galbi, dear leader.

Eating in Korea is something that is OK to do all of the time. A standard Korean greeting is to ask whether the person has eaten anything that day (and a surefire way to look like a silly waegook is to start going into detail about what, exactly, you've eaten). Food is the cornerstone of Korean society and, if not the express purpose of social interaction, a likely part of the itinerary regardless of the time of day.

Korean culinary tradition, like much of the rest of Korean culture, largely originates from Chinese methods and ingredients. Staples such as grilled meat, rice, garlic, native vegetables, and virtually every seaborne organism form the entire region's palette from ancient times. There are, of course, a number of unique distinctions to be made from country to country, and just like in the U.S., variations between different regions exist. Toward this end, Korea is the home of the by-now world-renowned kimchi, a spicy, pickled, often fermented and sometimes downright rotten mess of vegetables, red chili paste, seafood (traditionally), and spices. The most popular and widely-eaten is the variety based on Chinese cabbage (see?) that has not been fermenting too terribly long. One can still find the old rotten stuff, but it is typically only enjoyed anymore by old-timers and traditionalists. "Kimchi" refers to any sort of fermented, chili paste-laden vegetable, and the better restaurants come up with their own personal concoctions to usually offer as part of their selection of banchan (side dishes). Three that I've so far enjoyed, respectively, are cucumber (sweet and refreshing), red-leaf lettuce (straight up crispy leaves with a lightly-applied chili dressing that went unbelievably well with prime rib), and a sort of bean sprout/chicory combination that our table was managing to disappear by the bucketful. The fad in America right now is to put cabbage kimchi in everything from fries to omelettes to pancakes to bloody marys. It's fun! But for my money, just give it to me straight and let me pick it up with my chopsticks.

I've had a number of excellent meals in my six weeks here, not all Korean. This past Friday night we were taken to a superb Chinese restaurant here in Ilsan by a Korean coworker, who beamed and cheered when the food arrived (and once I had sampled the crab dumplings in all their brothy glory, I understood why). There is a roll-your-own spring rolls establishment that trotted out the most tender slices of duck breast I've had in quite a while. Japanese food is everywhere, but I'm of the school that believes the better ilban (Japanese) joints are actually heavily leaned-upon by more Korean flavors and methods.

If Kim Jong-un were pointing a crappy Soviet rocket at me and forcing me to choose my favorite type of meal in Korea so far, I would have to answer, "Galbi, Dear Leader." Galbi ("rib") is probably over-utilized in the same way that kimchi is under-utilized, at least in the technical sense. True galbi refers to beef short ribs marinated in a soy sauce/ginger/sugar mixture (the longer the better), then grilled over open coals usually right at the patrons' table. I don't think anyone really nitpicks over this though, and a colloquial suggestion to "get some galbi" is usually followed up with a question or suggestion of the type of meat one wants. Most places offer beef and pork cuts, some offer chicken and even seafood, and each individual restaurant takes pride in the cuts and marinades of their meat (they can be quite serious - it is hardly uncommon to be hovered-over by the owner who is trying to ensure that you don't overcook anything and who will sometimes berate you for doing so). The aforementioned banchan comes with every meat order and varies from place to place, but a number of offerings are considered standard: an assortment of leafy vegetables (usually red leaf lettuce, sesame leaves, and chinese cabbage), rice, various things of kimchi, garlic cloves (thrown on the grill for maximum enjoyment), onions (again, grill them), mushrooms (grill these too), and usually a soup of some sort.

I did not take this picture, but it provides a generally good idea of what to expect:



That is a vacuum vent above the grill to keep everyone from dying of coal fumes and greasy air. Small urns filled with coal are placed inside the hole in the middle of the table, then the grilling surface is placed on top. Often the surface will get caked mid-meal in burned grease, at which point the folks attending to you will come around and happily replace it. You cook your stuff, cut it up with scissors, grab it right off of the grill with your chopsticks and pick up some rice or veggies to go with the morsel on the way to your mouth. Sweet, omnivorous heaven. Essential additions: shots of soju at regular intervals and cold beer to wash it all down.

The best meat I've yet had came from a place in Gangnam, Seoul. My friends Mike and Claire (coincidentally enough, from Austin) led us to a place with a smiling orange cow on the sign that featured marbly, dry-rubbed prime rib that crusted up a bit on the edges when it was done and caused my eyes to roll back in my head. Thank you, orange cow (and Mike and Claire, of course). This place certainly had excellent banchan (the red leaf in chili dressing), but the Banchan Crown must go to "The Hole in the Wall" (not its actual name) in Ilsan, just around the corner from my apartment. Three types of ridiculously flavorful kimchi (the bean sprouts/chicory dish among them), some sort of cold crab-in-the-shell smothered in a sweet chili sauce, huge bowls of steamed mussels, a vinegary slaw that went with everything, egg soup, seafood soup, sliced potatoes, king trumpet mushrooms, and even little mini weiners with water chestnuts! A truly inspired concept.

So yeah, galbi. Why isn't this type of "grill it yourself" concept bigger in the U.S.? The mind races when brainstorming all the different things one can do with a grill at the table. I remember eating this way at Korea House in Austin, but why should this be limited to Korean fare only? How about slabs of marinated tofu for our rabbit friends? What about a selection of fruits that can then be smothered in ice cream? I know that the line on Americans is that we're too irresponsible to properly negotiate a smoldering pyre within such close proximity to our mucus membranes, small children, and litigious sensibilities. It would be easy to make proper grill-table protocol part of the social experience of a restaurant of this nature, letting people know "Duh, don't touch it with your bare hands and let it cool for a few before eating it. Here's how you know it's cooked properly." Seems easy enough! Maybe I underestimate my countryfolk at my own peril.

American culinaria misses out on galbi at its peril.