Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Street Meat and Dinosaurs

“So, we have about an hour and a half before this movie; what do you want to do?”

“I need protein.”

True story. New diet requires a great deal of protein.

“What kind of protein?” she asks me.

“Street meat.”

Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was the season, but all I wanted to eat was some street meat, gods how I missed some decent street meat. Sadly, even on this fine cold day, the push to remove a great many of the cart bars from Korea had been effective enough that getting said street meat was not as easy as I had once been, but we hit a back alley and I pointed out a sign for a cart bar that would, in fact, have all the street meat I could want.


I could smell the oodang before we even got to the stall, and I was practically spinning to get there fast enough when we had the momentary realization that neither of us had any money. My ATM card was not giving me access to cash, and she was cash poor. I was pretty sure the ajjuma was not going to take credit for a couple of pieces of oodang. After a quick check (IN KOREAN!) we determined that we did have enough money for me to have a couple of piece of oodang and and some gumu.

Never before has oodang tasted so good. So oily, so greasy, so wrong, and so not nearly full of enough protein to do what ti was supposed to do, but I didn’t care. I was the happiest of all oodang eaters who have ever come to eat oodang. It was delicious and I told the ajjuma so several times. Had I felt I would have been able to properly restrain myself I would have had some dok-bo-ki too, but I didn’t trust myself to stop at one piece, and really, what I needed was protein. Belly warmed with oodang, we worked our way back to the theater where we made a pit stop at the “Butter” downstairs for her to pick up a couple of things and for me to be amused by all the Korean-ness of it. It was all so very Korean.

Then, as we were leaving, the Artist pointed just before the sales counter, and it was…


“That is hilarious!” she smiled as she walked off to pay and then she turned around.

“What the hell?” to me as I stood in front of the Dino getting simultenously attacked while trying to take a selfie with the dinosaur.

“You’re ridiculous!”

“What? Get a picture of me.”

In not a single one was I not laughing. The Dino got me at least three times.

Our movie, in the Art House, started with an interlude to display three local artists, two of which were not bad. The movie was as entertaining as the mechanical dinosaur and afterward I was feeling ready for a nap and then dinner with an Editor who would be waiting to meet me in the Won.

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