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Home / Korean food / A "Russian" Korean in Korea, or how to eat what you want, not what's served
A "Russian" Korean in Korea, or how to eat what you want, not what's served.
How I visited Mowgli...
On the last day of stay in Seoul My friends and I decided to visit the fried fish street at Dongdaemun Market, which we'd read about in a guidebook. While we were hailing a taxi, I painstakingly repeated the name of this blessed place, "Dongdaemun mokjagoolmok," taken from the guidebook, a dozen times, cunningly keeping in mind the phrase "Dongdaemun fish street." Nothing helped... We somehow managed to identify the market, and my friend drew the best picture of the fish in a notebook... Anyway, we made it to Dangdaemun. The market is open until 5:30 a.m., but that day it closed early, presumably because of the Arbor Day celebrations. And it was already 10 a.m....
I must say that during our entire week in Korea, we didn't notice any signs of aggression. So our group bravely plunged into the darkening depths of Dandaemun. Darting through the first luminous crack, we emerged onto a narrow street, flanked by tiny cafes with two or three tables, mostly closed or closing. 
We were lucky then: a Korean man about our age came out and invited us to his (non-fish) cafe. My friend showed us her fish again, and the Korean man happily led us to another cafe with a large aquarium out front.
We were lucky then: a Korean man about our age came out and invited us to his (non-fish) cafe. My friend showed us her fish again, and the Korean man happily led us to another cafe with a large aquarium out front.The cafe wasn't much larger than the aquarium. It was about 20 square meters, half of which was an open kitchen (a common sight in Korean eateries), with a small refrigerator for food and a drink cooler taking up a bit of space. The rest of the space was occupied by two small tables. The owners were a middle-aged married couple I really liked.
The fish selection was entrusted to my friend's husband. He chose a large flounder and a large eel. The owner scooped them out with a net. The hostess took care of the flounder, the owner of the eel. Before leaving, our Korean Virgil asked, "Slice or whole?" We decided on pieces, as if to avoid having to cut the fish ourselves, since we hadn't seen knives in Korea; they only gave us a spoon and chopsticks. Our Virgil winked slyly at me and, as he left, uttered a word I'd known since childhood: "HE." "Guys," I worried, "I think the fish will be raw!" As usual, the guys ignored me. And then they ceremoniously brought us a large flat platter, with a thinly sliced raw flounder neatly placed on a bed of finely chopped radish in the center. We, too, were not at a loss and immediately ordered a couple of bottles of rice vodka (soju). The raw flounder was delicious and filling. Salt isn't served in Korea, only various seasonings and spicy appetizers.
Meanwhile, the eel preparation continued. We decided it would be nice to eat it fried (although, in reality, we should have fried the flounder and eaten the eel raw, but "the train had left the station"). And then I realized all the advantages of a small family-run cafe. At first, I tried to demonstrate with my hands how to cut the eel into larger pieces, roll them in flour, and place them in the frying pan. Any Russian would have understood me without any difficulty! But I missed the mark with the clapping motion of my two palms, as if I were rolling the fish in flour... Koreans don't roll fish. This repeated motion stunned our kind hosts: they froze and began to smile helplessly and kindly. Finally, I practically reached the wall with kitchen utensils and simply pointed to the frying pan.
Having drunk some more sodzhuu And after snacking on a small piece of fried eel, I grew even bolder and decided to ask for rice in Korean. After all, I'm Korean, damn it, and I love fish with plain rice. My Soviet-Korean "pabi" wasn't understood, so I had to find the rice cooker and point to it. "Pub," the hostess happily corrected me, asking in Korean if I wanted one serving or two. "One," I replied in Russian, holding up my index finger.
And then (praise be to soju!) I realized I understood her! "Hana, turi, soy," I said timidly (1, 2, 3). "So," the hostess corrected, somewhat pitifully. After that, she sat down next to us at the next table, resting her cheek in her hand, in the pose of mothers of all times and nations, feeding their prodigal son after a long journey. Occasionally, she touched my hand and almost shed a tear... And then I felt like Mowgli...
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