It was very clearly moving. And it was lunch.
We were in Yeonhwa-ri, a tiny fishing village in Gijang-gun, the scenic coastal stretch north of Bussan, South Korea. We had taken a long stroll along the Osiria walk, a seaside promenade bordering the Sea of Japan after leaving the Haedong Yonggungsa Temple, one of the few Buddhist shrines constructed on the water. The sky was a deep blue and the sun was hot and we were hungry and thirsty. And so after scouting out the local establishments, we chose an active one looking out onto the harbor.
Our two week journey to South Korea was only reinforcing how our knowledge of the local cuisine was very limited. We knew of kimchi, the fermented cabbage that is the national dish, as well as Korean barbeque and fried chicken, but not much else. And so as we do on our trips we made a concerted effort to go beyond, opting for local places with different cuisines whenever we could.
Some things we were aware of if not well acquainted with, such as the native versions of ramen and dumplings. But there was also haemul pajeon, a scallion and shrimp pancake that was delicious. We had chicken cooked in barley, and a 9-course meal based on different forms of tofu. One night we stumbled onto a pocha street, whose name is a contraction of a Korean phrase meaning "covered wagon." Filled with stands that disappear during the day, they set up as it gets dark as a series of stalls with tents and plastic stools and tables. The food is the stuff to accompany beer and soju, a ice-cold Korean spirit somewhere between sake and vodka. We ordered two dishes: teokbokki, a street food made of chewy, cylinder-shaped rice cakes cooked in a sweet and spicy sauce, and sea snail salad with thin noodles. I'd go back in a heartbeat.
Even the stuff we thought we knew turned out to be different from what we expected. A place that had sashimi served us raw fish that had little bones it, unlike anything we were used to. And Toby, our tour guide to the DMZ, took us to one of his favorite place up north in Paju-si, a Chinese-Korean mashup that served chewy noodles in a black bean sauce that were delicious.
Meanwhile, back in Yeonhwa-ri, the waitress who spotted us did a soft double take, as they likely don't get a lot of western faces. The place was about half filled with locals having a bite, and we looked about for an open table. One was vacant by the windows: she nodded, cleaned it off and motioned for us to take a seat. We looked around; most people had large flat platters filled with small wicker dishes holding a variety of raw seafood, the specialty of the town. The menu was in Korean, but using our phone we were able to decipher it enough to order a basic assortment for two.
We chatted and as they brought the banchan, the usual assortment of side dishes you get with virtually every Korean meal. Kimchi, but also daikon radish in cold brine, bean sprouts in sesame and others we couldn't identify. Then she brought out that main course, that platter we had seen on other tables. There were 13 little dishes plus steamed mussels. Some we could identify, like shrimp and scallops, but many we couldn't. Some were chewy, some were chewier, and one was, yes, moving.
That would be the centerpiece, listed as live octopus. In fact it wasn't actually live, but freshly separated from the rest of the body. Since an octopus has a decentralized nervous system, the little chopped bits of tenacle still squirmed around. Indeed, the suckers will cling to your chopsticks and yes, your teeth and gums. Every year in Korea a few people die because they don't chew it well enough and it clogs up their insides. I'd like to say we gave it a go, but we gave it and a few others a pass.
And we weren't done yet. The other local specialty was jeonbokjuk, an abalone porridge. Scarce here but more common there, the mollusk tastes somewhere between a clam and scallop, and we had it in various forms multiple times. The caldron they brought out was filled with a delicious hot, greenish stew with a rich earthy flavor. We later learned that the color comes from chopping up the abalone's internal organs and mixing them in. PS: the green means it's fresh.
Yes, there were also palaces and museums, music and shopping. All in all a great exposure to another culture. But the food! Hot clay pots and fresh noodle soups, an olive flounder we picked out of a tank at a fish market and had cooked upstairs, pork stew and cold chicken with vinegar. For lunch on Chicken Street in Suwon we had a whole bird as crisp as a potato chip, separated by our waitress with scissors, served with several sauces and accompanied by one glove for each of us with which to hold the pieces. Our biggest regret of the trip might have been that we didn't order a second helping.
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You can see some pics from the Korea trip here. And you can see the NEW travel site with all our trips at someplaces.info. Marc’s column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.
