The woman who fed me

I often like a country for the people I meet there. It turns out you can like a restaurant for its owner too.

Our Airbnb sits at the foot of Mount Buram, in a quiet neighborhood where a small creek and shaded hiking trails are practically at our door. A few steps in the other direction lies the district food zone — several dozen small restaurants packed into a few alleys, each devoted to a specific style of Korean cooking. That afternoon, we had a craving for raw fish.

The restaurant we entered was short on options. The owner, a bespectacled middle-aged woman, explained that they carried only salmon and tuna — but that their salmon was special and tasty. Something about her manner convinced us to stay.

The sake selection on the shelves was extensive. She poured our choice into a double-walled chilling decanter, and we sipped while she covered our table with small dishes of sauces, pickles, and condiments. After delivering the sashimi, she withdrew to the corner.

I confidently picked up the chopsticks, ready to dip the salmon into soy sauce, when she swooped in, blocked my hand with a gentle smile, and took the utensils from my grip.

"Let me show you," she said with a childlike grin.

She flattened a slice of salmon on a small plate, dabbed it with wasabi, and layered it with a sliver of ginger, a single caper, a few curls of onion, and a tuft of green radish sprouts. Then she dipped a piece of yellow radish into the soy sauce and used it to sparingly drizzle the assembly. Apologizing — unnecessarily — for her chopstick skills, she carefully folded the whole thing into a neat parcel, and placed it on my tongue like an offering.

The flavor and texture that followed were extraordinary. I also understood, in that moment, that a woman who feeds you becomes an object of desire. (An Oedipus complex, perhaps?)

She prepared one for Adi as well — with enough wasabi to produce flames from her nostrils. After Adi's recovery, the meal continued pleasantly, with more sake, more fish, and easy conversation. We learned about the owner's family in Canada, the merits of Norwegian versus Canadian salmon (the European is larger and more flavorful, she insisted), and her husband's particular way with the fish.

At the end of the meal, she brought us two ripe plums — an unexpected and personal touch. At the register, she slipped a Kopiko candy into my mouth and managed to tuck a few more into Adi's pocket.

Yes, you can like a restaurant for its owner. The salmon was excellent too

Petals falling, Questions rising

The Memorial Day sirens wailed as I strolled along my favorite stream. As always, even though I was not in Israel, I stood still.

I tried to visualize the friends who, fifty and sixty years ago, were fighting beside me when they died. I still remember them—vividly.

But then that phrase popped into my head: “He gave his life.”

Really? Gave it?
If someone had asked me back then, “Would you be willing to give your life?” —
F… NO.

Fortunately, no one phrased it that way. We were simply asked to risk our lives.
And at that age, risking my life was easy.

When the sirens stopped, I realized I was standing next to a wild patch of poppies. I’d been watching them for weeks—first budding, then bursting into brilliant red.

Now, their color is fading. The petals are falling.
They’re not dying, I thought. They’re just transforming into seeds.

Was that their purpose all along—creating new life?
Is it mine?

My petals, I admit, are fading too. But as far as seeding goes—mission already accomplished, with three delightful results.

I kept pondering the question of life purpose, but couldn’t come up with one that felt truly satisfying.
If any of my readers have a suggestion, I’m open. Bonus points if you leave it as a comment, not an email.

As I continued my walk, I made peace with the idea that I don’t really need a capital-P Purpose.
But I can reflect on my objectives and actions. So I came up with a few guiding principles.

They mostly lean toward the via negativa—the “don’t do dumb stuff” school of wisdom:

• Don’t harm others.

• Don’t harm the environment.

• Try not to harm myself. (Easier said than done.)

• Don’t do things I dislike. (Seriously, time’s getting short.)

On the active side, I have just two rules:

1. Do things I enjoy.

2. Stay able to follow rule #1.

Of course, many activities don’t fit neatly into those two. Such as, say, helping others or saving humanity.

To which I say: Sure—if it brings you joy.

Be happy.
Or at least aim for pleasantly amused.

Supplement to "Fishing"

"Wild" vs 

Manicured

Inspired by Yael.
 

Fishing

A stream winds through our densely populated high-rise district in Seoul. It runs about ten meters below street level, secluded from the sights and sounds of life above. The city government thoughtfully built walking paths along both banks and lined them with decorative plants.

It's springtime, and the flowers are in full bloom. In some stretches, bright red poppies grow in wild abandon. In others, lovingly manicured flower beds form artistic displays of color and shape. Rock steps laid across the streambed make the water sing as it flows. Many residents enjoy their free time walking these paths. Their quiet presence does not disturb the various waterfowl that visit the stream.

As I walked, my thoughts drifted between the vivid beauty around me (Mindfulness) and considering ways to test my latest investment strategy (Planning).  On the stream bank, I spotted a heron. With its flowing white beard and long black ponytail, it must be a venerable figure in the heron community. I’ve noticed it on previous walks. It stood near the water, perfectly still, intently watching the stream below—clearly waiting for a meal.

Curious, I sat on the rocks beside the water to observe. The warming sun, the cool breeze carrying the scent of flowers, and the gurgling current created an atmosphere that invited stillness. Now and then, the bird would stretch its long neck toward the water. I, too, would tense with anticipation—and... nothing. No movement. It returned to its quiet vigil.

That waiting reminded me of a lesson Doron shared with me on a long-ago hike: “The point of fishing is not catching fish. It’s the wait.” Time passed. I expected the heron to fly off in search of a better spot, but it didn’t. And, surprisingly, my mind didn’t wander either.

Eventually, I rose and walked home.

Dear reader, if you've read this far, hoping for some grand point, I’m sorry. Perhaps this post should have been titled “Waiting.” 

Banchan

Who does not like Mediterranean  Mazza?  The array of salads with its wide variety of tastes and colors is a wonderful appetizer.  Adi loves mazza.  Perhaps because it reminds her of home.  Korea has a similar offering called Banchan, which are served as the accompaniment to the main dish, which is rice.  The number of small plates on the table can range between five or six, in a home-cooked dinner, to dozens in a fancy restaurant.  The dishes vary in taste between savory and extremely spicy, and their texture can be crunchy, soft, or like the marinated crab, a hybrid.  Even though Korea is a meat lover's paradise, most of the banchan are vegetables.   The appropriate complement to this meal is either beer or Makkoli, a fizzy rice wine.  The photo demonstrates the set menu ($12 per person) in a popular restaurant near our apartment.  The highlight of this meal (except for the rice), is fermented soy-bean stew, served in a searing-hot black stone bowl (Think miso soup on steroids).  Needless to say, we became regular customers.

P.S.  Do not be misled by the symmetrical setting.  Except for the fried fish, each dish is unique.  See map below.  

 1.  Mushroom

 2.  Squash

 3.  Kimchi

 4.Potato

 5.  Green onion

 6.  Fried tofu

 7.  Rice

 8.  Makkoli

 9.  Stir fried kimchi

10.  Cabbage salad

11.  Potato noodle (+vegetables)

12.  Pork BBQ

13.  Fermented soy stew

14.  Fried fish

15.  Seasoned clam

 16  Marinated crab

     17..Steamed cabbage\ 

     18. Egg fried tofu

     19.  Mountain vegetables

     20.  Bell-flower root

     21  Egg plant

     22.  Bean sprouts

     23.  Spinach

     24.  Sweet potato stalk.

Spring

 Procrastination delayed this blog by a couple of weeks.  Spring has come and with it Cherry blossoms.  By now, all that is left, are pink-lined sidewalks.

 

A Bread Named Isaac

A small bakery just opened in our neighborhood.  The baker, a petit, cheerful lady, offered me a slice of whole-wheat.  It tasted great.  Hearing my compliments, like a little girl, she jumped up and down clapping her hands. I then, politely inquired whether she would make the next one a 75% whole wheat loaf.  She was happy to comply, and that bread was even tastier.  In the days that followed,  more and more customers came asking for this loaf.   It is now her signature bread.  Today, she named it after me.

Winter Came

 

After coffee, I'll put on my winter boots and take a stroll.

Autumn Leaves

Fall in Seoul can be enjoyed not only in the surrounding mountains, but in the parking lot of our apartment complex.'

Shaman

A short five minute walk from our dense apartment complex, is the steep flank of Surak Mountain.  Myriad trails wind within the forested nature preserve and provide adequate satisfaction to the vagaries of my mood.  I can strain in high intensity efforts as I accelerate the rate of climb,  practice mindfulness as I stop and listen to the gurgle of a tiny creek, and on some occasions train my cognitive abilities as I challenge myself to retrace, on my decent, the exact route I took on the way up. This last activity is not easy, as the forest obscures forward visibility, and there are dozens if not hundreds of occasions to choose between similar-looking foot paths.  But I diverge.  Traversing the mountain, at about a third of its height is a segment of the Seoul Trail, a  popular, well maintained route.  This Saturday, we chose it as an active long-cut between our apartment, and a restaurant located one subway stop away (A subway stop is a common unit of distance in Seoul).  After satisfying our palate and our bellies, and soon after our ascent into the mountain, we heard clanging and drum beats, which Adi recognized as a Shaman ceremony.  We followed a small path leading down (Those are many, remember?), and approached the walled villa bordering the forest.  Adi hesitated, but curiosity won.  We entered the courtyard in the midst of the ceremony. The organizers asked us not to get too close, but otherwise, we were welcome. 

Shamanism in Korea is becoming rare.  Most Koreans frown on the practice.  However, when tragedy strikes, they may seek the service of a shaman.  The shaman is a conduit between our and the spirit world.  He can channel a loved relative, who will provide consolation and advice.  Instead of describing the ceremony, I took the easy route, a short video clip.  Click below:

https://vimeo.com/455203309

 

Milim Yafot Ka'ele

Friday nights, for the last few weeks, Adi was unavailable to me.  Each Friday, she was taken captive by several young and handsome Korean guys.  Live on TV, male singers demonstrated their skill in all genres of music.  First, they competed as individuals, and as the show continued and elimination-rounds went on, they formed duets, trios, and eventually quartets. According to Adi, the musical level was very high, and I could hear her laughter during the show.  I didn't stand a chance.  This Friday, she invited me to join her for the finals.  Three quartets presented two songs each.  I was dazzled by the vocal quality and harmony of the groups.  "Rabidance" surprised us by presenting an Idan Reichel song.  When the time came to vote (by phone), it was a hard decision.  I liked Rabidance for the courage and originality of presenting Idan's music, yet I liked "La Poem" more.  Their quartet included the dramatic quality of  a contra-tenor. 

La Poem won.  Rabidance came at second place.

Enjoy Milim Yafot performances:

The Korean version:  http://naver.me/F55Bgdpj  (I hope the link works.  Fiddle with it in a new window if it doesn't)  

The original version:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95anpoEb4fM   

Jealousy

This year, on the first of April, as in every year in folk memory, Spring came to Seoul.  The cherry trees were the first to notice, and transformed the city from winter grey to sparkling pink.  However, within a week, the freezing cold returned.  I suspect that the Weather-God noticed our arrival at the airport and decided to show us a real winter.  The dismayed cherries laid a faded white carpet on the wet sidewalks.

We appeased the jealous God by borrowing winter coats, and eventually, the sun came out.  A bit late for the cherries, but good enough for a trip to Sokcho, a harbor town not far from the border.  In the North, the trees were smarter, they waited out the cold and were now in full bloom.  I dipped my feet in the sea, and with full appetite, set to work on the town's famous dish.  It's hard to beat sashimi caught just hours before, especially when  taken with copious amount of ice-cold soju.  BTW, the water was much colder than the California coast. 

A Korean Wedding

'Do I really want to do this?' I asked myself, as I was donning another layer of the hanbok, Korea's traditional formal attire.  Nonetheless, I have raised too many expectations for me to back out now.  Knowing Korea's penchant for elegant practicality, I knew I will get through this alright.

The notice-board at the luxury hotel was cryptic:  "Wedding 13:00-15:00".   For me, coming from the Israeli culture of lax arrivals and dancing till sunrise, this was an impossible statement.

A jazz trio played old standards, as friends and family, some of which I previously met, gathered in the flowery ballroom.  At 13:01 all guests were already seated, and the ceremony, which followed a western script, commenced.  From that point on, nothing was left to chance.  Every second was choreographed by a group of sharply dressed attendants, that hovered over the scene, directing every move and gesture.  The occasional interruptions in the flow, were to allow one of the attendants to rush to the bride, re-arrange the folds of her dress, and make her perfect for the next photo.  The bride's university professor conducted the ceremony, and gave a short speech advising the couple to contribute their talents to society.  Soon it was time to cut the cake and throw the flowers to a designated recipient (She didn't catch it, and the throw was repeated.)  Only the bride's younger sister, who could not contain her tears, demonstrated a visible emotion.

The attractive food  ($120 per plate) was served by a horde of waiters, who did not let an empty plate linger more than a minute.  I liked the wine, a rarity in Korea.

By 15:01 the last guest left the wedding hall.

I missed the drinking and dancing of Israeli weddings, but was compensated by the after-wedding ceremony, where the young couple, wearing elaborate traditional costumes, honored the groom's parents and accepted their blessing.  Mazal Tov.

          

Korea Snippets

Talking Heads
I assume most city dwellers are by now oblivious to talking elevators, but Korean talking machines may amaze even those that are not country bumpkins from Oaxaca.

• Subway announcements are common around the world, but bus stations that audibly predict the next arrival?
• The rice cooker never fails to inform us of its intentions, and its impending release of steam.  
• As I was fiddling with controls of the automated toilet seat, I believe it was trying to warn me that I am about to receive an ass-splitting water jet.  Unfortunately, the warning came in Korean. 
• I was amazed by the sight of a large dumpster talking to a neighborhood matron.  It politely (very important in Korea) accepted her garbage bag, confirmed her apartment number, and thanked her.  She will be charged based on the weight of her garbage.

When will we get listening machines?  "Last time, the rice was too hard.  Make it softer".

Culinary Tourism
Koreans, fiercely love Korea.  Those few that were not born in or around Seoul, feel great pride for their home town.  To merit this pride, each city claims some special characteristics, not the least of which is its local cuisine.  Seoulites often visit the outlying cities with the declared purpose of  sight-seeing, but with a clear plan to sample the famous local dish.  These celebrity dishes can also be found in Seoul, but acquired a special renown in their designated location.

So far I made three such culinary trips
Bibimbap (Jeonju.  Three hours by bus)

If any dish merits the title of the Korean National Dish, it is bibimbap.  Rice served in a scolding-hot stone bowl, topped with five colors of vegetables.  Spicy red pepper sauce is added, and the combination is mixed thoroughly before eating.  It is said that the founder of the last ruling dynasty, invented this dish while on the battlefield.  Jeonju was his home town.



Dak Galbi (Chuncheon.  One hour by car, which became four hours due to traffic heading to a huge Jazz festival)
Not to be confused with the usual Galbi.  Boneless chicken meat, cabbage, sweet potato, green onion, rice cake, and spices, chopped together at your table, on a sizzling two-feet skillet.  Like galbi, you pick a morsel,  wrap it with a lettuce leaf, and stuff the large package into your mouth.



Soondae (Abai Island. Sokcho city.  Three hours by car)
The Abai version of blood sausage, is mixed with squid meat.  The unanimous verdict of  Adi's family was "Thumbs down".   Fortunately, the main motivation of this trip was to view the fall foliage of Soraksan National Park, which was fabulous.

The Shaman

I was half way up a steep granite face, when I heard the rhythmic beatings of a gong. After climbing a few more vertical feet, the sounds of monotonic chanting became distinct too. I was on the slopes of a green mountain overlooking Seoul. I was in search of a Gut, and I may have found one.

A Gut is an ancient Shamanistic ritual, where beautiful young virgins, dressed in brightly colored flowing robes, twirl in ecstasy until they are possessed by a spirit. After possession the spirit communicates through them. At the village, far below me, the temple was closed for repairs. There were no ceremonies. A well maintained path led up the mountain, but ended in front of this vertical rock. An official sign read “Shamanistic rituals are not allowed beyond this point”. I was headed in the right direction. While walking up the path, the smooth rock seemed impassable. Here, on closer inspection, it yielded small concrete platforms, no larger than a shoe, strategically built on the rock to form a safe path. I started climbing faster. I was anxious to see the ceremony, the delicious food, and especially the beautiful virgins.

Earlier that morning, I saw that the stock market turned up. The knots in my stomach loosened. My investment strategy was correct. Since retirement, I took more and more of my eggs out of the Fidelity nest and put them into my own hands. I am slowly gathering skill and confidence. Still, it is not easy for a rookie investor, to go to sleep when the stock market in New York just opened lower, and then wake up, three days in a row, to learn that it went down further. But today, the market and my investments are up. The sky, which is usually hazy grey, welcomed the news with a beautiful California blue, and a light cool wind was keeping the temperatures at comfortable level. It was a perfect day to head to one of the mountains surrounding Seoul. Lonely Planet recommended a hike to Mount Inwangsan. A mountain revered by Shamanists for the many gods that inhabit it.

Shamanism is an ancient religion in Korea. Its followers believe that our world is inhabited by gods as well as the spirits of the dead. The shaman is responsible for communicating with the spiritual world. He, or she, is possessed by one of the spirits, and uses this power to cure illness, read the future, and provide guidance for a better life. Modern Koreans have ambivalent feelings towards shamans. They regularly consult them before making marriage decisions, and sometimes they ask for medical advice. However, they regard them with contempt mixed with fear. Koreans are still influenced by the traditional Confucian philosophy of their past. In the Confucian hierarchy, shamans were among the lowest of the low, in the fifth (not named) class, together with slaves, clowns, and executioners. The other four classes were ordered as follows: Noblemen, farmers, skilled craftsmen, and merchants. Today, shamans make their meager living in the cities, but they often come to the mountains to recharge their spiritual power. The Gut ceremony, with its lavish food, colors, and music, will attract the spirits, and is attended by those seeking advice or a conversation with a recently departed relative.

As I reached the top of the rock the chanting became louder, coming from somewhere in the forest. A few more steps and I reached the ceremony site. She was alone, beating the gong and chanting. A plump, middle aged ajuma (married lady), wearing green pants and a blue shirt with pink flowers. She was kneeling in front of a small indentation in the rock, where she placed several lighted candles. Strewn around her were soft drink cans, a half eaten ham and cheese sandwich, and an assortment of chocolate bars. I sat at a respectful distance and waited. She finished the chanting, bowed three times and waved us to approach. She was eager to talk. Her name is Sun-Ee, she became a shaman at the age of 12 when she was possessed by her spirit. Her mother was not a shaman. She married, had three children, and after a while, decided to stop her practice. However, the spirits were not pleased. Her fortune turned to the worse. Her husband died, she got breast cancer (she pointed to the flat right side of her chest), and her businesses failed. She decided to start practicing again. On this mountain, she can communicate with the Mountain God, the General God, as well as her own spirit. Her spirit is very strong, and carries Buddha on his travels in the sky. Today, she received some money and food from her children, and she came up this mountain to pray for them. This was my opening. Can she pray for me? Yes, she replied, and I could pay her as much as I felt. A 10,000 Won note (about $10) seemed to make her happy. I could supply only three of the necessary four pillars (I did not have my hour of birth), and therefore I got only a superficial fortune reading. Since my birth, I have been successful. I am healthy, and will remain so. She does not see any major setbacks until my death. I should live in a warm place with a lot of fruit trees. To make money, I have to use a pen. That reminded me of the morning news. How will the stock market do? Her answer was much more specific than I expected.

Do not be addicted to the stock market.
Put only a small amount of money in stocks.
In the next two to three years, the stock market is not going to do well.
To make money, buy good real estate and rent it out.
Don’t forget, you need to use your pen to make money.

Getting financial advice from the spirit world seemed to have exhausted Sun-Ee. I accepted a couple of chocolate bars, bid my goodbyes, and continued towards the mountain peak. On the way up I reached the eerie looking rock with face-like features named after the General God. Besides the rock, a meditating Buddhist monk exemplified the gentle acceptance of these two ancient religions. I sat.