"Cave canem" - "beware of the dog"»
Inscription on the door of an ancient Roman house

So what if Koreans eat dogs? They do, no matter how much civilized nations protested against such "barbarism," even those still languishing in savagery when ancient Joseon ("Land of the Morning Calm") was already a fully formed state. The defenders of our little brothers have forgotten how their ancestors, the Greeks and Romans, devoured mutts to their heart's content and even served them at sumptuous feasts—Pliny himself wrote that the taste of roasted puppies was magnificent. They weren't alone, however. Many Native American tribes ate dogs—for example, the Iroquois were expected to partake of dog meat before beginning their ritual dances. The Polynesians bred meat dogs for centuries and even called them "poi" because they fed them primarily on "poi"—boiled taro tubers. In Hawaii, dog meat was once prized above all other meats. In 1830, missionary William Ellis wrote that dogs were fed vegetables and roasted in feasts in quantities of up to 200. And the first English settlers to land on the American continent ate all their mastiffs during a starving winter—no wonder they were called "meat dogs."

Think this is a relic of the past? Not at all! Even today, in a number of mountain cantons in civilized Switzerland and Austria, dog meat is not a disdain. Rumor has it that in one of the restaurants in the Swiss town of Widnau, you can sample dog dishes, absolutely free! It turns out that local laws prohibit the sale of domestic animal meat, but eating it is not prohibited. In 1996, Swiss residents collected seven thousand signatures demanding an immediate official ban on eating dog meat, but the petition was rejected at the cantonal level. The verdict read: "Controlling the culinary preferences of citizens is not the responsibility of the state."

In Asian countries, this "barbaric" tradition has very ancient roots. In southern China, dogs have been eaten since approximately the 5th century BC. The Chinese philosopher Mencius (c. 372–289 BC) wrote about the healing properties of dog meat, recommending it for malaria, jaundice, and liver disease. In many Asian countries, including Korea, dog meat is considered not just food but also a miraculous remedy for strengthening the masculine "yang" principle.

Enough history, though—let's get down to business. First, I'll reassure Brigitte Bardot, who categorically declared that "a nation that eats dogs is a nation of savages," and I won't be advocating for dog eating. Especially since our family has a cute toy terrier named Lenchik, who doesn't exactly inspire any gastronomic fantasies. Let's just try to approach the issue objectively. Experts say dog ​​meat is a very healthy meat. It's not loaded with hormones or antibiotics. And dog fat is excellent for colds and other respiratory ailments. Koreans know this well and, by the way, have personally verified it...

…Our rather battered GAZ-69 has been trembling along the potholes of a broken, dusty dirt road for seven hours. There are four of us: Kostya, the local driver; Mishanya, the Korean driller; me (a geophysicist); and Yura, another geologist from St. Petersburg, from our group. The cabin is terribly stuffy, conversation has long since died down, and only Yura's hacking cough breaks the silence, drowning out the equally hacking roar of the old engine even on the steepest climbs. The poor guy managed to catch a severe cold while trying to escape the 30-degree heat in an icy mountain river. He was clearly getting worse, despite desperately trying our tried-and-true remedies—strong sweet tea with vodka and just vodka, but without tea. Mishanya reassured him: "As soon as we get to my house, my mother, the great healer, will cure you in a jiffy!" I believed him; Korean old women in Primorye had long been known as fantastic healers, and people with all sorts of ailments would go to them for treatment (the Far East wasn't exactly blessed with qualified doctors even then). We did the same, fortunately, because the road was convenient: we needed to move to a new site near Lake Khasan, and Mishanya had asked for a week off to go home to rest after a week-long shift…

About an hour and a half later, we finally reached a small farmstead on the banks of a winding river. Mishanya and I headed off to heat the bathhouse, and Yura was handed over to a skinny old Korean woman. When we returned to the house, having lit the stove and fetched water, the sufferer, apparently having completed the initial course of treatment and tightly wrapped in a blanket, was snoring softly. Misha's mother had already set the table and told us: "Tomorrow, when he wakes up, everything will be fine - I rubbed his chest and back with dog fat, gave him some melted dog fat with milk and honey to drink, and wrapped him in a dog wool scarf up to his waist." A pot of rich meat soup was steaming on the table, someone proposed an elaborate toast to the health of the hostess (fortunately, there were still some remnants of our old "medicine" in the pack bag), and we pounced on the first part of the meal (the second was planned after the bathhouse).

The first serving of soup was gobbled up in an instant. The hostess poured a second with obvious pleasure. Only then, having satisfied my initial hunger, did I try to appreciate the flavor—the soup was clearly made from some kind of game (either duck or venison—Misha's father was known as a very skilled hunter). It was clearly rich in garlic and red pepper, and the pleasant tartness most likely came from the magnolia vine, the main medicinal berry of the Ussuri taiga (they even make tea from its vine cuttings here).

When we went outside for a smoke, I immediately asked Mishanya what was so delicious. He smiled slyly, "Guess!" Guessing wasn't particularly difficult—many in the region spoke of Korean healers, of the miraculous dog fat and meat they valued like gold, so, noting the sly expression on Mishanya's narrow-eyed face, I immediately replied, "Dog meat!" Mishanya was clearly disappointed by such a quick response—he had, of course, hoped to stun the pampered St. Petersburg man and then have a good laugh at his boss's expression. His efforts were in vain—we geologists have eaten all sorts of things on expeditions, the main thing was to cook it long enough (for example, bear meat was boiled for at least six hours and never used for shashlik—trichinosis was always a thing) and not to add too many toadstools to the pot. To be honest, it was the first time I had eaten dog and, of course, I wasn’t too experienced in this matter…

In the morning, the patient seemed visibly more cheerful, his coughing was noticeably less frequent and quieter, and after a couple of days, he had completely forgotten about his illness. Interestingly, the others also woke up feeling unusually energetic—though perhaps this was the result of a combination of factors: the wonderful bathhouse, the hearty dinner, the bottle of ginseng the host treated us to after the bathhouse, the sound sleep, and the very atmosphere of a hospitable Korean family.

After returning to St. Petersburg, I took this issue seriously and finally learned a few things. Koreans began eating dog meat ("kaekogi") around the 4th century (most likely, the Chinese introduced the habit). It remains the fourth most popular meat, behind pork, beef, and chicken. Moreover, dog is a delicacy in Korea, akin to, for example, bear meat in our country. That's why in northern Korea, dog meat is called "sweet meat" ("tan-kogi"); dog dishes are quite expensive and not readily available.

Koreans don't eat stray mongrels, but rather raise "nurong" dogs—a special breed of meat—on special farms. They raise them almost exclusively on a plant-based diet and treat them like we treat our pigs and cows—they don't even give them names. In fact, Korean culture hasn't historically developed any special attitude toward dogs, and keeping them as pets has never been common (it seems that Koreans were quite content with a love for their fellow man). Men in this country sincerely believe that dog meat is not only healthy but also particularly valuable for treating erectile dysfunction associated with old age. This meat was considered such a powerful aphrodisiac that it wasn't served at country inns, lest travelers and wanderers "make a mess" far from home (for some reason, I immediately thought of my fellow geologists)... However, it did become clear why local chefs had come up with so many dishes using their natural "Viagra"...

Dog meat, for example, is prepared just like beef in a popular local dish called "flaming meat" (bulgogi). The fillet is first sliced ​​and marinated for 1,5–2 hours in soy sauce, along with rice wine, sugar, sesame oil, sesame salt (the sesame seeds are roasted and ground with coarse salt), black pepper (without sparing it!), green onions, crushed garlic, and ginger. Then, the guests themselves grill the meat over charcoal or a gas grill, which is set right in the center of the table. This marvelous dish is eaten sliced ​​into strips and wrapped in lettuce leaves, or better yet, perilla, with its bright lemon aroma, along with garlic slices.

BULGOGI - "FIRE MEAT"
450 g beef (preferably with layers of fat); 2 tbsp. soy sauce; 1 tbsp. sugar; 1 tbsp. sesame oil; 1 tbsp. sesame salt; ground black pepper to taste; 4 green onions (cut into 3-4 cm pieces); 3 cloves garlic (finely chopped); 1 tsp. minced ginger; 2 tbsp. rice wine.

First, let's make sesame salt. In a dry frying pan, stir-fry the sesame seeds until dark golden brown and fragrant. Let cool, then crush in a mortar with salt (1 teaspoon salt per 200 g sesame seeds). Now we're ready to cook. Cut the beef into 7,5 x 7,5 cm slices, approximately 3 mm thick. Mix all the seasonings and marinate the meat for 1,5 hours. Then, place a charcoal grill on the table and grill the meat to your desired doneness. If you don't have a grill, you can fry the meat in a lightly oiled frying pan. Cut the finished meat into strips and arrange on a platter lined with lettuce leaves. Served separately are chopped garlic and the essential seasonings no Korean can imagine life without: dark soy sauce (kanjang), golden-beige soybean paste (doenjang), and bright red pepper paste (gochujang). While soy sauce and soybean paste are ancient seasonings, gochujang dates back to the late 16th century, when chili peppers arrived in Korea and quickly became a second home. Gochujang is made from red chili pepper, salt, glutinous rice, and vegetable oil.

If you only have dog ribs on hand, you can chop them into pieces, soak them for an hour in a mixture of sesame oil and sugar (equal parts), then add soy sauce, green onions, garlic (plenty), black pepper, sesame salt, a little flour, mix well, fry, add wood mushrooms, pour in hot water, simmer, and when the meat is almost tender, pour in rice wine and bring to a boil. Just before serving, sprinkle the dish generously with ginkgo nuts. In short, Koreans do whatever they want with dog meat: steam it, simmer it in a sweet and spicy sauce, marinate it, fry it in batter, and, of course, prepare a wide variety of dishes from ground dog. For example, they mix ground meat with soy cheese ("tubu"), add soy sauce, green onions, garlic (Koreans can't live without it!), sesame salt and oil, and black pepper. Mix everything thoroughly, form meatballs, dip them in beaten eggs, roll them in flour, fry them, and season them with vegetable soup. Tripe is also used—it's fried with spices or made into sausage.

The signature dish of this "dog" movement is the spicy pottage "posintang," literally translated as "longevity soup." As the name suggests, this soup is good for your health and prolongs your life (probably including your sex life). Who could resist? And the flavor of this rich soup (similar to what we ate at the Koreans' in Primorye!) is certainly not bad, as the meat is simmered for a long time with vegetables, herbs, garlic, ginger, leeks, perilla seeds, and hot peppers, and finished with a glass of Korean rice vodka.sodzhuu(just like we add a shot of vodka to fisherman's soup). Koreans swear by dog ​​meat as a great way to cope with the heat, so they slurp it up in the sweltering summer, when temperatures and maximum humidity reach 40°C. You can try this dish at the taverns near Seoul's main market, but the price will be steep... Dog meat!

But! Let's reassure pet advocates and slightly disappoint those who favor common sense. Over the past 20 years, the situation in this rather sensitive gastronomic sphere has changed radically. Young and rather Americanized Koreans Today, hamburgers and cheeseburgers are more popular (nobody's protecting cows!), and the "dog meat" of choice (alas!) is "hot dogs"—primitive pork sausages in dough. However, Brigitte Bardot's historic remark about the "barbaric Koreans" mercilessly devouring "man's best friend" (celebrities don't always mean what they say—image comes first!) had its effect. Before the 1988 Olympics, Korean authorities urgently ordered all restaurants specializing in dog meat to be closed from their cities and, naturally, banned dog dishes from official menus. True, they did allow the preparation of dog meat, but only "at the customer's request." Since then, whenever Korea hosts another major event, like the World Cup or the Asian Cup, the question arises again: "Should dog meat be on the menu?" New bans are constantly being imposed, seemingly never lifted, but still unenforced. Koreans will continue to prepare their "bosintan" as they always have, but as usual, these bans only serve to sharply increase the already expensive price each year.

Incidentally, even during Soviet times in Tashkent (the majority of coastal Korean families were deported to Uzbekistan in the 40s), there were semi-illegible "kyadyang-tibi"—home-style eateries where the signature dishes were "kyadya" (dog soup) and "khe" (dog pieces seasoned with vinegar, pepper, garlic, and onions). There are reports that they still exist today, although there is no guarantee that the "khe" and "kyadya" will be made from the "proper" meat, and not some trivial beef or lamb, since dog meat is in short supply in Tashkent today. And Korea is no exception. Therefore, one can only laugh at the fears of tourists who are afraid that they might be served dog meat instead of "proper meat" at a real Korean restaurant. Who would serve expensive sterlet as cheap herring?! We don't have enough ourselves!

Esmarchov