menu) we let Ja Yeon choose our food. She orders chicken, beef and pork dishes and a couple of bottles of water. All Korean food is eaten communally so there is no need for plates, and long spoons and steel chopsticks are the only cutlery. The Korean technique for using chopsticks is an art in itself, and we spend some time testing our Miagi-style skills on a piece of plastic wrapping. Soon we are rubbing life back into our cramped Irish hands and we clear the table to make room for the trays of plates that start to arrive.

“Er.” I manage as the sixteen assorted plates and bowls are placed on every available table-space. When you order Korean food, you order just the meat. Salads, vegitables, chopped roots, bowls of rice and at least two kinds of kimchi arrive with every meal.

“Kimchi!!”

Ah yes, kimchi. When we first asked what this all-important food that Koreans spent so much of their travelling lives craving actually is, what we got was “Erm, it’s Korean food. Fermented cabbage?” Not very descriptive but I find myself hard-pressed to do a better job. For a start, kimchi is not just a food. It’s a Korean institution. Every meal; breakfast, lunch and dinner, from weddings to funerals is served with kimchi. Every Korean house has a special “kimchi fridge” that stores nothing but kimchi. Kimchi is attributed to Korea surviving the Bird Flue without a single fatality. This super-food is also attributed with aiding digestion, helping to replace healthy gut bacteria after illness and even with preventing cancer! It’s so popular in Korea, when taking a photograph (along with the Japanese bunny-ears) Koreans shout “Kimchi!!”. The Kimchi that arrives at our table is of two varieties. One is the simple Kimchi, a type of… fermented cabbage? Damn. The second is a beet vegitable similar to the radish. Both are red in colour because of the “kimchi sauce” and quite spicy.

“Kimchi!!” our friend jiggs up and down in her chair with excitement.

Now, Korean dining appears quite haphazard to the untrained eye. Friends reach across each other, spearing food into their bowls of rice to be gulped in big spoonfulls. In reality, Korean eating is a sophistication, a skill and a science all rolled into one. Let me tell you, western dining etiquette ain’t got nothin’ on the Koreans. Cutlery can never be left on or in a bowl, and if left aside must be spoon-face down with chopsticks on the right. Both must be at right angles to your good self and not pointing at a fellow diner. Rice must be eaten from the bowl in a neat and preplanned manner (not digging in the centre as is my personal approach. This gave much amusement.). Dishes are arranged in a certain way and food is never mixed except with rice or on the way to your mouth. Drinks are never poured for yourself and are NEVER topped up, only refilled when the glass is empty. Alcoholic drinks are drank at the same time, and usually in one go. Hence the phrase “One shot!” shouted at every drink. Not sure if that would work so well down the pub with a pint of Guiness. Best stick to water when a Korean is around.

Todays technique involved filling a lettuce leaf with a little of everything and then, with the aid of the chopsticks, is placed into the mouth. Not too hard? The lettuce leaves are big, the dishes many and my poor Irish gob is certainly not designed to handle six mouthfulls of food in mighty munch. The Koreans manage this with dignity and not even so much as a bulging cheek. My attempts were a little less successful.

“Like this?”

“Yeah, as you like!”

“Mfmffaramfarckckukkak”

Tears streaming down my cheeks, I half regurgitate my food onto the table and continue to choke. Much to the amusement of my friends. But I’m not the only one who can’t quite hack the Korean table laws. Ja Yeon spends most of the meal time laughing at our desperate attempts not to mess up. Most questions are answered with the generic pidgeon-english phrase of “as you like” because the methods are so simple and logical that not even the uncouth Irish boys could mess it up. As we invariably do. But our friend reassures us that because we are friends and she knows we don’t know the rules she is not offended. “Offended? By how we eat? That’s a bit extreme!” It turns out that if we were to join, say, her family for a meal it would be quite possible that the parents would be deeply offended by my chopstick irregularity, and even more so by the rice around the rim of my bowl!

Korean eating might be hard work, but the grub is great and the language associated is even better!

“Pay foo la?” Is your stomach swollen (same as a pregnant woman)?

“Ung (kind of throaty noise) Na chincha pay foo la.” Yes, my stomach is very swollen.

to the waiter

“Anyo hee ka say yo!” Have a nice stay, sir!

waiter to us

“Anyo hee kay say yo!” Have a nice go, sir!

And off into the Nepali night we wobbled, in search of a pool table and (for me) a pizza.

One of the things which continues to amaze me is how when you travel to another country, you learn so much more than what that country has to teach. Maybe it’s to do with mindset that you take with you to a strange land. Maybe it’s to do with seeing and doing new things every day. But I think it’s mainly the company that you tend to keep on your travels, the like-minded friends who are willing to give up all their plans and change their flights just to be with other good people.

Thanks Ja Yeon.

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