Late one afternoon, N and I ran across a Korean restaurant by accident. We were on the hunt for gray sweatshirts and while searching for the perfect pair, we passed by the secluded barbecue joint. The aroma of smoky barbecued meats wafted toward us and just like that, we were tempted. The surrounding glass windows had ghostly trails of steam. Families were huddled around their tiny tables, grilling their meats and blanching their greens in a pot of steaming broth.
Since the place was all-you-can-eat, the buffet section turned out to be a colorful library of fresh seafood, salads and the most delicious-looking marinated meats. Thinly-sliced chicken and beef were basted in all types of marinade: teriyaki, chilli, black pepper, bulgogi and even coffee. Imagine getting your caffeine fix by eating meat. Isn’t that an ingenious idea? We surrendered ourselves to greed and took a few plates of everything. The air was warm and sticky from all that indoor grilling so we brought our plates and planted ourselves at the restaurant’s shady balcony outside.
A young waiter appeared with a jar of broth and switched on the burner for the grill lodged in the middle of our table. Like those families, we slowly placed our broccoli florets and seafood into the steaming white broth and left the meats on the grill too cook slowly. We also laid out different sauces in tiny bowls. So began our barbecue affair.
I found the idea to be foreign at first, having to pay to play kitchen at the joint. What’s the point? It was like cooking at home, albeit a bit simpler. One of us would grill the meats while the other prepare the vegetables. But I also saw the novelty of the idea— you could never go wrong at a Korean barbecue. Somehow or rather, none of us left the meats too long to char. The table became our world, and the food would be our creation. A simple creation, bite by bite.
It’s funny that whenever we go to a particular cuisine restaurant, say Chinese or Thai, we’d both end up discussing about whatever pertains to its geography. We spoke of World War II at a German eatery and talked about Miyazaki anime whenever we have sushi. This time, we talked about the Korean fever from the hallyu wave that young Malaysians seem to be having nowadays.
My only knowledge of South Korea came from studying Kim Ki-duk sleepy thrillers and memories from my short one-week trip to Seoul during my college years. My sister and I tried the infamous fermented kimchi and decided that we’d never have to taste it again. N’s first trip overseas was Seoul where he boarded a cargo ship for a two-month nautical internship to Canada and back. With his co-workers, N sampled Korea’s street food favorites like the sujebi noodles and flame-broiled dakkochi sticks nearby the Busan sea port.
What was supposed to be a quick meal before our hunt for sweatshirts resume turned out to be a long, lingering feast. The moment we felt full, we stopped and washed it all down with cold tea. Yet we continued again with one or two more plates of meat and steamed rice.
We could see why the families we saw earlier were still there in the restaurant, now enjoying bowls of ice cream. They were conversant the entire time while waiting for the meats to be ready and shared laughs throughout. We did too. Yes, you pay to cook your own food. But you also get something extra. You’re able to spend that bit more time with the people you love and enjoy a meal with.
The Korean barbecue nailed that point.
