Shabu, Sashimi and Sanak-ji: A Foreigner’s Search for a Raw Deal
Matt swishes his Shabu Shabu
When you ride a scooter everywhere, the cold really gets to you. Not only to your fingers, toes and ears, but your lungs, knees and eyeballs begin to feel like they will never function again after a twenty-minute ride to the cinema. The point is, we have been staying inside more and more this month but when we do venture out into Korea’s frigid January evening it has been for one thing…Sam-gya-tan. This traditional Korean soup is both filling and has the ability to warm even the most frosty limbs. Think Thanksgiving stuffed bird, meets momma’s loaded chicken noodle soup. Inside the bubbling broth floats ju-ju bis, garlic cloves, veggies and an entire game hen. The surprise is when the hen is opened to reveal that it has been stuffed with yummy, gooey rice!!! We can’t get enough and the thing about Korea is every restaurant has its specialty, often times the only thing on the menu besides kimchi of course. So you learn your hangul translations for food quickly when you find a dish you like. After a friend decided to sample the Korean dish most discussed in hushed voices by fearful foreigners (I’ll give you a hint: it has four legs…at least to begin with), and got violently ill, I took it upon myself to “beef up” so to speak on my Korean food knowledge. In nearly five months here I have sampled over twenty types of soup all boasting flavor that knocks me out of my slippered feet, my favorites thus far: Mandu Giege (Dumpling soup), Gkal-guksu (noodle soup) and Sam-gya-tan (stuffed chicken goodness).
Matt and I are all about sampling cuisine from anywhere and everywhere and we’ve been pretty spoiled so far. I didn’t realize until years later that my time spent in Italy was both a blessing and a curse because it exposed me to Piedmont’s flawless spread of creamy sauces, fresh pasta and the world’s best wine. I never thought my pallet would be completely satisfied again…until now. I can’t really compare Korean cuisine to any other I have tried but Matt and I both agree that the Koreans have the “perfect bite” down. In any given bite I can taste ginseng, perilla leaf, bamboo salt, and rich Korean beef. Recently when having a discussion with some co-workers about what an asset Matt is to his school, he was told: “Matthew, your quality is your eating, you are a strong eater.” While I can find at least two or three qualities in Matt I would rank above his eating habits, I don’t blame him for his strong appetite here.
Outside of the delicious in every culture’s cuisine lies the exotic. While neither of us have sampled dog meat here in Korea we have done our fair share of exercising our taste buds to new flavors. We went to a fusion restaurant the other night, a tiny five table joint in our neighborhood with a chalkboard menu containing three items: Kal-guk-su, Bap and Shabu-shabu. Shabu shabu is a Japanese dish where thinly sliced beef is swished very quickly in a bubbling soup being cooked in the center of the table. The few second swim is enough to cook the beef just enough to eat or, can be sampled raw with wasabi. Raw is a big theme since we have been here. This was expected and welcome since we are both big sashimi fans and indulge in creatures of the sea whenever possible. What was not expected was the consumption of sea creatures that are still alive. Live octopus: San-nak-ji is a common dish here and is something that we had to try.
Last night Matt and I went in search of this live octopus we’ve been hearing of with brave stomachs and supressed gag reflexes. When we go searching for something it usually ends in fits of laughter as we try to convey what we are looking for in our broken Korean. Like last week when we went looking for the dinosaur tracks that apparently dot the northern bank of the river. We walked up to a farmhouse, clad in our scooter helmets and goggles asking for the “Gong-ryup” (Dinosaur). We knew just what we were doing, and revelled in the astonished look of the farm keeper as she replied “Op-sio” (We don’t have). hehehe. This time we were certain to be pointed in the direction of the octopus.
It took a few tries of wandering into restaurants and asking for “San-nak-ji?” After three fails in our cozy little neighborhood we hopped on the scooter and headed to the beach. Illsan beach is about an hour bus ride from Ulsan’s University neighborhood, 40 min if you are on the back of Matt’s bat-mobile! We bumped into a friend in Bellie donuts once arrived at the beach, who gave us just the lead we needed, pointing us in the direction of our culinary fate. I walked into the humble restaurant and took a seat on one of the hand sewn pillows lying on the floor…”San-nak-ji” I said nervously. The owner’s eyes lit up and she threw on her slippers, beckoning for me to follow her to the tank outside. Swimming around were about twenty five live, baby octopus. Her hand plunged in grabbing a few by the kneck…well the part that connects the head to it’s eight squirmy legs anyway. There was no turning back at this point.
We were brought the usual side dishes that accompany most Korean meals: Kimchi, bean sprouts, sweet potato, dried fish, yellow radish, sea weed and rice. Immediately after cleaning the squirmy octopus and removing a few legs for easy swallow, the chef brought us our undulating lunch. We looked at one another for a brief moment of reasurement and then dug in. When eating live octopus you must beware of the suction taking place inside your mouth and make sure that these sticky arms are not still holding on for dear life as they slip down your throat. I spent extra time chewing to be sure I would not end up with an octopus arm stuck to the inside of my esophagus. Another trick is to use the side dishes to your advantage. I like my octopus with a little bamboo salt, some wasabi and sesame oil, wrapped inside a piece of kelp. Matt preferred to let his octopus suction all over his lips and tongue until he could no longer feel his face…and then add some chili paste for that extra little burn.
While eating we couldn’t help but notice the three elderly women who appeared to be running the establishment, hanging out in their lounge clothes, tickling one another and gossiping over a cup of instant coffee. This typical restaurant scene resembles a family kitchen filled with family, no sign of opening or closing hours and void of menu. I have grown a custom to this setting and feel at home in these moments, even with an octopus leg dangling from my wasabi drenched mouth, looking out over the East sea, and wondering if I will ever actually be home in any one place again.
Signing off and wishing you all a full belly,
Matt and Emily
Teachtravelplay's Blog 
wow- your pictures are getting sooo good, em! i am molto impressed. just think how amazing it will be to have a record of all of this 25 years from now when you’re knitting on the front porch of your barn on the island with 10 kids running in and out of your skirts. the octopus looks like a major challenge to check off the list, the question is, will you do it again?