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Hello Fake-Meat Consumers,
Lately, Korean people have been saying something to me that messes with my head. I get it in my home, at work, in the clubs. They say it to me with a look of surprise and disdain, and I never really know how to take it. It always goes something like:
“Damn, you’re more Korean than I am.”
Sure, I occasionally enjoy kimchi and eggs in the morning. And, yeah, once in a while, I groove to some K-pop. And there might be a chance my love of Korean girls borders on the point of creepy obsession. But am I more Korean than a Korean? No way, man. I take it as a compliment, for others to believe that I’ve assimilated this well. But, despite how accustomed I become to living this country, there are certain things about Korea that my mind will always reject as wrong.
For instance, SPAM.
Yes, we’ve all had it at one point or another, when money was tight or when Mom forgot to go grocery shopping. There are only two sane reactions before consuming SPAM. The first is disbelief—the existential question of “Seriously, what the hell is this?” (Spoiler alert: nobody really knows).
The second is classic self-deception. We tell ourselves: “Oh come on, it can’t be that bad…can it?” One bite will tell you, yes, yes it can be that bad and worse. At least, that’s the standard American reaction. And it makes sense. It’s canned, chemical infused, pig shoulder leftovers. No one actually wants SPAM, do they?
Enter South Korea. They dig SPAM here. They dig it hard. They dig it so hard that for national holidays, it is standard practice to give a SPAM Gift Set. What’s in the SPAM Gift Set? SPAM, packaged in a display case in the same way you would see exotic cheeses or high end alcohol.
Really, no joke.
Koreans see it as some sort of delicacy, whereas, when I see it, my knee-jerk reaction is a full body heave. This proves, at least to myself, I am American to the core of my system.
Even with so much time spent in this country, so many culture norms still surprise the hell out of me. Despite the absurd amounts of outside Influence, Korea manages to stay its own monster. Let’s keep the examples coming:
In an attempt to reform my lanky figure into something that more resembles Brad Pitt in Fight Club, I recently joined a gym with my roommate in Itaewon. As Itaewon is the hub of foreigners in Korea, you can bear witness to all walks of life as they pump iron. There’s the hyper-friendly and hyper-enormous African man, the Mohawked-out, tattoo encrusted American guy who complains to anyone willing to listen, and one dude of mysterious origin looks like Stallone’s slightly-disturbed younger brother. Usually though, you don’t notice where people are from, because you’re too busy flexing your guns in front of the mirror. However, there is one slight discrepancy, one thing that Korean guys will do that no one else would ever be caught dead doing: Lifting weights barefoot.
Even as a person who prefers to spend most of his time shoeless (and, of course, pants-less), I still can’t get behind this one. Aside from creating a breeding ground for staff infections and ringworm, not wearing shoes when you lift is stupidly dangerous. It’s like cooking naked. I mean sure, it’s more comfortable, but the fear of flames charring my goods keeps me clothed in the kitchen.
As a side note, most Korean guys have a lean to skinny build, so it’s very interesting to see a Korean dude straight yoked out of his mind.
Am I right?
And I do get nostalgic for the good ‘ole U.S. of A from time to time. The other day, I caught up with an old friend from high school I hadn’t seen in six years. We decided to check out Vatos, a new Mexican joint less than a year old that got rave reviews (#1 Hottest New Restaurant in Seoul by CNNGo). But, If you recall me saying in one of my older entries, hunting down a good Mexican in Korea is like trying to find a unicorn.
Well, I found it.
How good are we talking? Home-made tortillas, legit carne asada steak, and a stupid-big beer selection. I felt home. It didn’t hurt that the guys who started up Vatos are a group of L.A. Koreans who know Mexican food inside and out. In true L.A./Korean style, they also offer a selection of fusion food, blending Mexican and Korean into a single delicious entity. It might sound strange in theory, but in practice they kill it. Some of the features include grilled kimchi carne asada fries, sam-gyup-sal (pork belly) tacos, and my person favorite, Texas-sized Makgeolita. What is a Makgeolita? Half-Margarita, Half-Korean-wine Makgeoli, coming in flavors of apple, peach, strawberry, orange, and, oh yes, mango.
I consider myself a pretty evenly minded cat (though, I suppose everyone does), but even if you trust me, this next observation might seem harsh. Most of the elements of Korean Culture that irk me are pretty benign, but there is one thing I truly despise. There exists, in this country, a shallowness, an intense focus on that which is material and aesthetic, and it’s really, really bad.
I’m not gonna restate old points in this post (like how half of the chicks out here get plastic surgery) but moving to Seoul has made me a bit colder to the culture here. Gwangju could be shallow at times, but Seoul is on a whole ‘nother level of shallowness. I’m talking kiddy pool shallow.
To be fair, some of it could be dismissed as practical. For instance, Korean women take it as dogma that no man is worth marrying that doesn’t already have his own apartment, own car, and job of “high-esteem.” While this makes sense pragmatically, the hardcore romantic inside of me cries out in agony. What ever happened to the notion of the young married couple struggling together, huddled under a blanket because there’s not enough money for heat this winter, staying warm on love and dreams? Where’s the adventure? Where’s the passion, baby?
That might just be me being crazy and unrealistic. Truly, though, some of the shallowness in this country is just downright nasty. The epicenter of this phenomenon? Night clubs. The other night at the club, one of my boys was dancing with this very pretty girl and offered to buy her a drink. She accepted, and he promptly returned with two Heinekens. Her response, upon seeing the beers, was:
“Beer? I only drink champagne.”
Now, I know this exact exchange has probably gone down in New York, Paris, Hong Kong, and any city where excessive wealth can be found. But it’s the consistency at which you see this happen, especially if you’re a guy like me. At the venues I’ve been frequenting, more and more, girls see me as a dollar sign (instead of the hot piece of meat that I am). And, when they discover that dollar sign is so very small, they lose interest immediately. In Seoul, in the battle between the wallet and the heart, the wallet wins nine times out of ten.
On a sociological level it makes sense. You take a dirt poor country torn by invasion and civil war, and then in fifty years transform them into the one of the world’s strongest economies. What’s going to happen? You’re going to create a culture focused on success, especially success with the Almighty Dollar. Korea is often strangely reminiscent of 1950’s America and the whole “keeping up with the Jones’” mentality.
But, if superficiality is Korea’s vice, its virtue is family. Korea’s foundation in family is a truly remarkable thing. They stay together ‘til the bitter end. This is one of the largest factors in the lack of crime and low percentage of homeless people. But I mostly dig it for the family parties. Speaking of which, I recently got a chance to go down to Suncheon to celebrate my Korean Father’s book publication. Some things worth mentioning:
We had a bokbunja cake. Bokbunja is a Korean raspberry rice wine that Koreans claim is “good for men’s stamina.” After saying it, they usually giggle. Because they’re talking about sex. Usually, when Koreans make such claims, I try the stuff and have no idea what the hell they’re talking about. This was different. I can’t logically explain it, but somehow, with the bokbunja cake, they were right. It was the sexiest baked good I’ve ever had.
Even crazier was the Tiger Soju. I’ll cut right to the chase on this one. Whether it was bullshit or not, I’ll never know, but this was soju made with tiger. Like, the animal. Grrr baby. Purchased in China, it was extremely expensive, highly illegal, and, much to my surprise, tasted like tiger. Again, this is one of those ineffable things. Trying to explain it would somehow make the experience less ferocious, and we wouldn’t want to do that.
The true highlight of the party though, was seeing my Korean family. My Korean Dad was so happy to see me come, he made me this:
It’s an old Chinese proverb. The take-home message is this:
“He who speaks little causes few problems.”
So, while I love all you cats out there reading my blog, I’m going to take that Chinese advice, and say no more for today.
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