Kimchi Face

Apparently, I make a face when I eat kimchi.

In 1999, as DW and I boarded our plane that would take us from Seoul, South Korea, to Vancouver, British Columbia, on the first leg of our journey back to Canada, I swore, "If I never eat kimchi again, it'll be too soon."

Kimchi—a fermented cabbage infused with hot pepper paste—is South Korea's national food. It's eaten at every meal, is included as a side dish at every table in every restaurant, and is an ingredient in many Korean dishes. It has a pungent odour and a sour flavour, much like a spicy sauerkraut.

In the two years that I lived in Korea, I never really developed a taste for it; though, out of politeness, I would have at least one bite whenever it was served to me. I liked kimchi when it was fresh, where the cabbage crunched when you bit into it and you only tasted the spice—not the sourness of the fermented leaves.

So, when I said goodbye to Korea, I convinced myself that I'd never eat kimchi again. That wasn't a long-lived promise.

In the first couple of years that DW and I were back in Ottawa, we had visited a couple of Korean restaurants. There was the Korean Garden, on Rideau Street, and Le Kimchi, on Preston. I ate a bit of kimchi at these visits, taking only a tiny bite each time. But it had been at least 10 years since I had eaten Korean food, until just a couple of weeks ago.

One of DW's and my buddies from Chŏnju, Russ, lives in Ottawa. We still keep in touch (though, not as often as we'd like), usually getting together in the week in which he and I celebrate our birthdays. DW suggested that, because I'm returning to Korea in May, we should go out for Korean food.

It had been 10 years for me: it had been almost 20 years for Russ. He hadn't eaten Korean food since he left the country.

We decided on the Dolsot Café, on Bank Street, just north of the Queensway. The restaurant shares a building with a Korean grocery store and seemed highly rated, so we tried our luck.

The word dolsot means stone bowl in Korean, and refers to a dish that was made famous in Chŏnju: dolsot bibimbap, a rice dish that's topped with fresh vegetables such as bean sprouts, green onion, zucchini, shredded carrot, and hot pepper paste. Sometimes, meat is added. Traditionally, a raw egg is cracked atop the dish just before it's served, and as you stir the ingredients together, the hot bowl cooks the egg.

It was DW's and my favourite dish in all of Korea.

In the Dolsot Café, however, no raw egg is presented: instead, a fried egg, sunny-side-up, sits atop the dish.

Dolsot bibimbap (both Russ and DW tucked into their dishes before I could capture it).

Both DW and Russ ordered the dolsot bibimbap, but because I was going to soon be in the birthplace of the dish, I held out. Instead, I searched the menu for something I liked but that would be an unlikely choice for me during my return. I went for a dish that is originally Chinese, tang soo yuk—crispy fried chicken in a sweet-and-sour sauce, served with mixed vegetables.

The food was authentic and delicious, though not cheap by Korean standards. For what we paid for one dish at the Dolsot Café, we could have easily fed all of us for the same price in Chŏnju. Of course, this is Canada, so... apples... oranges.

We started off with a Korean pancake that is typically loaded with fresh green onions and shoestring carrots, but DW convinced me to agree to a kimchi version. Russ was running behind so we decided to start with this.

The appetizer size was large enough to be a meal of itself and was fully loaded with kimchi (so much so that the pancake lacked any structural integrity).

When I took my first bite, I was hit full-force with the pungent flavours of fermented kimchi, and memories of Korea flooded back. That's when DW started laughing.

"You should see the look on your face," she wailed. "It's hilarious."

I quickly swallowed the mouthful and washed it down with the tea that had been provided.

When Russ joined us, DW said to him, "You should have seen the expression on Ross' face when he was eating kimchi. Ross, show him the face."

Because I didn't know the face, I didn't know what to do. But there were side dishes on the table, and inevitably, there was kimchi. Fermented kimchi.

I picked up a small piece with my chopsticks and placed it in my mouth, and decided to chew.

Both Russ and DW burst out laughing.

I should have given my camera to DW, to capture this expression. But we agreed that Russ, DW, and I would return to the Dolsot Café again, after DW and I return from Mexico, before I head off to Korea. I'll get DW to record me while I eat kimchi, and we can all see my face.

And then, with any luck, I'll never eat kimchi again.