Is It Still Peking Duck If You're In Shanghai?

The glorious platter of duck packets

Flying into Shanghai reminded me of flying into Chicago. The urban sprawl centers on a few disparately tall spires surrounded by structures barely knee-high in comparison, fading out to the single-family homes in the almost imperceptible distance. The crush of people in China is like rush hour on the DC Metro… except it's like that all the time. A civilized scooter society has been cultivated, though I don't know whether it's due to government oversight or too many people already on the sidewalk. 

Hot Coffe on a Hot Day

This is the whole shebang

Let me wax a little poetic about the delicious experience of making and drinking a great cup of coffee. The heavenly scent of freshly ground beans fortifies me while I prepare to make an espresso. Accompanying hums and rattles wake me up in increments while my machine produces the demitasse of liquid energy. The wisps of steam from the espresso accented with cinnamon or chocolate alert my nose to the forthcoming tastes. I tend to mellow my espresso with milk, steamed in the winter. During the summer months, I double the cooling effect of cold milk with a handful of ice. That first sip, that perfect ratio of coffee to milk, is in some ways a form of worship for me, and that's hardly an exaggeration.

That Time I Almost Barfed in Vietnam

 

The opening barrage of local dishes

As a self-proclaimed foodie, it's my responsibility to try new foods as I encounter them. Don't get me wrong, I’m no Anthony Bourdain or Andrew Zimmern. No entrails or blood-based dishes for me; I admit that pate and sweetbreads might be tasty, but I've watched a few too many episodes of CSI and Criminal Minds to be comfortable with this concept. No whole animals – octopi on a stick, balut, and escargot, for instance – because my Midwestern upbringing hasn't left me completely. No exceptionally smelly foods (I'm looking at you durian and Limburger), since having a great sense of smell is a double-edged sword. I freely admit that my rules are arbitrary, and that I probably have eaten something by mistake or deception that I wouldn't have otherwise. Case in point, eating blood sausage is something I wouldn't do now. Nevertheless, I was probably seven when I had a piece after some extended family member said it was salami. And raw oysters are a deliberate exception, because they are delicious with a little lemon juice. Still, I adhere to my self-imposed restrictions because eating should be an enjoyable experience, not an exercise in discomfort.

How to Ride a Water Buffalo

The farmer and his water buffalo

Vietnam is a hot, sticky place. Anyone with a map could tell you that. What the maps won’t describe is the weight of the humidity, the scent of heavy vegetation and roasted seafood mingling in the night air, and the sound of strange birds calling out in the early morning. Maps also don’t specify how the rules of the road are for suckers. I’m sure I was almost killed at least eight times by scooters (yes, scooters) coming from unexpected directions. And that was just the first day.

Ajummas Run This

 

Eric carrying a huge potted plant because ajumma told him to

You don’t find this out until you arrive in South Korea, but ajummas are the honey badgers of the ROK. They don’t give a shit about personal space, how old you are, or whether you were completely done with the pop before they take the cup and toss it in the trash. Ajummas mop the bathroom floor in your stall through the space under the door, and you are expected to lift your feet to ensure full cleaning has taken place. These are the women that take the barbeque tongs from your hands because you are clearly not cooking the meat to their satisfaction or push past you in the subway line because their will to board the car is greater than yours. They are to be feared and obeyed, as we have discovered on numerous occasions.

Dat Barbeque Tho

Crispy pork belly is the best!

  

Long before we found out we were moving to the ROK, we fell in love with Korean barbeque. My husband and I were invited to the Honey Pig in Annandale, Virginia, for dinner with a friend. I loved that she introduced us to this cuisine, because barbeque became a touchstone for me. It was one of the constants I could revisit when I wanted something familiar or comforting, but without resorting to the usual American fast food suspects. Among our preparations for the move, we took classes to acquaint ourselves with the language and culture. I was convinced that my little arsenal of food words and child-level conversation skills would get me through the hefty language barrier. Of course, I was wrong. 

No, Really, They're Tiny

Standard cookie sheet vs. tiny Korean oven

Welcome to Tiny Korean Ovens! I'm an American living in the ROK – Republic of Korea, a.k.a. South Korea – divinely inspired by a friend to start this blog. I love living here and experiencing different cultures and cuisines that go hand-in-hand with traveling. Even so, I had no idea what living in a foreign country would be like, particularly one still at war. My posts will cover my adjustments to living in Seoul, as well as my mishaps experiences visiting other countries. Luckily, I’ve never caused an international incident (that I know of), so my only restrictions boil down to what degree I let you guys know how much of an idiot I was in a given situation. You can expect full disclosure on a range of topics and some language that you might not want your children repeating at school.