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.

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.