I know what you're thinking. "What happened to a post every three days or so? Huh Jake? You promised!!"
For those of you breathlessly hitting refresh all week hoping, nay expecting to see something from me, I apologize. After last weekend's Weekend Update: Saturday, I meant to write another post, logically titled Weekend Update: Sunday. Last Sunday Devon and I did almost nothing of any lasting consequence except go out for dinner for what may be the best meal eaten from a bubbling communal pot: shabu-shabu.
It didn't get written last Sunday after dinner for reasons which I hope will be clear below (hint: food coma is involved). And it didn't get written at any other point during the week because as I'm beginning to learn, I have a serious problem with procrastination. In the US, where time flows more or less normally, it wasn't really a problem. In Korea, however things are a little different.
It's a well known fact that Korean school-children work harder than just about any other school-children on the planet. They wake up at 7 to go to school. After school, while the rest of us are at cross country practice or playing video games or whatever, Korean children go to their academies.
They go to math academy, they go to Korean academy, they go to Chinese academy, they go to art academy, they go to music academy, they go to English academy (I teach at one of those). Then they go home and study until they go to bed. I've often wondered how my students have the time to go to so many academies, finish all their homework, and still play enough Starcraft to support not one, but TWO channels dedicated to nothing but matches of Starcraft.
It really was obvious: the Koreans had developed some sort of "Korean time-making-machine" to distort the space-time continuum, and give Korean school children an extra hour or two every day to study. I like to think that time is like oil: precious, greasy, and limited. The Korean time-making-machine has to get its time supply from somewhere and now I know where: foreigners living in Korea.
But there's a problem: although this machine can steal time from foreigners, it can't directly give it to Korean students. So the Koreans have hit upon an ingenious delivery vehicle: kimchi, which so far as I know is cabbage just this side of rotten. Time is vital in making kimchi, let it sit too long and it's so revolting that even Koreans won't eat it. Take it out too soon and your third grader loses valuable study time. For this reason, every Korean household has their own Korean time-making-machine.
(Suspiciously, our Korean apartment is lacking one of these machines, which is just as well because I don't think any foreigner seriously can admit to actually liking kimchi enough to eat it three meals a day, seven days a week, 52 weeks a year.)
For this reason, days go by faster and before I know it Sunday has turned into Thursday and the week is almost over. And that my dear readers is why I let a week slip by before writing this legendary Shabu-Shabu post: I haven't been eating my kimchi.
But we ordered take-out last night, and I ate a bite or two of the spicy stuff, so I find myself with the time to write the post. Sit back, relax, and pretend that everything I'm telling you now happened last night, instead of last week.
It's one of our favorite meals thus far in Korea. So good in fact, that we typically have it once a week. In a good week, we have it twice. It is: Shabu-Shabu.
It works like this. You walk into the restaurant, and the women who work there direct you to sit on the floor in front of a short table with a gas burner in the middle. They ask you something in Korean, if you understand, you hold up two fingers. If you don't, you hold up two fingers. Either way, the woman disappears and you pour some water into a stainless steel cup.
In a couple minutes, the woman returns with a big black pot filled with broth, greens and sliced mushrooms, a basket with more greens and mushrooms, a bowl of thick noodles, and a giant plate of thinly sliced and rolled raw beef. She sets the basket, bowl and plate down on the table, and the pot goes on the burner, which is turned on to high. Smaller bowls of kimchi and cucumbers in spicy red sauce are added to the table.
The Ingredients
At this point, the table is typically quite crowded, but the women who work there always find room for one or two bottles of soda that you didn't order: "service" they explain, free stuff to entice you to come back (as if the food itself isn't a good enough reason).
When the broth is hot enough, remove the lid and prepare for the spicy, savory smell as it froths from the pot: it's time for the meat. Put as many rolls of the beef into the pot as you want.
Time for the meat!
When the meat is finished cooking (2 minutes), dip your chopsticks into the pot and bring any combination of meat, greens, and mushrooms you like to the bowl strategically placed in front of you. Pour some soy sauce that has a hint of vanilla into a smaller dish over some wasabi, and then squirt a tangy spicy-red sauce into another smaller dish. These are your dipping sauces, to be used in any combination you like. Personally, I like dipping the meat and greens into the soy sauce, then into some spicy sauce.
That's the soy sauce and the red sauce on the left
The meat is tender, the greens are soft and taste a bit piney, the mushrooms are thick and buttery. The broth is savory, garlicky, and a bit spicy. All in all, it's heavenly.
When you've finished everything that's in the pot, well you're in luck because there's another basket of greens and mushrooms, and more meat left on your plate. Refresh the pot, wait for it to cook, then repeat. Put the noodles in when you're ready for some starch, and continue eating.
At some point, the women will come over and pour the still-hot broth and whatever greens, noodles, or meat that you haven't eaten yet into the (now empty) noodle bowl. She will then disappear with your pot.
When she returns, the once-empty pot will be filled with some of the most delicious fried rice you've ever had. I don't know exactly what's in it – carrots, onions, and some sort of green thing all seem to be involved. Scoop some rice from the pot into your bowl—be sure to get some of the crispy burnt rice from the edge, that's the best—add a little of the still hot broth from the bowl if you like (I do), and enjoy the perfect finish to your meal. Whoever invented dessert would have thought twice if they'd tried the post shabu-shabu fried rice.
I can't show you a picture of the rice: it's a closely guarded secret
On your way out of the restaurant, be astounded at how good it was, how much you ate, and how little it all cost: under $10 a person.
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