Today's Korean culinary lesson was budae jjigae. Again, Woongil and Myungsoo, plus the very recently married Mr. Choi, took me to a budae jiigae house, and explained the history of the dish, a red-hot mish-mash of ingredients.

Budae jjigae was created during the Korean War, when there wasn't much to eat. U.S. army bases would give people leftover rations from their stores, which included Spam, sausages, and bacon. Not knowing exactly what to do with these foreign foods, Koreans dumped them all in a pot with a load of red chili paste and kimchee and whatever else they could find. This dish became budae (military unit) jjigae (stew).

These days, restaurants still improvise the ingredients, but always include some form of Western food. Today, the stew I ate included: red chili paste, kimchee, ramen noodles, thick rice noodles, a couple macaroni noodles, slices of sausage, a mess of chopped scallions, a scattering of other vegetables, bits of meat, one or two pieces of ddok (rice pastry), and a pile of what looked suspiciously like canned pork and beans. All these things were heaped into a large pot in the middle of the table and cooked in front of us. Then we ladled some into our dishes and dug in.

Yesterday, Woongil (who seems to have taken it upon himself to introduce me to Korean foods) said that it was a dish with a sad history. It was born out of necessity and desperation, but is now a popular meal. I wonder how many other countries have famous dishes that were created out of hardship? Probably a lot.
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Yesterday I went Christmas shopping in a vast underground mall connected to the city bus terminal and subway station. I'm still kind of amazed at all the life that occurs under the ground. Here, people think nothing of being able to buy the following things in a subway station (all from actual people, not machines): newspapers, magazines, slippers, electronics, soup, dolls, scarves, kimbap (like sushi), puppies and rabbits (live ones), and boots. (Not to mention coffee, cola, tea and other beverages from machines.) Major stores located at a subway station usually have a subway level entrance, so you don't have to go above ground to go in, and their wares spill out into the station: underwear, bread, stockings, hats.

I was wondering the other day if this is function of climate rather than culture. I think there are large subterranean warrens in cold cities in the U.S. too. And I do remember a rather large station in Boston where you could buy snacks and periodicals. But do other cities (take Minneapolis, for example) offer this level of capitalism at, well, this level? Let me know.

The place I went yesterday is a little different from your average subway stop -- it's connected to the station, but is actually a huge mall that took me a hour to walk around. There are two aisles with stores on either side. The items sold are displayed not only inside the glass front, but outside on tables and on fabric laid on the ground: blankets, pottery, clothes, electronics, cosmetics, Christmas ornaments, flowers, shoes, handbags, clocks, stuffed animals, coats.

The vendors here, as everywhere else in Korea, approach selling like an extreme sport: rushing out of the store if you dawdle for a moment, pulling clothes off the rack and insisting you try them on, declaring that you won't be able to find that particular item anywhere else, confiding that they will give you a discount, and yelling after you if you don't buy the product. Not everyone is that aggressive, but it's not unusual. It's also normal for a vendor to just come out and shadow you as you look around, occasionally straightening out items that you've picked up and then put down.

It's stressful.

The option that most shoppers take is to completely ignore the vendor, since any interest shown is immediately pounced upon like a cat on nip. I have a hard time doing this, but will have to, I think. Must learn to be more phlegmatic.

Shopping at upscale department stores is no better. At the upscale Hyundai Department Store (yup, the same as the car company -- here, the giant chaebols produce everything from gas to cell phones to milk), there are, I swear, more salesclerks than customers. Dressed in their simple, tasteful uniforms, they hover, waiting for a customer. No waiting for service here -- and no leisurely looking around either. Even in the the garage, smartly dressed women in tan coats, 1930s-style hats, and black gloves and shoes direct traffic, present the entering car with a parking stub, and take money from the exiting drivers.

At the more moderately priced Grand Mart department store, particularly in the grocery section, there is an unending barrage of solicitations from women dressed in blue and white shirts and skirts, platform white sneakers, and white leg warmer-type things that reach from ankle to just below the knee. in every aisle, they yell out their rehearsed lines for whatever product they are hawking that day. "Please look here! Elastine hair rinse on sale! It'll will make your hair smooth and soft! Elastine on sale here!" "Over here, please! This soy sauce is very delicious! On sale! On sale!"

And so on.

On weekdays it's not quite as raucous, but on weekends, you can't turn around without bumping into someone with white leg warmers on. It's almost enough to make me long for the employee-free avenues of Target, where you could go for days without seeing anyone in a red vest.