Comfort Soups

A broken ankle, snow on the ground, facebook status updates on various Christmas activities. A year and four months in Korea, and I'm really missing home. Thankfully, I know just what to do (or eat) when the homesickness strikes: Budae Jjigae and Samgyetang.

Budae jjigae, also known as army base stew, became popular after the Korean War. Quality meats were hard to find, so to make due, Koreans started using surplus foods from the U.S. Army bases, such as hot dogs and Spam, and incorporating them into a traditional spicy soup seasoned with red chili paste and kimchi. Today, the stew is still very popular and includes anything from instant ramen noodles, ground beef, onions, tteok (rice cake), chili peppers, tofu, garlic, mushrooms, zucchini and cabbage. It's like what we Americans call "everything but the kitchen sink soup," but better.

I was actually appalled at myself for liking this dish. I mean, for God's sake, it has Spam and hot dogs in it. But there's something about the way the salty meats mix with the fiery chili broth and seasonal vegetables that makes me unbutton my pants for more.

Then there's Samgyetang, the Korean's take on chicken soup. Rich, tender chicken in a salty broth--very similar to the American staple, although its appearance could scare off a few non-adventurous eaters. A whole young chicken stuffed with glutinous rice in a bubbling broth of Korean ginseng, dried jujube berries, chestnuts, garlic and ginger comes to your table in individual pots. The server gives you a small pitcher of ginseng wine and a small trash can for the bones. (Sidenote: Do not eat Samgyetang on a first date...or the sixth date for that matter. Spitting out bones while sweating out ginseng is not becoming.) Think chicken and rice soup, only made by a Korean Emeril Lagasse. They have really kicked it up a notch. Seriously, I would bathe in this stuff.

Traditionally, Samgyetang is served in the summer months for its nutritive properties, replacing those lost through excessive sweating. And according the last Korean man I dated, most Koreans enjoy the soup on three days a year--the hottest days in summer. Never taking anyone's word for anything, I googled it. And according to the all-knowing Internet, the three hottest days of the year even have names: Chobok (초복), Jungbok (중복) and Malbok (말복).

But I don't care. Let the Koreans sweat it out in the summer. I'm completely fine with being the stupid blond girl, stuffing her face with a whole young chicken, wearing a cast, in the corner, by herself, watching the snow fall out the window. This is the holiday season after all.

A Word on School Lunches

My foodie friend Megan Greenberg scoffed at the idea that I would gain weight on anything other than Gruyère and flan during my recovery. The thought of eating school lunches and Lara Bars while wearing sweatpants for a month and a half made her reevaluate our food-based friendship.

I understand where she's coming from. Hell, I'd much rather be eating large servings of Mexican custard and $15 grilled cheeses. But the fact is, I live in Korea. And Koreans don't do cheese.

While pleading my case over email, I could see her look of disgust. I imagined she was drinking a large cup of Columbian coffee, nibbling on a slice of homemade quiche while typing.

"But Korean lunches are really good..." I started to type. But then I remembered, she lives in America, where mystery meats and tater tots reign supreme. I remembered the Hamburger Helper pizza special during my high school years and immediately gave up pleading my case.

Until now.

Every day, the Korean teachers come by the classrooms with a cart full of white rice, large batches of hot soup and a variety of banchan (small side dishes). Some days the soup is kimchi jjigae (cabbage and tofu in a spicy broth), others it's doenjang guk (soybean paste and vegetables), kongnamul guk (bean sprout soup) or miyeok guk (seaweed soup). Either way, it's good. The banchan always consists of kimchi, whether it's spicy fermented cabbage, turnips or onions. Other banchan might include sprouts in a spicy red sauce, boiled quail eggs, squid salad, fried sweet potatoes sprinkled with sesame seeds, roasted pork, pajeon (a savory pancake), mandu (dumplings), japchae (glass noodles with pork and vegetables), anchovies, steamed egg and crab rolls, acorn jelly, fried pork and sweet potato cutlets, corn salad...the list goes on.

It's hot, it's savory, it's delicious.

Needless to say, it's no Hamburger Helper.

The Sweatpants Blues

Some people lose weight when they break a bone. They sleep so much they forget to eat. The lack of movement kills their appetite. The depression makes food taste like dirt.

I have never understood these people.

For me, a six-week sentence of crutches and a cast means lots of reading, lots of watching movies, and lots of eating.

It's not like I want to gain 10 pounds during this recovery, but the whole not being able to shower thing really makes it hard to find motivation. Oh, and the fact that I can't use my hands to cook or carry bags of takeout. So, I've been relying on protein bars and school lunches.

Protein bar for breakfast, whatever the kids eat for snack, white rice and whatever else the school serves for lunch, whatever the kids eat for snack, school lunch leftovers for dinner, and a chocolate Lara bar for dessert. Okay, lately it's been about three or four chocolate bars for dessert.

But just like the people that make excuses for losing weight during their recoveries, I have a million excuses for overeating. Excuse No.1: I've been wearing sweatpants every day for two weeks.

Jennifer the Turkey

I've never cared too much for turkey. Deep fried, baked, white meat, dark meat, gravy, no gravy--it was all the same to me. But this year, my second Thanksgiving in Seoul, I couldn't get the idea of a big turkey dinner out of my head. I had to have it.

So, I found a couple options. I could spend $50 on a turkey buffet in Itaewon (the foreign part of town), I could indulge in a $70 sit-down dinner in Apgujeong (the Beverly Hills of Seoul), or I could pick up a pre-made dinner from the military base (enough to feed 10-12 people) for $100. It was a no-brainer.

I decorated the apartment with hand turkeys and Thanksgiving Day wreaths I made at school. I mopped the floors and scrubbed the stove. I made sure there were enough paper plates and plastic cups for everyone attending.

"Jen, do you need me to go with you to pick up the turkey dinner," asked my roommate Cory.
"No, just pick up some wine and get excited for what's to come," I said. "I've got this under control."

But I didn't. Not at all. On my way back from picking up the bird, I somehow lost my footing and fell to the ground--the box landing on my ankle. I knew right away it was broken.

After the doctor confirmed my prognosis, my roommates came by the hospital to check on me, and to pick up the highly-anticipated Thanksgiving dinner. "Just make sure to save me some," I said.

But, in true Korean fashion, I was out of the hospital 30 minutes later, hobbling to my apartment on crutches.

A couple glasses of wine, two plates of food, and a pack of painkillers and anti-inflammatories later, I was in my bed watching Anthony Bourdain with my friend Jason--trying to drown out the music and laughter from the living room.

"I know this sucks," said Jason. "But you have to admit, that was some pretty damn good turkey."