Inside the Ricebowl Part 3: The spectrum of edible seafood

I will *NOT* eat a sea squirt

Throughout my life, I've fancied myself adventurous. And of course this could be compared to my brother Ryan who found even tuna risky and generally roamed a realm devoid of vegetables and spices. I'd eaten frog's legs and horse meat, blood sausage and sushi, fish roe and steak tartare. Somehow, none of that could have prepared me for the horrifying delicacies that stared back at me during my last week in Korea.

Scene 1. A Chinese restaurant in Bundang. This was of course, a day after I'd been down and out with some kind of stomach bug that I'd contracted in Pyeongchang (see previous post). While they decided not to order me a full meal they instead ordered four for them and gave me small portions. On one level, I was thinking 'Whew, saaaaved!' but on another, I was really genuinely not very hungry. I sat beside a pushy 35 year old Korean lady, a relation of the family I was staying with. I would describe her as woefully culturally maladjusted as of all the people I met in Korea she was the one that understood my stomach the least. There are other reasons, but you'd have to ask me about those.

As the courses come out, I'm naturally apprehensive. Chinese food in Asia versus Chinese food in America is like taking a Monet and dumbing it down into a paint by numbers for the unsophisticated mind. While some dishes had that same Chinesey taste we're all familiar with, they usually contained an array of seafood that I normally wouldn't consider edible. The first soup, for instance, contained not just snails, not just shellfish but baby octopus. And I don't mean baby octopus tentacles. I mean a whole baby octopus, about the size of a golf ball. It goes without saying that I maneuvered around the creepy crawlers and slurped up the broth. While Beechna and her brother egged me on, a comedic glint in their eyes, knowing full well that eating a whole baby octopus is as hard for me as stomaching cream of wheat is for them, their cousin pushed. "Try it, it's delicious." She said this sentence a lot and every time grew more and more stressed. I tried to explain that it was frightening and difficult for me, but she couldn't really comprehend.

Later in the meal, a plate arrived with something that looked like dangmyeon, also known as glass noodles. I was excited because it looked edible. Moments later I learned they were jellyfish tentacles. Pneumatocysts! Pneumatocysts! I justified my aversion with my well-developed knowledge of jellyfish as a result of my coastal biology term abroad in college. How could I eat something that once upon a time was full of destructive little stinging cells? I soldiered through the meal like a kid that had sneaked off to war at the age of seventeen, regretting my previously cavalier attitude. Little nuggets of fish spawn? Yeah, I don't think so.

Not long after my harrowing experience in the Chinese restaurant, we departed for Jeju Island, a semi tropical destination off the southern coast of Korea. I won't go into the details of that trip just yet, as I'm sticking to the topic of frightening encounters in the world of food. Jeju is well known for it's vast consumption of seafood and aside from the gorgeous volcano at the center of the island and the beautiful landscape, it could be considered the main attraction for vacationers.

The 'fish' markets all sold a bewildering variety of sea creatures. In the photo to the left, from top to bottom, these fish mongers were selling some kind of snail, sea squirts, sea cucumbers and some kind of creepy nematode. Actually it's probably not a nematode, but it's a nice disturbing name for something equally disturbing in appearance. The most mind-boggling thing of all is that most of these creatures are consumed raw and twitching.

I have a great deal of respect for any person that can consciously down any of these things... and keep it down. I, however, was not raised to have any sort of culinary appreciation for things for which I typically use the latin name. Oh, Chironex fleckeri? Sure, sure, great with a garlic and chili sauce. Not.

Beechna calls it heaven

Jeju Island is charming to say the least. I should stress the island because the natural surroundings are just stunning, with bristly pine trees studding the snowy slopes of a 7000 foot volcano, curtain like waterfalls spilling over black basaltic precipices, beaches with sand that's a hundred different colors. Somebody decided to plant palm trees all around the coast, which is a very manicured look, but it doesn't really match the rest of the Jeju flora. There were places that I visited that could have been a banished piece of heaven.

For the most part though, the island was littered with some of the strangest, tackiest tourist traps that I have ever seen. There's a museum for practically everything, from chocolate to teddy bears to movies. Every one is trying to capitalize on some kind of topic and most of them do it by ignoring their beautiful natural surroundings and instead building either a sprawling theme park of something silly, or a big building filled with crap. Please excuse me, I was embittered by the "Chocolate Museum" which contained more McDonalds Happy Meal toys than actual chocolate. Ultimately, I did my best to avoid such destinations and instead opted to see the natural offerings of the island which was far more rewarding.

Jeju is famous for its citrus fruit, and with good reason. I had more delicious oranges on the island than all of the oranges I'd eaten in the U.S. combined. Even California navels paled in comparison to a sweet, over sized Hallabong. Typically I avoid oranges when I'm home because they're usually a labor intensive disappointment. These oranges bordered on having instant aphrodisiac qualities (read: orgasmic). When I am in Korea next winter, I will be sure to stock up on these.

After being carted around the island for two days, pressured to choose as many attractions to visit as humanly possible, the best experience I had of all was happening upon the return of a fishing boat. We'd been eating at a restaurant just up the beach and I spotted the boat coming in. Jeong Ha who was with me decided that we were going to run to it and meet the diver women that disembarked with their catch. The scene was a flurry of nets, wet suit clad middle aged Korean women, writhing octopus, doomed red starfish and hungry customers. Jeong Ha entered a bidding war over a mollusk the size of a slice of bread. She bid 25 bucks, but the creature went for nearly 100.

I appreciated this experience because it was simply Korea. Not hyped up or marketed or costing money. It was people doing something I'd never seen anywhere else... women no less, divers who spear fished and wrassled octopus onto long hooks and held their breath for unspeakable amounts of time. I felt like I was privy to some secret Korean experience, something most foreigners aren't allowed to see and it was special. I tried to explain to my hosts, but they were ultimately a bit confused. How could I find so much joy in something that was so pedestrian to them?

Regardless, it was the perfect way to cap the final day of my Jeju island stay.

I'll wrap up my Korean trip soon, I promise!