Street food stories: Korea
On the menu: Cheddar cheesecake and live octopus 🐙
When we arrived in South Korea, it was raining buckets.
We had just spent a fabulous three weeks eating our way through Japan, and Korea was the final stop on our four-month grand tour of Asia and Australia. Our backpacks dug into our shoulders, and fatigue was starting to set in as we dragged our carry-ons through yet another unfamiliar city.
With no internet connection and lacking the willpower to be picky, I said to my husband, Let’s just eat at the next restaurant we pass, no matter what it is.
The next restaurant turned out to be a large room full of wooden booths, with something resembling a dorm room kitchenette in the back corner and a few bubbling pots on the stove. An older woman was having lunch with her husband at one of the tables but jumped up to seat us and pointed to a menu the size of a billboard hanging on the wall. We had downloaded Google Translate for Korean and quickly deduced that the restaurant’s specialty was pork intestine soup—not exactly what I was craving at the moment.
Feeling a bit deflated, we ordered two bowls, which were quickly brought to us along with a silver plate of banchan—Korean side dishes like cabbage kimchi and other pickled veggies—and rice.
As luck would have it, that meal of murky pork soup was one of the best things I ate during the entire trip.
We started our Korean adventure in Busan, South Korea’s second-largest city and a bustling beach town on the Southeastern coast. Our friend Minwon had been living in France for the past few years but had moved back to her hometown only ten days before we arrived. We were delighted to see a familiar face.
For dinner, Minwon suggested we try chicken galbi at a restaurant where all the ingredients were served raw in a large, flat pan in the center of the table. We took turns poking the dish with a wooden spoon until the meat was cooked and it was time to add curly ramen noodles to the sweet and spicy red sauce. Chicken galbi was the second thing I ate in Korea, and so far we were two for two.
The next morning, Minwon led us through the local market. While there were plenty of fruits, vegetables, and sweets, I was surprised by the amount of fresh seafood stocked in small aquariums lining the sidewalk. I didn’t recognize half of it, but one creature kept appearing over and over: gaebul, known as the penis fish. For the uninitiated like myself, the pink marine worm is rather uncomfortable to look at, and the thought of eating made me shudder. But for many Koreans, gaebul is a popular bar snack known for its chewy texture and sweet taste, most often served raw with a dipping sauce. In fact, many local watering holes had their own aquariums full of squirming gaebul, waiting to be served to hungry drinkers.
I ultimately passed on the gaebul in favor of something a little more within my comfort zone: Cheddar cheesecake, which perfectly walked the line between dessert and savory snack.
In Busan, we visited the Gamcheon Culture Village, a colorful neighborhood built into a hill, and got a taste of the Korean love for photo booths and skincare stores. But after three days, it was time to say our goodbyes to Minwon and take a train north to Seoul.
For the first few days in Seoul, we found ourselves alone and unsure of how to get around, although we did manage to visit the War Memorial of Korea and the sprawling Gyeongbokgung Palace.
We were quite relieved to meet up with Francis, a Seoul native whom my husband had met some years ago while living in Australia. Francis only had one evening to spend with us, but we were determined to make it count. We headed to Gwangjang Market, which seemed to be bursting with people and warm energy despite the rain. We passed by Cho Yonsoon’s kalguksi (knife-cut noodle) stall, unmissable with large posters showcasing her appearance on Netflix’s Street Food: Asia series. There was no chance of getting a seat, so we tucked into an adjacent restaurant nearby for some dumplings and mung bean pancakes.
I was blissfully unaware of the surprise in store for me at our next stop. As we moved through the market, Francis noticed a restaurant with several tanks of live octopus resting on the sidewalk in front. “Ah, this is so Korean!” he said. “You have to try it!”
We made our way to the upstairs dining room, which was much fuller than I would have guessed from the outside. I tried to politely explain to Francis that I didn’t want to partake in this experience, and he politely explained to me that he would be partaking whether I wanted to join or not.
He called out to the server, and in record time, a plate of raw, chopped, still-squirming octopus garnished with herbs and accompanied by a dipping sauce was delivered to our table. I was still trying to make sense of it all when Francis began to pop raw pieces of octopus into his mouth with the blissful smile of a kid eating gummy worms.
I had a decision to make: stay indignant about the cruelty of eating a semi-living octopus, or let myself have a cultural experience that would likely never present itself again.
I timidly picked up my chopsticks and put a small piece into my mouth. I was totally unprepared for the way each individual tentacle suctioned to my teeth as if the octopus were fighting until the very end. I did not eat another one.
We had been snacking all evening, but it was starting to get late, and it was time for a more substantial dinner. We made our way to another section of the market where most of the stalls had closed, and there were no other customers in sight. The alleyway was dark except for the lights from a few butcher stands that were still open.
A friendly butcher and his son showed us several Styrofoam packages, each containing a slightly different assortment of cuts with various types of marbling and price points. We deferred to Francis’ judgment and bought a pack containing mostly fattier meat and a few lean pieces. The only thing left to do was find a place to cook it.
Luckily, the bring-your-own-meat barbecue restaurant just across the street was still serving the last few customers and begrudgingly seated us latecomers around a metal table with a charcoal grill in the center.
The server began to bring all manner of sauces, salads, and pickled side dishes, along with our plated beef and the necessary utensils to cook it ourselves. Francis threw the fattier pieces on the grill, which seemed to have the texture of butter.
As we ate, we asked Francis all sorts of questions about life in Seoul, cultural values, and the country’s relationships with neighbors like Japan and North Korea. How did he feel about the military exercises going on at the border?
“This is every day for us,” he said. “The West probably sees this as a bigger deal than we do.”
After our beef dinner, we settled into the classy red booths of a jazz club for a drink and some music before Francis drove us home. Our route passed through Itaewon, and Francis pointed out the alleyway where the deadly Halloween stampede had taken place just a few months earlier. It was hard to imagine the scene on a night when the streets were so quiet, with just a few military personnel in uniform walking under the rain.
A day or two later, we flew back to Europe from Seoul. As we left, I couldn’t help but feel like Korea had taken me for a spin. The food was some of the most delicious and flavorful of our entire trip, yet it was clear I had barely scratched the surface of a rich culture so different from my own. I decided not to form any conclusions about Korea, and instead leave the page unturned with the hopes of one day returning to write the next chapter.
This is a great story. Trying to get my head around the cheddar cheesecake! Any ideas of the ingredients? It looks very fluffy.