My wife’s youngest Aunt on her mother’s side, along with her two children and husband treated us to dinner today. They have a tree nursery on the outskirts of the city, and like to take us to restaurants far out in the country we would never get to eat at due to our lack of vehicle. Today, I was given five minutes notice to be outside, as my wife was already with them. I got picked up and taken to yet another unknown destination. They didn’t tell us what we were in for until we pulled into the restaurant and could read the sign.
The place we ended up eating at was a Korean raised beef restaurant. The cows of this restaurant were Korean born, raised, and slaughtered. There is a special name attributed to Korean cows. Even hamburger chains have special burgers to charge a premium for Korean raised beef. It’s all the same to me. The sign said, "Korean beef story". The meat was sitting in a small refrigerated locker greeting you as you walked in the door. What a story it was turning out to be already.
I’ve got a reputation in the family as being a picky eater. This is probably pretty fair, as my stomach simply isn’t strong enough to eat spicy foods. Even if I liked spicy stuff that they would serve me, I’d be sidelined with pain if I tried to eat it all. There really are some foods I can’t eat because they are too hot for me and I’ll pay for it. I’ve learned to live with this, but for people used to extremely hot food all the time, I’m viewed as a person to be pitied.
Luckily the food on the menu people wanted to eat was Kalbi-tang, or "Meat soup". It’s beef cooked on the bone until it’s absolutely tender. It’s a delicious soup with leek, egg noodles, and some black pepper. I happen to like it, but I don’t eat it all that often. The meat is literally served on the bone, so it can be rather messy to eat if not give the proper tools. This restaurant gave not only chopsticks and spoons, but tongs and kitchen scissors to everyone at the table to eat. You had to cut the meat off the bone, then eat it. It was really tasty.
My uncle in law then asked around if someone wanted some "Yuk Hwae". Whenever anyone says, "Hwae" around me, I usually lose my appetite. When using this word involving food, it means "served raw". "Yuk Hwae" means "Raw Beef". He wanted to know if anyone else was interested in eating raw beef.
His son and daughter immediately chimed in, "It’s really delicious! Yes, I’d like some please!" A single serving of raw beef was then ordered. The logical, food safety conscious, bacteria and parasite fearing response of, "Oh my god, you just ordered raw beef?! I’m not eating that!" was not something I could say without being rude. Him being an older gentleman treating me for dinner, the best I could do is a "None for me, but feel free to order it for yourself. I might try it." I was lucky, as my wife and her aunt both declined his offer as well. The stage had been set.
We waited for the beef as we at the kalbi-tang and watched television. I have no idea what was taking so long, but my mind remembered the numerous plates of raw beef I had seen sitting untouched at numerous buffets and wedding halls I had visited. I’m not sure that yuk hwae is entirely popular outside of the country areas of Korea, but the idea of eating raw beef went against every rule of sanitation and food safety I could possibly imagine. Korean cows or no, raw beef just doesn’t seem like a good idea to me.
When the waitress brought the raw beef, she set it down on the table, cracked a raw egg on top, and then mashed up the egg and meat with a hand covered in a plastic glove. A raw egg on beef? Are you kidding me? The plastic glove was an encouraging sign, because at least the woman was worried about having raw beef and egg on her hands, but really, that’s too much in the "Fear Factor" method of food preparation for my tastes. The bacterial stew was then placed in front of us for consumption.
My uncle in law dug in heartily. His children took a few pieces for themselves as well. They took much less, but more than enough for me to consider them brave. While their enthusiasm might have encouraged him to order the dish, there was far too much meat on that plate. There was no way I was going to get out of this dinner without trying some. The fact that the meat was even on the table at all was like a dare to me. If I didn’t eat some, I had the feeling we’d have been there all night until someone had. It’s ridiculously expensive food to waste even if it wasn’t cooked.
Then, I happened to remember that the yearly parasite medicine we take as a precaution against poorly cooked foods was sitting at home. It’s a once a year pill. We had purchased it a few weeks ago since we hadn’t cleaned out our system for potential parasites for a long time. It’s not unusual for people to purchase this after going on a vacation in a foreign country, or when they are worried about something they ate. The raw beef and egg was tripping ever "food safety" warning I had, so to know I had a pill waiting to kill any potential unwanted passengers riding on the meat was a welcome thought.
Eventually, I got up the courage to try a little of the dish. The meat is served on a bed of lettuce and Korean pear, and the meat itself is marinated in Korean pear juice and sesame oil. I adore Korean pear. It’s my absolute favorite fruit. I tried the smallest bit of beef I could while getting mostly pear. The verdict? I kept down the first bite despite my apprehension, and it tasted pretty much entirely like pear with sesame oil. I was cautious about approaching the meal, but really didn’t want to eat any more of the meat than I absolutely had to. It was simply uncooked meat that tasted like a sweet pear with a funny texture. I had a few more bites, but once everyone saw that I was willing to try something not everyone at the table was willing to eat, I was off the hook. My uncle in law ate the entire rest of the dish.
When we were in their car riding home, my uncle in law said to me, "Now, you’ve eating raw beef. I’ll take you to a place that serves cooked cow heads."
"Cow heads? What part? The brain? Nose? The tongue? What do you mean?" I asked. I didn’t get an answer. I guess I will have to wait until the next time they decide to treat us for dinner. I hope I’ll be able to shake my reputation as a picky eater eventually.
