BKLOG

Oh Bibimbap… life on this peninsula would be dark indeed without your nutritious guidance to light my way down the path of sustenance.  Eating in Korea is a matter of necessity.  Rarely do we Waegook find comfort in our meals.  We are forced to eat on the floor.  We play through the pain of tingling limbs and do our best not to sit in red bean paste.  We politely sample the Kimchi and gnaw on a sardine’s head for the benefit of the watchful Ajumma.  We smile.  But deep down, our brains are screaming, ‘Sweet, merciful Jesus… strike me down and send me to Hell!’  I’m sure you can get a decent sandwich there, at least.

This is the reason we drink… one of them anyways.

But Bibimbap… gentle Bibimbap.  You make Korean life a little less shitty.  If it weren’t for your sizzling hot stone bowl, I’d give you a hug.  Indeed, you are a fickle lunchtime mistress; satisfying my hunger one second… giving me second degree burns the next when I brush my hand against you whilst attempting a sip of water from my woefully undersized cup.  But I don’t curse you, Bibimbap.  Your wild and untamed ways are just part of your charm.

I would sit on the floor for you.  Ordering you is joyfully easy.  I find comfort that at any moment, you are but three syllables away.  Although I cannot count to 5 in Korean, successfully locating you on a menu makes me feel like I’ve mastered the language.  You instill confidence in me, sweet Bibimbap.  Afterward, I wait, nibbling on Kimchi.  I discover I don’t really like it for the thousandth time.  And then my heart pounds when I hear your tell tale call: rice sizzling and popping as it caramelizes to your bowl.

The ajumma don’t treat you right.  They drop you at my table without fanfare or solemn ritual that your culinary status demands.  But don’t worry about that; you and I are together now.  You deserve a healthy dollop of chili paste.  Ooh Bibimbap, I love it when you get spicy!  Your only source of protein is a happy egg: perfectly fried with a yolk that oozes and seems to say, ‘Be at peace, Waegook… I am familiar to you.’  Your vegetables are nutritious and hardy.  Bibimbap, please don’t take this the wrong way, but the only one I’m not sure about is that brown seaweedy looking stuff.  I can’t tell if it is harvested off the side of a mountain or out of the stomach of some bottom dwelling mollusk.  But we don’t need to know everything about each other… a little mystery is exciting, no?

I like you the way you are and you return the sentiment from the bottom of your rice filled heart.  You don’t expect me to use chopsticks.  You prefer I mix you with a spoon.  How else could I enjoy your crispy, crusty bottom?

What’s that you say, Bibimbap?  No, I don’t think you’re fat.  You are the perfect size, in fact.  After devouring every steaming bite, my hunger is satisfied and I’m ready to go pollute my body with soju and Hite.  And, because you cost less, I am able to drink more!

Sweet Bibimbap… gentle Bibimbap, I will eat you forever.  Or until I leave Korea.  Whichever comes first.