After a long sleep Frank mustered enough energy to recognise hunger. Vincent, Liza, Frank and I made for dinner at a neighbourhood restaurant serving Korean barbecue. Generally, I’m not a big fan of restaurants where one must prepare one’s own food, as I attend restaurants to avoid that very thing. Aside from being a chore, it is doubly troublesome when the food, sauces, and processes are unfamiliar. Liza, who at one point managed a café of her own, took charge of things, cooking up a storm. In past, managing my own Korean barbecue left me uncomfortable that I was doing something wrong, so it was great to have a local running the grill. By the way, there is no “wrong”. Dinner was both excellent and a lot of fun, too.
The dinner reintroduced me to the Korean fondness for stainless steel drinking glasses and stainless steel chopsticks. These are extracted from a hermetically sealed autoclave by wait staff clad in surgeon’s gloves who whisk them to the dining table with some fanfare. Presumably this is to provide a level of assurance regarding cleanliness. Personally, I find it as assuring as those “Sanitised for your convenience!” sashes one finds around the toilet seat in a bad motel. (Yes, the Hotel Luxury and Sexy had one.)
Continue reading 08. My Korean Family