Foreigner Foodies - Day 6: Fresh chicken!

Day 6: The last day; we are exhausted. I’ve had minimal sleep, though fortunately we managed to sleep through the 7:10 injunction. After evacuating all our goods from the pension and loading them into the bus we made a bleary-eyed trip to the local 삼겹살 (samgyeopsal) restaurant where we had also eaten dinner the night before. Breakfast was a very subdued affair.

After breakfast we were back on the bus and headed back into Jeollanam-do proper. For our final meal we were promised 닭장국 (chicken-sauce-soup) at a local village. Even more excitingly, we were promised a scavenger hunt of sorts, and there was talk of exploring the village on ATVs, though that turned out to be cruel, idle rumour.

Though we found a motor-scooter. 

The village we found ourselves in was far more pleasant than the previous one, though no less of a deserted backwater. It sat at the head of an extremely shallow valley, with about two dozen houses spreading uphill behind the community hall and a clear view to the estuary way in the distance.

We met with the elders, and were filmed receiving our scavenger hunt instructions. We divided into our pre-determined teams, myself with Nobuko, Cynthia with Cherish and poor David left to his own devices. We were each given two food items to find and sent off into the village to try and find some. We were looking for 김치 and 떡 (Kimchi and rice cake). The first house we came to no one responded to our calls and, pressed for time we moved on to the second.

Back in the 60s a psychological experiment was conducted, that has since been repeatedly recreated, wherein a subject would be put in a position where he/she would be tasked with asking another person questions and punishing wrong answers by administering an escalating series of electrical shocks. The aim of the experiment was to show how people can be persuaded to set aside their conventional morality so long as someone in a perceived position of authority is giving the instructions. At the second house I found myself in a similar (though far, far milder) position.

As we approached the house we could hear the low dialogue of a television on inside, and yet our hallos went unanswered for long minutes. The cameraman exhorted us to greater efforts and Nobuko knocked on the door. Eventually we heard the sounds of movement and a slow shuffling approached the door. Eventually it was drawn back to reveal an ancient, withered, white-haired old man, still dressed in his bed-clothes. He was entirely confused, but we were soon inside his home, waking his wife from their shared mattress before the television, and digging through his kimchi freezer for some good kimchi.

They may have been confused, but they were still hospitable, and we walked away with two tubs of kimchi as well as two overripe, sickly-soft persimmons (감). It seemed we were off-script though, and so we handed the kimchi tubs over to the crew, and were directed to the “correct” house, where kimchi was ladled up to us out of great stone vats. We collected a heavy crate full of long, thin 떡 and headed back to meet up with the others.

Waiting for us was Cindy and Cherish, looking worn and shell-shocked. Theirs to find had been a chicken, and they had clearly found the experience more than expected. Cindy was streaked with chicken-dung scraped off the sides of the coop, and Cherish held a great red chicken by the wings. I can’t wait to see that scene in the show. David joined us later with several green onions and some bean paste, and we were ready to cook.

The meal we eventually ate was attended by the five of us, and some 10-odd locals. We were packed tight around the table, and the food was again cold by the time we got to eat it, but tasty it was. By the time we finished eating the day was running late, and we still had several scenes left to shoot, and so we split up.

By this point I was very tired, and excited to get home, rest, and draw the experience to a close. So I had great difficulty looking interested in the town’s well, now an unremarkable concrete weir, or pretending that the water flowing from it tasted any better than regular water. Our last stop was to visit with an elderly man who had been keeping a diary for over 50 years. It certainly was interesting to meet the man, and to look back over the years and find the weather for the day I was born, though it soon turned out that his entries covered little more than the weather, and I was soon wondering what this had to do with a show about foreigners experiencing traditional food.

The sun had set before we finally said our goodbyes, gave our final interviews, and boarded the bus for Seoul. We stopped in Gwangju to drop off David, Pyeongtaek for Cynthia, and finally Gangnam for the rest of us. I eventually made it home on Wednesday night after 12:30, drained but glad that the subway runs late on weekdays. 

Foreigner Foodies - Day 5: Jeollanam-do

It’s 3am and my taxi is pulling up at the production offices. I am no longer exhausted so much as numbed. I didn’t get the sleep I intended to in the afternoon, choosing to work off some emotional rather than physical exhaustion by chilling with a friend and playing some billiards.

         A replacement had been found for Leigh: Cherish, a Philippino with superb Korean skills, probably largely due to being married to a Korean. The story that had been “written” for us was that Leigh had to leave, but the Cherish was his friend he has sent to join us in out travels. This was established on camera with a series of phone calls, some on-camera confusion, and a fantastically faked scene in which we met Cherish as she approached the back of the bus.

         This is one of those bizarre quirks of reality in TV land, a cinematographic fog-of-war, if you will, whereby the characters (as played by we foreigners), are unable to see anything until they approach to within a few metres of it, whereupon we all spot it simultaneously and, with grandiose gesture and jaws agape, proceed to exclaim and declaim with uniform enthusiasm. Of course this allows the cameras to record us spotting something impressive and then swivel swiftly around to take it in, repeating the discovery process for the audience, and I suppose that this is one of those obvious conventions about which TV viewers do not complain, forming a tacit agreement - suspension of disbelief re the visual media - with faux-documentary makers.

         With our opening bus-conversation sequence filmed we all tried to get to sleep. I don’t know how it will be sold in the final cut, but the night seemed to have that particular dead-hours darkness that no one could mistake for the human hours of the day. Cherish had shown herself in our group conversation very willing to lead the conversation in bubbly Korean. The prevailing language of the show had now shifted heavily to Korean with the departure of Leigh and addition of Cherish, which seemed to make the Producer happy.

         We were headed to Jeollanam-do, and Jindo in particular, Korea’s third largest island after Jeju and Geoje. I had been to both Jeju and Geoje, so was happy to be ticking Jindo off my travel list. To my mind Jindo was famous solely for the dogs of the same name, a small breed of pure-white dogs unique to Korea. Unfortunately dogs seemed scarce in Jindo, though it being an island, we found seafood plentiful and fresh.

Leigh wasn't with us, so the only pictures I have are my own. Here is a wall. You're welcome.

         I don’t like seafood. I can eat it, but it doesn’t really tickle my fancy, so on this day it was slightly harder to rustle up for the cameras the requisite enthusiasm for what we were cooking and eating.

         I was hardly thrown straight into a seafood feeding frenzy, however. We sat on the bus for hours after arriving, waiting for crew to arrive separately, then waited hours for locals to be found. Our massive bus was parked incongruously in a tiny backwater amongst a group of several-dozen low Korean buildings. The closest to us proclaimed themselves community buildings of some sort. Occasionally a single lonely old Korean grandmother or grandfather would shuffle slowly up or down the road past us, but otherwise the entire community was dead and silent. No birds wheeled in the cloudless sky, nothing moved, and no sounds could be heard.

         As Korean busses tend to do, our bus soon became unbearably hot, and we clambered down to mill around pointlessly, unable to wander away and explore, and with nothing to see or do in the immediate vicinity. Quiet conversation wandered back and forth across the group as we likewise wandered the parking area.

         Eventually our hosts were found/awoken, and a greeting ceremony was filmed. Then things picked up pace. We were soon in the front yard of a traditional Korean homestead, performing the various tasks necessary to prepare a traditional Jindo meal. The heavy focus of this meal was 굴 (oysters), and so I volunteered to stoke the fire.

         At some point, though, out of some deranged and short-sighted curiosity, I wandered across to see what was going on with the other group – they all had their oyster picks in hand and were hacking away rhythmically, violently at a mountain of baroque-looking shells.

         Before I knew it an ancient Korean woman had a raw oyster on a thick black iron hook, and was busily trying to insert it in my mouth. Cameras trained, and unable to avoid the choice morsel, I gulped it down. Incredibly salty, cold, slimy. I can feel gritty pieces, either of broken shell or sea-floor detritus, between my teeth. And yet, I can understand why people enjoy the taste of oysters, prize them, consider them a delicacy. Some people not me. I have to struggle simply to keep from showing outwardly that I am struggling not to regurgitate the slimy snotty creature on public television.

Look: Fish!

         The battle won, I say my thanks and make for the safety of the cooking fire. I am halfway there when the sadistic old woman overtakes me and forces me to swallow down another of the drippy, mucusy snot-balls.

         The meal itself, however, was very enjoyable. I managed to stealthily avoid the oyster-based dishes interspersed across the table in favour of the beef soup and seaweed bowls. We sat on the floor at low Asian tables in the front courtyard. I was please to find the general tenor of the meal remarkably pleasant. We were hosted by several village elders (such rural townships in Korea being almost exclusively the domain of the elderly), who were overwhelmingly friendly and welcoming.

         After the meal we were informed that the oldest of the ladies at table, a weathered, wooden-faced woman, had in her day been a famous folk singer. With very little encouragement she was soon singing the song 아리랑.

The lady in question.

         I had heard this song before, in several places, and been unimpressed. On this occasion, however, a different mood took me. It was perhaps the combination of traditional food and setting, as well as the time-worn features of the singer, but it seemed to me as though, as I watched her sing this antique song, I watched generations of Koreans, going back millennia, singing this song and others like it. In this tiny hamlet in Jindo, a tiny capsule of rural, pre-industrial Korea lived on, and I felt I watched time roll back.

         The sensation was a humbling one.

I was and am struck by my own lack of culture and heritage – I do not regret the lack, but only wish to observe the winding path my ancestors took to leave me with such shallow roots.

         That night we were treated to more of the same, as we joined the locals in rehearsing traditional songs and dancing. We were encouraged to join in, however inexpert we soon proved to be, and were taught some simple steps after joining a snaking, skipping conga line of sorts.

         I have mentioned how the rural areas of Korea are now populated almost exclusively by the elderly, their children and children’s children all having migrated into the big cities. This gathering of the townsfolk demonstrated and exaggerated this tendency – the friendly, welcoming, happy people were worn, heavily lined, and browned. The daily toil of their lives showed in their faces. They were meticulously ugly. 

The men dance.

As do the women.

We were also instructed in a basic drumming rhythm, before being made to sing a traditional song of our own countries.

         We had had some warning of this ordeal, but had not fretted about it overly. Our Korean producers had not seemed to understand that western societies have not the monolithic culture of Korea. In Korea, country equates to culture, and that I, as a South African, might claim a different heritage, or none, made no sense. I struggled with this requirement, greatly. The only thing I could think of to sing that would not be either heavily political or Afrikaans, was the National Anthem. As someone strongly opposed to nationalism this didn’t sit quite right, though I reflected at least that it’s multilingual nature was reflective of a multiculturalism I approved of.

         I would need some prompting for the lyrics though, as I could not remember all the words in all five comprising languages. As I attempted to retrieve the lyrics on my phone I was exhorted merely to sing what I knew. Under such pressure I ended up singing the last two verses: “Uit die blou” and “Sounds the call”. I regretted it straight away. Choosing to represent my country by singing the only two verses of the National Anthem in “white” languages… it would pass unchallenged in South Korea, fifty million people oblivious, but it didn’t sit well with me. Ah well, let this be my explanation and explication, if necessary.

         I had been awake, more or less, since 2am, as had most of the cast and crew. Yet the Producer insisted on a party to celebrate the last night of filming. A party, and also that we must all meet the following morning at 7:10.

         Suffice to say that we overslept, the Producer included. Fortunately his complaints the next day lacked bitterness, perhaps out of awareness of his own culpability. 

Foreigner Foodies - Day 4: Ganwon-do-deo!

I feared that on the morning of day 4, after the first night I had spent away with the film crew, there would be some attempt at rushing us into getting up and started with the day. I was relieved to find that we were allowed to wake under our own power, and were gently reminded of breakfast. Breakfast was nice and relaxed, as everyone woke up into the new day.

And what a day it was...

         Our only filming for the morning was a brief scene wherein we said goodbye to our friendly hosts (now outfitted in their own white hoodies), and we took a group picture under Leigh’s direction.

The foodies

Foodies plus crew

         It had been a slow morning, and it continued similarly as we rode the bus for 2 hours to our next destination which, we were informed, would be a famous 감자 (potato) restaurant. We filmed another rear-seat discussion of our destination and opinions, and then got some footage of us looking at the pretty scenery rolling past. That done, we separated along the bus to relax and look at the pretty scenery rolling past.

         It really was beautiful as we wound down sinuous roads bounded by snow-clad hills and tiny villages sprouting therefrom.

         Before the restaurant we stopped over at another of Gangwon-do’s famous tourist attractions – a meeting of two rivers, where locals build a bridge out of fresh pine every year, and a professionally-built metal foot bridge is adorned by an immense grey-steel crescent. The bridge seemed but a hammer away from a communist symbol, or a star away from being an Islamic one.

It's pretty though, right?

It looks one snapped cable away from rolling rightward and scything someone's house in two.

We were filmed making cairns and walking across the bridge (overactingly), but to a large degree the cast and crew alike seemed content to just take in the scenery. There was very little pressure or direction, and the setting was truly beautiful. Something about the quality of the air, I think, leant the whole panorama a very stark quality. This may have been a result of the temperature” One of the crew read the temperature at -15C. Wind chill was also brutal, and removing gloves so as to take pictures proved painful.

My and my cairn. With Nobuko!

Fleeing the ice dragon about to emerge from that portal in the ice.

Did I post a picture of our bus? We had a special bus with out own banner sticky-taped to the side of it!

We were glad to reboard the bus, especially as a number of Korean tour busses pulled in, threatening to swamp the popular site with scores of curious onlookers. It turned out we had been lucky to find it so empty, even with such inhospitable weather.

Time was running on, however, and I was eager to be home. This being Christmas Day, I had hoped to be home at the latest in the early evening so as to Skype home, unwrap presents, and chat with different people around the world. Yet the day rolled on, and that started to become more and more unlikely. Among the foreigners there was a slight undercurrent of tension, a barely perceptible frustration with the slow pace of the filming.

This became especially apparent when we finally arrived at what was originally intended as our luncheon spot, the potato restaurant. It was never explained why we sat in the bus outside the restaurant for so long, although after some time the camera crew did set up and film our final interviews early.

As the day darkened we were finally filming the approach to restaurant, and our reception and greeting.

The woman running the place was superbly friendly and, as if to make up for earlier delays, everything started to pick up the pace. The food was filmed quickly and it wasn’t long before we were sitting down to eat. A genuine piece of humour arose during the meal when we started to jokingly say 감자합니다 instead of 감사합니다.

         The meal itself was, well, very potato heavy. My favourite was definitely the 감자전 (potato pancake), with which I was already pleasantly familiar. Other than that there was a dish that looked and tasted a lot like 떡 (rice cakes), though it was made with potato starch rather than rice, and stuffed with sweet potato (or sugared potato – it was sweet and potato, anyway) rather than red bean or sweetened rice. The third potato dish was best described by Leigh (I think) as being the second dish, only exploded. In their interviews others leapt to defend it as being like mashed potato – I thought it was more like potato salad, but not as tasty as either.

         The producer was far quicker than usual to call a wrap, and the cast was quickly seated around another table having a dinner of their own (with far fewer potato dishes). It wasn’t long before we were saying our goodbyes, looking at our hosts remarkable rock collection, saying goodbye again, grabbing coffee, climbing onto the bus and then heading back to Seoul. We made a brief stop to drop Leigh at a local bus station, as he lived nearby, but finally were on the long, long, four-hour road to Seoul. Before leaving Leigh had revealed that he wouldn’t be joining us for the final two days shooting, on account of heading back to Canada for a delayed Christmas, and the producer revealed that on Tuesday morning we should arrive at the production offices by 3am.

         By the time I got home it was past 10:30, I was physically exhausted, emotionally and physically drained, and still had hours of Christmas Day Skypeing to do before teaching the next day. I was far too tired to recognize it, but I was dreading having to return to the filming in 29 hours. 

Foreigner Foodies - Day 3: Gangwon-do!

It’s 3:30AM, and I’m in a taxi riding to the offices of a media production company in Dongsan-gu. I have with me an overnight bag, computer, electronic accessories and a sense of mild unease. During the week I received a string of texts, emails, and phone calls from Ginny, our translator on the show. At first these were to resolve questions of translation but then, as those started to become more frequent, a phone call on Friday to say that the producer wanted us to speak more Korean, and so would I mind doing some studying for the show? This was followed by a text asking us to meet at 3:30 in the morning, and to bring anything we needed to sing a song from our country.

         These developments significantly dented my enthusiasm for the experience of travelling and appreciating Korean food, but I filed them away under my prior resolution not to be concerned, and simply to act as I felt comfortable. Under which mandate I decided that I would under no circumstances be induced to sing on camera for a potential audience of 50 million. I have my Korean books in the front pocket of my bag for reference, but there has not been time in the last 10 hours to do any studying.

         A light snowfall had slicked the streets during my brief sleep, making walking the pavement treacherous, and taxis scarce. As a result of which I arrived slightly late to the production office, but was warmly welcomed, and given my new team hoodie, that we would all wear for the rest of the weekend. Presumably these hoodies – in a crisp, stainable white – had either been a weekday innovation on the part of the production team, or else had simply not been available the previous weekend. Either way, I suspect our uniformity of dress will promote a very Korean-style team unity, which may actually be successful in drawing from us the kind of overblown drama the producer is always encouraging. Never mind, they’re warm.

Eating eggs at the back of the bus.

         After briefly filming us “arriving” and getting onto the bus, we spent 30 minutes conversing at the back of the bus, stretching our Korean as far as possible. On my part at least, and I suspect on several others, there was a lot of nodding and laughing at comments and jokes we didn’t fully understand. Nobuko led the discussion as by far the most proficient Korean speaker among us. Personally I used Korean when I could, but didn’t feel at all bad about supplementing it with English. As I would later remark, I’m nervous enough about elocuting in English on national television, my Korean is nowhere near broadcastable. I worried slightly about how our (my) Korea mistakes would be represented on television. This tied into the general concern I had about the tension between sincerity and entertainment that arose the previous weekend.

         We managed to get an hour or so of uncomfortable sleep before arriving at our first destination for the day: Pyeongchang in Gangwon-do.

황태구이 Grilled Hwangtae

Grilling some hwangtae.

The spread,

Falling from a helicopter

         In Pyeongchang we were investigating 황태: A type of fish that has been hung outside for four months in order to allow it to freeze and defrost over and over. This procedure give the meat a chewy texture not dissimilar to a soft jerky. In South Africa we might call it fish biltong, but this fish is used in a broad range of meals: soups, stews, fried with spicy sauce, added in to 불고기… essentially, the technique arose from the need to preserve food over winter, essential for food security in rural parts of Korea until very recently, and the local cuisine hasn’t developed very far beyond it. This combined with Korea’s intense nationalism, which causes it to resist a lot of the cultural changes that open relations with the western world could bring mean that these foods remain immensely popular.

         That said, the process of preparing this fish is culturally and gastronomically fascinating. There is a different name for the fish at every stage of preparation: The live fish is called 명태, the fresh version 생태, frozen 북어, and the cured final product 황태. It of course is also very revealing of what must be millennia old Korean practices of food preparation and production, which speaks to the great influence that food played in Korean, as any agrarian, society.

         After doing our eat and interview routine in the 황태 restaurant, we went to the great fields where the fish is hung out to freeze and defrost. The local farmer was friendly, though toward the end was getting frustrated at the sheer number of pictures and walking shots the producer asked us to do. We estimated that the temperature, after wind chill, was below -10C, and great stinging sprays of snow would be periodically driven through the shooting, causing everyone to turn their backs in unison.

Cold? Yes, damnably freezing.

The confection in question.

Interviewing Nobuko.

Hanging some fish.

The rank and file of fishy kind.

         Our interview at the end of hanging fish and chatting with the local fish “farmer” was awkward. The question asked of each of us was, “Do you think this food could be popular with foreigners overseas?” and we were left with the task of having to prevaricate around the answer “No, definitely not.” The follow-up question: “In that case, what can we do to make it popular?” left me, at least, with a few seconds of gaping helplessness. The obvious answer was, “make it out of something that’s not freeze-dried fish.” I suspect this would not have gone down well. My personal opinion of 황태 is that, while it is edible, and can even be cajoled into being tasty, I would never choose to eat it over the range of foods available in any modern society. Also, it has fish bones, which are for me a major turn-off. I suggested in the interview that the food might be more successful somewhere like Norway or Iceland, but the truth is that those countries probably have a well-saturated market for local seafood products.

         Our final destination for the day was genuinely exciting. We drove for another two hours to reach a spot high in the mountains where sat a traditional Korean hamlet, roofed with wooden shingles. We explored the hamlet, investigated the mill, all the while doing the usual camera shuffle, and then got to try our hand at making some shingles. This was done with a hammer and set of iron wedges. In the bitter cold swinging a heavy mallet at a piece of wood was good warming exercise. It was really fascinating to see how Koreans used to roof their houses back in the day, and the elders who showed us were really friendly, happy old folk.

Nobuko investigating the shingling.

Splittin' wood like it aint no thang,

         The meal we cooked that night under the tutelage of the 하모니 was made largely from vegetables and roots that had been harvested wild from the mountain, combined with potato. We cooked over fires in a traditional old house, in massive ancient iron pots sunk into the kitchen fireplaces. Smoke filled the large building, forcing the camera crew to open the windows so they could see, which loosed in the building a biting breeze that penetrated every layer of clothing. We thoroughly looked forward to getting to sit down and eat the hot meal over which we had labored. Yet by the time the camera crew had finished taking super-closeups of the various foods, they were fairly stone cold. We oo’ed and aah’ed over them appreciatively through chattering teeth anyway, and were thoroughly relieved when we were told we could go to our pension.

That's a lot of tofu.

Enjoying some facsimile of heating.

David and Cynthia stoke the fires and stir the cauldron.

Twice the brinded cat hath mewed...

Steamy goodness.

The final result.

         The day was far from over, however. We had been given some hint of nighttime activities and games to be played for the camera, to which I had been looking forward, and then we were given some sets of acrylic paint, some oddly shaped pieces of bark, and told to do a painting. Of anything. I knew then how my students feel when I place a task in front of them without any warning or direction and say: “go!”

         It was good fun, although the producer was disappointed at how little talking we were all doing while focusing on our paintings. My piece of bark was shaped something like a fish, and so I painted it into a fish. Then we got to be interviewed on why we had chosen to paint what we had, and I had to waffle a metaphorical meaning into the fish (penguin?) I had chosen almost at random.

         That done and the filming finished for the day: Party in the Pension! It was the Producer’s birthday, and so we all sat around, eating snacks drinking beer and soju, and playing drinking games. There was also a 노래방 machine in the room, which got some use later on.

         The next morning I woke up with a hangover, the first time I’ve even done so on Christmas Day. I largely blame the dryness of any room with 온돌 heating, but I probably should have drunk some water before going to sleep the previous night.. 

Foreigner Foodies - Day 2 - Royal Court foods

On Sunday the skies blew clear and the air was crisp. Armed with the previous night’s resolution and a good long sleep I arrived at the production offices (ever our starting point), spot on 12:30, with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. My optimism was charged with the knowledge that today all the filming would take place inside a single location.

         We vanned across Seoul for half an hour before arriving at a very impressive apartment complex and parking in the basement lot. The home we would be visiting belonged to an elderly woman who, if I remember, was on a council for traditional court foods. At any rate she owned and ran a very successful restaurant serving those same foods that would have been eaten by kings and emperors. The dish we were going to be making is called 탕평채 (Tangpyeongchae).

         While in the basement waiting for other cast and crew members to arrive (Nobuko arrived separately, and the crew members seem perpetually engaged elsewhere), the producer gathered us around and told us that we needed to do more “overacting”.

         We were filmed approaching the apartment complex (walking very slowly) and conversing unnaturally, all five abreast walking toward a double door: A sudden crush of bodies; we’ll fix it in post.

         After being introduced to our host, we were filmed being introduced to our host. Nabuko gave some greeting and words appropriate to the occasion, and we all genuinely appreciated the superb view south out of their window. This was by far the nicest apartment in Korea I have ever been in – it was massive, the kitchen was large enough to have an island in the middle, and the view over the mountains was amazing.

Leigh models his puffy coat between two puffy cameramen.

         Some concern between our host and production crew meant some minutes of conversation before it was decided that we would move to the restaurant to film. We packed up some food, shucked our coats back on, and loaded into the vans. The drive to the restaurant was short, but the subsequent wait to go in was long. After half an hour the camera crew emerged to declare that the restaurant kitchen was not the right place for filming, and so we were off back to the apartment.

         Cooking the meal was good fun. The kitchen was cramped with more than 10 people in it, but there was lots of chopping and stirring and straining to be done, and plenty of opportunities to “sneak” a taste of little bits of food – in front of the camera.

Slicing and dicing.

David showing off his knife skills.

Cindy julienning the shitaki mushrooms.

I take instruction on even segmenting.

David receives a mouthful he cannot refuse.

잡체 Jabche

In Korean, 선맛 (hand flavour), doesn't sound as gross as in the English. 

        Our host was delightful, and full of praise. She enjoyed force feeding us from her chopsticks, and showing us the different techniques for slicing mushrooms and cucumber extra thin.

         I found that in not seeking attention or overblown statements, I enjoyed myself far more, and it became a lot easier to loosen up and relax. Toward the end of cooking I was feeling genuinely comradely toward my fellow cast-members, a feeling missing the day before, which sensation only grew as we ate and chatted after the meal.

         The food was superb: In hindsight the best food we ate on the show. In addition to tangpyeongchae we also made japchae, which was already a long-time favorite of mine. The side-dishes (방찬) were likewise of the highest quality and I ate myself absolutely silly.

Taepyeongche (태평체), royal cuisine.

Jabche, just as delicious.

Kkakdugi, my favourite "kimchi"

Kimchi kimchi.

Mung bean porridge. A cleansing starter.

The table grows heavy.

This kitchen isn't quite as well equipped. (Though it does have an oven, making it rare in Korea)

         This whole day was far simpler and less involved than the previous one, and I felt entirely different on the way home from it than I had the previous night. Despite the waiting, and the back and forthness, it was very enjoyable, we got to eat good food, and generally explore a new side of Korea.

         Now I had only to get some sleep before going to work the next day…