Happy New Year?
That's right, party people, it's time for Sol-nal, the Korean Lunar New Year. What is Lunar New Year? I'm glad you asked.
Opposed to our fascist solar calender, Koreans use the moon as their guide for their traditional calender, so the time changes every year by about a day (lunar calender accounts for about a 354.37 day year). Sol-nal, the New Year, is among he most important Korean holidays. On this day, families gather together to pay homage to ancestors, offering them prayer and plates of food, while asking them for wisdom and luck in the new year. I think this is an excellent idea. After I'm dead and gone, I know I wouldn't mind stopping back on earth to see my family, give them some luck and advice, and maybe chow on some Anna's Taqueria. But this is truly a great holiday, one everyone loves. Adults love this holiday because it brings families together. Children love this holiday because they get money every time they wish their elders "happy new year." Dan Foley loves this holiday because of the five-day weekend. Oh yeah.
And how did I observe this moon-driven celebration? I spent Sol-nal with a couple of my Californian friends and their mentor and friend, a wise fifty-five-year-old Korean artist. You can tell he's a cool guy because he's the only Korean I know with facial hair. In his studio, we sat around playing poker and eating the traditional soup of Sol-nal called "Duk-guk." It's called rice cake soup, comprised of rice cakes, beef broth, scallions, and pretty much anything else you want to throw in. Our chef threw in a healthy amount of beef and oysters, and it was truly something special.
But the tradition behind the duk-guk soup is the best part. In a previous post I discussed how Koreans all age at the same time (i.e. at the start of 2011, everyone born in 1988 is 24, at the start of 2012 everyone born in 1988 is 25, etc. etc.), but, seeing as though Koreans use a lunar calender to establish age, January 1st is not the day when everyone turns one year older. Rather, it's done on Sol-nal. And, tradition states that you're not officially a year older until you eat the duk-guk soup. That's right, people, the key to eternal youth is avoiding this delicious beef broth concoction. But with respect to Bob Dylan, I pick the soup over being forever young. Honestly, it's that good.
So, in honor of the new year, one of my resolutions is to watch more soccer. Now, knowing American audiences, half of you are groaning and saying "soccer sucks!" and the other half are cheering and saying "it's pronounced FUT-BOL." Both sides, just relax. Watching soccer out here is not a personal choice. Like every other non-American country in the world, out here, soccer is huge. So I gave it a shot and followed the Asian Cup, where Korea battled through to the semi-finals. There, they faced their arch-rival, Japan.
Now, if you think the Celtics-Lakers or Sox-Yankees rivalries are heated, just think about what it's like to be Korean. You're battling the nation that, until 65 years ago, had a ruthless imperialistic stranglehold on your nation. When you become enlightened to such facts, shirts that say "Jeter Sucks" just don't really carry the same gravity. There truly is no love loss between these two Asian nations. The game was a testament to this. It was wild. Korea scored early, and maintained their advantage for a fair amount of the first half until Japan tied it up. There, they remained deadlocked until the game went into overtime. Japan scored right off the bat, leaving Korea in a dire position. Korea battled back but couldn't get a good shot on goal until a minute left, where they managed to sneak one past the Japanese. But, in the penalty kick showdown, Korea was decimated by a more experienced Japanese team, and lost. It was doubly sad, both losing to Japan and the seeing the final game for Korea's pride and joy, Park Ji Sung, who will retire at the end of this year. He is best known for his prowess as Manchester United's midfielder and as the spokesman for Gillette Fusion Razors in Korea (which is powerfully ironic because no one out here has facial hair).
But enough about soccer, I have a much more serious announcement to make. My name is Dan Foley, and I'm addicted to Korean junk food. Everyone knows I love food like Michael Bay loves explosions, but I'm not usually a snacker. I dig the entrees. But out here, these delicious treats are slowly converting me. Candy out here is dirt cheap, delicious, and confusing, making it the ultimate seduction. And when I say confusing, just like everything else in Korea, none of the candy really makes a whole lot of sense. Everything is almost normal, but with a strange twist. For instance, Sour Gummy Coke Bottles. Say what? Yeah, I know. You can picture maybe Gummy Coke Bottles, or Sour Gummies, but really, Sour Gummy Coke Bottles? Confusing? Yes. But they're blue and purple and strangely addictive so they get the pass.
Then you have your ice cream popsicles/bars, which seem to be my Achilles heel. I can't resist them. You have deep fried frozen ice cream puffs and ice cream mixed with corn (I'm terrified to try, but it's sitting in my freezer right now), but perhaps the most interesting is the Jaws Bar. It's an ordinary popsicle, blueberry flavor on the outside, and shaped like a shark. But, the inside is this pink, strawberry deliciousness that is somehow soft and just the right amount of bitter. The bizarre thing is, when you eat it, it really feels like you're gutting a shark, seeing the cross section of the blue and pink as you work your way into it. I'm not even a popsicle guy and these things blow me away.
Then, for the lover of chocolate, Korea features the Crunky Bar. No, my friends, that is no typo, the Crunky Bar. Do I mean Crunchy Bar? No. Am I trying to say Chunky Bar? Sorry. It's the Crunky Bar, and it gets you Crunked (that's not it's tag line but it really, really should be). Perhaps for copyright purposes, it has avoided using an English actual word, but when you eat it, you understand. One of my students put it best when he said "Crunky is the sound it makes when you bite into it." It's kinda halfway between a Kid Kat and a Snickers, it's surprisingly light, with a touch of honey. I think it would do good things in the American market.
But perhaps the pinnacle of Korean junk food is something that, once I say it, you're going to smack your head and say "why don't we have that?" Ready?
Chocolate-Covered Sun Flower Seeds.
Oh yeah, they're real and they're spectacular. I don't know who came up with the idea, I just know I'm very, very impressed.
(As a side note, Korea is not the only Asian country to rock when it comes to candy. Japan is nutso for Kid Kats. In Japan, Kid Kats come in over 80 flavors. Yes, they have that many different types of Kid Kats, featuring some great ideas like "Kiwifruit," to more controversial flavors like "Wine." For a full listing, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kit_Kat)
It's for these reasons I just loves the Korean people. But not everyone has love for Koreans. Racism exists, dear friends, whether we like it or not. Perhaps you have come across the term "gook," the ethnic slur used against the Korean people. Nowadays, it's more of a relic than anything. No one under the age of fifty really uses this word too much anymore, unless they're really dead-set on bigotry. But I bring up the word because, while controversial, it has an interesting origin. During the Korean War, Korean soldiers often asked foreign soldiers if they were from America. The simplest way to ask this in Korean is to just point and say, "America?" But, given the obscurity of the Korean language, Americans soldiers didn't gather this and thought the Korean soldiers were trying to speak English. Incidentally, the word for "America" in Korean is "mi-guk" or, as the Americans must have heard it: "me gook" as in "I am a gook." And from there it took off in all sorts of bad directions.
But these misunderstandings are not just a thing of the past. Sometimes the language barrier is a more than just confusing. Sometimes, it's dangerous. For instance, my students are not antisemitic. For the record, I doubt they've ever even met a Jewish person. But, every kid has been to the zoo (stay with me, here) so, in class, I sometimes ask questions like, "do you have fun at the zoo?" But, like many other English sounds, the "z" sound does not exist in the Korean tongue. So, what's the closest sound to a "z"? Here, take a second. No really, think about it. I'll wait...
What'd you come up with? If you answered "j," you are correct. So what? Well, think about this. If a kid had a monkey fling poo at him the first time he visited the zoo, he probably wouldn't be digging the zoo all that much. In fact, he might say something as simple as "I don't like the zoo." But, throw in your "j" sound where the "z" sound is in that statement and, oh baby, that sounds like something out of Germany in the 30's. I work with them on their "z" sounds a lot.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, I have a story to tell. Let me set the stage for you. Friday night, in my kumdo (sword fighting) gym, my foot is healed, and it is the night of my initiation into the Kumdo Brotherhood.
Our hero (yours truly), walks into the gym. It's a cold night, bitter, freezing, but there is a fire inside his belly. Tonight, he has something to prove.
It is his first time suiting up for battle. His hogu (kumdo armor) lays before him. It is the night of his initiation, the christening of his hogu. This is a great honor, reserved for the warriors who have gnashed through blood and broken bones and really bad soju hangovers to come out the other side, fierce and fearless.
The rules of the initiation are simple. One must battle through every one of his kumdo brothers in attendance at the gym that night, without rest. To describe his initiation, my kumdo brother Alex had used the phrase "chook-a-say-oh" which translates to "stick a fork in me." Most people have to face about seven opponents in a row during their initiation. Alex faced ten. Of course, because everyone wants a crack at the white guy, fourteen warriors arrive that night to face our hero.
Sword in hand, suited up, the lanky white protagonist holds his blade out in front of him. There, after bowing to his brothers, he faces them, one by one. He thrashes through, taking his opponent's fearsome blows but shelling them back with a barrage of sword missiles (I know, I know, these metaphors are getting worse and worse). Though his arms begin to feel like lead and his head like a ringing bell, the look in his brothers' faces say "don't give up," and so our hero battles on.
I don't have a photograph of the actual fighting, but I drew this picture, and I think it does it justice.
After facing the lineup of his bladed brothers, our hero breathes a sigh of relief, as he thinks he is finished. This is not the case. His master approaches him. There is one more opponent and he is the deadliest in the room. The exhausted American looks fearfully at the man before him. This is a man who, as a soldier, was a member of the Korean equivalent to the Navy Seals and who has been training with a sword for the last twenty years. Though small in stature, our hero still knows the might of his master.
The master's assault is punishing. Bamboo blows rain down on the fatigued whitey. But now is not the time for surrender, he tells himself, not on number fourteen. He has come too far. A second wind fills our hero's soul, and there, he dances the dance of the sword with his master, until he can stand no longer.
His master bows to him, and then seats him at the front of the room. There, his brothers pay homage to him, and congratulate him. He is now in the family of the sword. They meditate together. They shake hands. And then, in his greatest moment our hero takes them all out and pays for them to gets them absolutely sloshed on beer and soju, while they eat pizza and chicken and talk about hot Korean chicks.
Honestly though, people, the ceremony was incredibly moving. This gym truly does feel like a family of my brothers and sisters. And though I do not speak the same language, it matters so little. We communicate when we fight, when we slap each other on the back, and when we whip each other in the ass with towels in the shower after we finish and then go out boozing. They're awesome. And honestly, do you see those two little girls in the front of the picture? My friend called them "angels with swords." And they are cuter than a puppy sitting in cake wearing a birthday hat.
Lastly, I want to tell you all, I found a sandwich place. Yes, a real sandwich place. No weird kimchi or strange sauces or corn in my bread. No. Just a real club sandwich. On good bread. Thick bacon. Juicy tomato. Perfect amount of mayo. Good steak fries. Real pickles. I didn't say a damn word while I was eating it. And I didn't listen to a word anyone else said. It was magical.
But that's all for today, my fellow warriors. Now I must retire, to meditate and eat more sandwiches. I miss and love you all.
-Your Hero
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