Three Hot Dogs, a Tin of Spam and Some Baked Beans Storm the Beaches of Incheon ......

From what I can tell America and South Korea have enjoyed a mutually beneficial relationship for the last 60 or so years. America’s given the R.O.K. freedom, an economy, delicious disease-free cow, and about 28,000 50 Cent fans pretending to be servicemen. In return, Korea has given America the woman that makes the fatal mistake of feeling sorry for O-Dog’s mother. And hey, let’s be real, Korea wasn’t just a theatre in the cold war; that motherfucker was good vs. evil. And we all know who did what to you know who at the behest of whom. The part of this relationship I was not aware of till living in Korea, however, is America’s influence on Korean gastronomy. Prior to crossing the Silk Curtain I had assumed that Korea was an insular country when it came to absorbing elements of other cultures. I could point to regressive immigration policies, Korea’s by and large homogenous racial composition, or the discrimination a young Hines Ward fell victim to as a reason for this impression, but that would be disingenuous. It’s sorta just something I kinda felt, you know? Anyway, I was first introduced to the Faustian deal Korean cuisine had made with Amerikkka when one of my worst kindergarten students, Bill (not his real name, and yes I do call him Kim Jong Bill), informed me that Koreans invented pizza. At this point I had seen McDonalds, Pizza Huts, Outbacks, even Burger Kings, so I was not at all shocked that he was aware at what pizza was. He is four. I was shocked that it was so commonplace to him that he thought it was a product of his country. Everyone knows that pizza was invented by Kennedy (John F.) in an effort to appear more Catholic to voters in ’60. But Bill thinks it’s as Korean as Christianity. The influence is so pervasive that intelligent, reasonable, educated Korean people see American cuisine as something homegrown, something natural. This is pretty surprising. If I were Korean I’d associate American cuisine with famine, death and the demarcation of my country. And by the way you’re welcome to stop reading right now if you think what you call pizza was invented by the I-talians. The Italian “version” of pizza is so pornographic in odour and appearance the Internet asked me to kindly not discuss it here. I digress. As a result of Bill’s comment, I felt compelled to determine the full extent of the effect American cuisine has had on Korean food.

Korea has the complete gamut of fast-food franchises. Don’t worry though, New Democratic Party member – they are all run by of-age monks. They find it humbling and enjoy the repetition. A few of the interviews I conducted indicated that Koreans don’t like hamburgers, fries and chicken cooked to perfection in oil, but I don’t really see any of these places going out of business or anything. They are full of tired mothers, spotty teenage boys and drunk white people – just like in Baghdad. This is not interesting. The world eats on a value menu. Everyone knows we beat the commies with the bacon cheeseburger. Old news. What is interesting though is the variation these beacons of industry will tolerate in order to make a buck. Bulgogi burgers and squid pizzas share the menu with more familiar fare. I guess this is to stop that Korean guy from walking into McDonald’s with a french fry gleam in his eye, looking at the menu and exclaiming “Where in the name of sweet lady Christ is the Bulgogi burger?” I don’t know. I would never presume to know better than McDonalds or Pizza Hut what their customers want, but pandering to local tastes just feels a little un-American to me. It’s not like the Asian food available in the west is altered at all to fit new world tastes or anything. Mandarin serves up chicken balls just like Mao (check out the color of the sauce) used to make.

I’m guessing the real reason McDonalds and their ilk spit on MacArthur and cater to local tastes is to fight off the homegrown competition. Like Kurtz. Lotteria, run by the powerful Lotte corporation is likely their main concern. Lotteria serves up burgers and fries with a confusing, nautical twist. Octopus burger? Sure! Shrimp rings? Who needs an onion? Fish dog? Fuckin’ eh! The twist on fast food fare may seem mind-numbing but, when you think about it, it really does follow the standard formula. Fry cheap starches and serve them alongside processed protein. If it worked for the hot dog and fries in New York and the meat ‘n bean burrito just south (just north, really) of the border, it makes sense to give it a shot here, I guess. Now, my grudging respect for the Korean fast food joint business model does not, by any means, translate into a culinary recommendation. Obviously there are better ways to eat than at a fast food restaurant, but Lotteria doesn’t even cut it as a pre or post hangover meal. A big mac and 20 mcnuggets will make you feel bad the morning after imbibing, but in a good way. An eel burger and cheese sticks will make you feel bad in a bad way; and probably make you wish you had cheered on Ahab a little more heartily in his quest to eliminate seafood from the world.

America’s influence on Korean cuisine gets truly interesting when the synthesis is so complete it seems natural. Like when tomatoes came to Italy, or chili peppers to India, when hot dogs and spam came to Korea they worked their way into the population’s palate and are now an integral part of it. The greatest example of this cultural (forced) marriage is found at a Korean chain restaurant called Nolboo, where the menu’s centerpiece is a dish called Budae Jigae (translates as military soup) and is far, far more appetizing than a hot dog soup may initially sound. The story of Nolboo as I was told is that when G.I’s were here in the ‘50’s they looked with sympathy on a having-a-bit-of-a-tough-go-of-it population and in an act of military kindness unheard of since Troy, gave the Koreans their tins of beans, spam and hot dogs – which the Koreans accepted gratefully and then got cracking making into a soup. The real story is probably that a desperate, starving population did anything they could to feed themselves and were willing to salvage (how’s that for a euphemism) excess American army rations and pervert their thousands year old cuisine by creating dishes made around them. Whichever way it went, it worked out okay for my taste buds because Budae Jigae (I prefer to just call it Nolboo, or ‘boo) is one of the best in my books. A standard Nolboo comes to your table as a plate of thinly sliced beef and hotdogs, pieces of spam, mushrooms, Korean spinach, and a garlic and red pepper paste. Warm, starchy beef bone broth is then poured over it, and the soup is covered and brought to a boil. When the soup is boiled Ramyeong (ramen, instant) noodles or Uh-Dong (Udon, wheat) noodles are usually added and cooked for a few minutes till soft. The resulting mixture is then ladled over a bowl of rice and enjoyed while you contemplate either the desperate times that brought you to Budae Jigae or the fact that you are eating hot dog soup. I’d recommend going by yourself and ordering for two for maximum pay-off.

Really the influence American food has had on Korea in the case of the fast food chains and their local imitators is pretty typical. Any country that has been occupied and has at least two guys looking to make a buck has a McDonald’s and a McDonald’s knock off. Also, McDonald’s pandering to local taste buds is not really un-American; it may be the most American thing possible. The guy in P.E.I. thinks he’s exercising his right to eat a cod burger (they demanded more than just a bridge – we caved) when really he’s giving in to the New World Order. That’s how they like to do it, see? Make you think you’re not working for them. Restaurants like Nolboo though, are a bit of an anomaly. Budae Jiigae was invented out of grim necessity but isn’t looked at as historical pockmark. It’s celebrated. It’s a testament to both dark times and culinary ingenuity. Maybe Korea has fully digested the hip-hop maxim first voiced in Ghostface Killah’s “All That I Got is You” by that old player at end: “if you don’t know where you came from you’ll never make it where you want to be.” Or hey, maybe they don’t listen to Wu-Tang and they just like how it tastes. Whichever.

Korean Oranges

I like to call cheap, fast, diner-like Korean restaurants Oranges. I’m not sure what their real name is because I am not sleeping with a Korean girl. I call them Oranges, not because of a tired peel and get the fruit metaphor but because the exterior (sometimes interior) of every one I’ve ever experienced radiates orange. I am sure there is a very good reason for this. I don’t care to hear it. I liken them to westernworld-style truck stop diners because I think that the food they serve is what Korean people eat at home every night. I have a feeling this may be a jingoistic assumption akin to the Korean one that truck stop food is what Canadians and Americans eat at home every night. Food that poses as mother’s kitchen fare when in reality it is born and bred for cheap, filling-300-orders-an-hour-style restaurant cooking.

Hearty, inexpensive food like this has an obvious downside in that some of it is disgusting. The popular dongkass is a deep fried pork cutlet served with rice, corn and a brown gravy and is a testament to the success of President Roo Myu Hyun’s oft criticized “Korean Chef-Lynryd Skynrd familiarity” initiative . The dongkass is not deep fried in a trendy, romantic Japanese panko crust fashion. It is a thin piece of reconstituted pork, deep fried and served with sides that follow suit. A step up from the dongkass are ramyeong noodles. Artists like Lee Sang-Wook and that David Chang use ramen noodles to create visually impressive, inedible installations and like to pose afterwards in an ironic “look what I just made out of nothing” b-boy stance. Orange restaurants gussy them up and serve them at a 200% markup just like real restaurants do with real food. A bowl of instant noodles, with an egg, whatever greens are on hand, either land or sea scraps and Korean red pepper paste costs about 2 dollars (American, obviously). If you like noodle soups and your grandfather wasn’t in ‘Nam you will enjoy.

Gimbap is Korea’s answer to a western-style sushi roll and is the reason Oranges exist. The two standard ingredients are gim (seaweed, nori, whatever) and bap (rice). After that it’s kind of like going to Harvey’s. Julienned carrots, fish paste, pickled radish are all fairly standard options. Good main ingredients include kimchi, canned tuna and processed ham. Gimbaps are far better than the sum of their parts. If you can mime that you do not want mayonnaise you are in for a pretty good feed, especially if you choose to dine in.

It is also vital to note that Oranges are the Barack Obama of forced sides. Liberal in appearance, not policy. You may feel a world of option and change is possible, but in reality you are restricted to some unpalatable options to go with the good stuff. Yes, I like the consomme with green onions, the kimchi, the mushrooms, peppers and onions in oil and the potato salad. I could do without the ham covered in egg and the dried "c'mon Choi just throw him back" fish. These sides accompany every meal and I feel like Koreans and bold foreign invaders can refill them as they see fit.

At the top end of the spectrum you have your kimchi jigaes and your dolsat bibimbaps. Dolsat bibimbap is a rice, vegetable and sometimes protein dish served and cooked in hot stone bowl. The central flavour is Korean red pepper paste and little else which is fine. The rice continues to cook as you eat and develops a better texture as you reach the late innings. Dolsats can be too oily or not oily enough but neither of these scenarios is a deal-breaker. Kimchi jigae is thick soup, cooked and served, like a dolsat, in a stone bowl. Considering there is no stock involved, the flavour is impressive. The kimchi discards its fermented onion and garlic juices into water and creates a thick, spicy, warm broth. Greens and vermicelli are fairly standard. Throw away cuts of beef, shellfish and canned tuna have all made appearances as the money-shot ingredient. The whole process from order to table takes about 4 minutes. The canned tuna (chonchi jigae) option is my personal favorite. It is remarkable that pickled cabbage and Aisle 5 tuna can combine to create such a soup. Rice is always served with jigae and is best used in the soup itself. As the stew boils in its bowl the rice absorbs most of the liquid, thickening the broth and cooling the jigae. Depending on the amount of rice you add, you can begin eating soup and finish eating a rice dish. The change in texture that one experiences during the dining process with dolsat bibimbap or kimchi jigae is impressive. Not impressive like the existence of South Korea given its proximity to China and Japan. Impressive like the Big Tymers or Jose Canseco. Simplicity breeding brilliance.

Cost-based justifications aside, Orange restaurants are a great way to eat. The range is wide, they are unpretentious to a fault and you will stumble upon some top drawer dishes. The people, like the food, are welcoming. Or unwelcoming in a fun way. It doesn’t matter. A truck stop wouldn’t be a truck stop if Debbie didn’t smile at you one day and tell you to fuck off the next.