Progress Report 4.1
Kaseyo,
What up?
Just a quick note to update you on some food news - I have now eaten hoe (pronounced as 'hweh', but as quick as you can) and sannakji (pronounced as 'you f*cking wot?!' - you'll understand shortly.)
Firstly, the hoe. It's the Korean version of sushi, but without the frills and kerfuffle of the stuff you get in Japan. Here, if you want raw fish, you get raw fish. A whole one. Accompanied by raw squid, raw sea urchin, raw shellfish, raw sea something-or-other and raw something-that-tastes-like-a-sponge. You know it's fresh because the luckless fish currently looking less than dignified on a bed of glass noodles in the middle of your table was just five minutes ago was swimming around in a tank at the front of the restaurant, wondering why it was getting so much attention and unaware that its muscle structure was about to be radically reconfigured. How does it taste? Like raw fish. It's soft, it's cold and it's mucusy. And really not too bad. Honestly, I don't know why we've been cooking our fish all these years. How much time and gas could have been saved if we'd only thought to eat it straight off the counter at the fishmongers!
Now, how do you go one better than raw? How can you take a concept like raw fish and regress it further? Well, for the times when raw isn't quite enough, there's sannakji. What is it? Well let's look at the Korean: 'Nakji' means octopus. Can you guess what 'san' means? Yes, that's right - alive. Ladies and gentlemen, sannakji: live octopus, chopped up with scissors.
There's really no greater emphasis that can be put on the fact that you're no longer in a Western country than being presented with squirming, baffled tentacles on a bed of lettuce. Octopodes are meant to be quite intelligent for a sea-dwelling creature, but this one clearly wasn't too bright. Its suckers still worked though, so removing a length of tentacle from the plate with chopsticks can be a bit tricky at first. Its suckers tenaciously hold onto the china like it knows what's coming. I don't know why it was bothering - it's not like it was going to make a spirited recovery from a once-over with the kitchen scissors. Better for it to give in gracefully, rather than squirming and struggling until you've finally chewed the fight out of it. It's quite an experience to eat a food that might not fully expire until it meets your stomach acid. If you're wondering how it tastes, it's a bit like chewing a squirmy, slimy, fishy rubber band - not at all disagreeable. And if you think it's cruel, then take some comfort in the fact that the octopus can sometimes have the last laugh - lots of people have choked on sannakji when the still-functioning suckers get some purchase on the back of their throat. (Please note that a video of me eating live octopus should be available soon, once it's been transferred from phone to PC to interweb.)
I have my students to thank for the live octopodes. I wouldn't have been able to decipher the menu with sufficient skill to locate them. They offered to take me out after we'd been discussing the more traditional of Korea's foodstuffs (for 'traditional', read 'unacceptably sick'). The subject had come up after we'd been talking about how hot and humid it gets in August. I'd asked for some tips on surviving the high temperatures, knowing full well what is 'traditionally' thought as the best way - bosintang. They looked at each other nervously as I prodded, suggesting to them that there might be a particular foodstuff I could eat to give me stamina to survive the soaring temperatures. Maybe there's a certain type of soup, I conjectured. A certain type of soup renowned for its stamina-giving qualities, perhaps. Nervous looks all round, until one brave student suggested, 'bosintang?'
'That's the one!' I told her. Bosintang. Dogmeat soup. Traditionally eaten on certain days of the year (decided by the lunar calendar) to maximize its stamina- and virility-enhancing properties. That's what the name means - stamina soup. It's not widely available, thanks to the interference of non-medieval thinking, but there are still one or two restaurants that serve it. The next dog day is in around a month's time, and, almost as if it had been scripted by the stars above, we found a dog restaurant within ten seconds of starting looking, on the back doorstep of the school. So there we have it: we've got a time and we've got a place, so in around four weeks, I'm going to be sitting down to a bowl of bow-wow. Watch this space.
I wouldn't have noticed the dog restaurant without assistance because despite my best efforts, my skills at hangul aren't quite yet up to snuff. Hangul is the Korean writing system, and compared to other Asiatic languages, it's a piece of urine, but it still takes some time to learn. Knowing how to read hangul is a valuable skill - if you want irrefutable proof of this, try visiting a Korean supermarket. All the products are totally free from roman script so you don't know what you're buying. (For instance, for dinner last night, I sat down to a steaming bowl of TenaLady.) I'm now at the stage where I can just about read some of the items on a restaurant menu, but not much else. A little time and patience though and I'll be ordering live cephalopods and canine stew without assistance and with spritely aplomb.
Anyway, that just about does her for now. I should have some photos to show you soon, along with a video of me doing battle with a tentacle armed only with chopsticks and a hinged lower mandible. There's just time now to give you details of my charity appeal, which this year is the 'For the Love of God, Please Somebody Send Me A Book In English To Read' Appeal. The situation is currently desperate, with only the remaining half of a history of the Medici family left to read. Despite a take-away menu with pictures being airdropped into my postbox, if the situation fails to improve in the near future, the outlook for my brain and bowel movements looks irretrievably bleak. If you wish to donate, please email me and ask me for my postal address. All donations will be received with the utmost gratitude. No Dan Brown though. Or anything written by a woman. Thank you.
Right, I'm off to taunt the squids at the fish restaurant round the corner.
Amyonghi kasseyo.
S
What up?
Just a quick note to update you on some food news - I have now eaten hoe (pronounced as 'hweh', but as quick as you can) and sannakji (pronounced as 'you f*cking wot?!' - you'll understand shortly.)
Firstly, the hoe. It's the Korean version of sushi, but without the frills and kerfuffle of the stuff you get in Japan. Here, if you want raw fish, you get raw fish. A whole one. Accompanied by raw squid, raw sea urchin, raw shellfish, raw sea something-or-other and raw something-that-tastes-like-a-sponge. You know it's fresh because the luckless fish currently looking less than dignified on a bed of glass noodles in the middle of your table was just five minutes ago was swimming around in a tank at the front of the restaurant, wondering why it was getting so much attention and unaware that its muscle structure was about to be radically reconfigured. How does it taste? Like raw fish. It's soft, it's cold and it's mucusy. And really not too bad. Honestly, I don't know why we've been cooking our fish all these years. How much time and gas could have been saved if we'd only thought to eat it straight off the counter at the fishmongers!
Now, how do you go one better than raw? How can you take a concept like raw fish and regress it further? Well, for the times when raw isn't quite enough, there's sannakji. What is it? Well let's look at the Korean: 'Nakji' means octopus. Can you guess what 'san' means? Yes, that's right - alive. Ladies and gentlemen, sannakji: live octopus, chopped up with scissors.
There's really no greater emphasis that can be put on the fact that you're no longer in a Western country than being presented with squirming, baffled tentacles on a bed of lettuce. Octopodes are meant to be quite intelligent for a sea-dwelling creature, but this one clearly wasn't too bright. Its suckers still worked though, so removing a length of tentacle from the plate with chopsticks can be a bit tricky at first. Its suckers tenaciously hold onto the china like it knows what's coming. I don't know why it was bothering - it's not like it was going to make a spirited recovery from a once-over with the kitchen scissors. Better for it to give in gracefully, rather than squirming and struggling until you've finally chewed the fight out of it. It's quite an experience to eat a food that might not fully expire until it meets your stomach acid. If you're wondering how it tastes, it's a bit like chewing a squirmy, slimy, fishy rubber band - not at all disagreeable. And if you think it's cruel, then take some comfort in the fact that the octopus can sometimes have the last laugh - lots of people have choked on sannakji when the still-functioning suckers get some purchase on the back of their throat. (Please note that a video of me eating live octopus should be available soon, once it's been transferred from phone to PC to interweb.)
I have my students to thank for the live octopodes. I wouldn't have been able to decipher the menu with sufficient skill to locate them. They offered to take me out after we'd been discussing the more traditional of Korea's foodstuffs (for 'traditional', read 'unacceptably sick'). The subject had come up after we'd been talking about how hot and humid it gets in August. I'd asked for some tips on surviving the high temperatures, knowing full well what is 'traditionally' thought as the best way - bosintang. They looked at each other nervously as I prodded, suggesting to them that there might be a particular foodstuff I could eat to give me stamina to survive the soaring temperatures. Maybe there's a certain type of soup, I conjectured. A certain type of soup renowned for its stamina-giving qualities, perhaps. Nervous looks all round, until one brave student suggested, 'bosintang?'
'That's the one!' I told her. Bosintang. Dogmeat soup. Traditionally eaten on certain days of the year (decided by the lunar calendar) to maximize its stamina- and virility-enhancing properties. That's what the name means - stamina soup. It's not widely available, thanks to the interference of non-medieval thinking, but there are still one or two restaurants that serve it. The next dog day is in around a month's time, and, almost as if it had been scripted by the stars above, we found a dog restaurant within ten seconds of starting looking, on the back doorstep of the school. So there we have it: we've got a time and we've got a place, so in around four weeks, I'm going to be sitting down to a bowl of bow-wow. Watch this space.
I wouldn't have noticed the dog restaurant without assistance because despite my best efforts, my skills at hangul aren't quite yet up to snuff. Hangul is the Korean writing system, and compared to other Asiatic languages, it's a piece of urine, but it still takes some time to learn. Knowing how to read hangul is a valuable skill - if you want irrefutable proof of this, try visiting a Korean supermarket. All the products are totally free from roman script so you don't know what you're buying. (For instance, for dinner last night, I sat down to a steaming bowl of TenaLady.) I'm now at the stage where I can just about read some of the items on a restaurant menu, but not much else. A little time and patience though and I'll be ordering live cephalopods and canine stew without assistance and with spritely aplomb.
Anyway, that just about does her for now. I should have some photos to show you soon, along with a video of me doing battle with a tentacle armed only with chopsticks and a hinged lower mandible. There's just time now to give you details of my charity appeal, which this year is the 'For the Love of God, Please Somebody Send Me A Book In English To Read' Appeal. The situation is currently desperate, with only the remaining half of a history of the Medici family left to read. Despite a take-away menu with pictures being airdropped into my postbox, if the situation fails to improve in the near future, the outlook for my brain and bowel movements looks irretrievably bleak. If you wish to donate, please email me and ask me for my postal address. All donations will be received with the utmost gratitude. No Dan Brown though. Or anything written by a woman. Thank you.
Right, I'm off to taunt the squids at the fish restaurant round the corner.
Amyonghi kasseyo.
S
posted by Stephen Beckett at 2:01 PM
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