I was a captive. For nearly twenty-two hours I was confined to a single chair, offered small meals accompanied by water. I did not suffer alone, but with my family and two hundred other passengers. The fasten seatbelt sign emitted its dull orange light, signaling our descent. I couldn't help but feel nervous. As the plane slowed to a halt, the flight attendant's voice could be heard throughout the cabin: "Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to Incheon International Airport and enjoy your stay in Seoul, South Korea."
The airport was a metropolis. Koreans pushed past one another as they scrambled to catch their flights. I tried to read the signs but they were so unfamiliar, a combination of lines and dashes. The conversations around me all seemed to mesh together, creating one large, indecipherable noise. I felt like a captive once again, constrained by my own limitations, deeply affected by "culture shock". Stepping foot outside of the airport, I was prepared to reject the Korean culture before getting the opportunity to experience it.
Upon exiting the airport, we were greeted by a familiar face, my uncle, who lives in Korea and works as a general manager for the U.S. military golf course, Sung Nam.
After the ordeal of the twenty-two hour flight, my mind, or my stomach rather, could only focus on one thing: food. I had passed up the on-flight meal, which I could only describe as some sort of "mystery meat", so I was in desperate need of a good meal. Sympathizing with my situation, my uncle assured me that we would eat immediately, listing the many options available in the city. To my horror, the list did not contain the necessities: McDonald's, Burger King, or Wendy's. The pained expression on my face drew laughter from my family but I certainly didn't find the situation funny. I was content with my American diet, uninterested in anything other than burgers, chicken fingers, and French fries.
The city streets smelled of herbs: spicy, fiery, earthy herbs that permeated the air and penetrated the senses. My nostrils picked up traces of garlic and hot chili pepper and the smells nearly brought me to tears. Vendors lined the sidewalk, selling such foods as seaweed, squid, and steamed rice cakes. As I walked along the sidewalk towards the restaurant, I felt as if I was walking to my imminent doom. The sight of the long, slimy green seaweed was enough to eliminate my appetite for the rest of the week. Little did I know that my experience at a traditional outdoor Korean restaurant in Namdaemun would help me better understand this perplexing culture and in turn, help me better understand myself.
At two large tables, women were busy tending to vats of traditional Korean food. Sprawled along the table were plates of steamed vegetables, white rice, Korean tempura or dwigim, and a variety of seafood. I reluctantly approached the tables hoping that the food stalls incorporated American food into the Korean cuisine. Unfortunately, the closest thing to a hamburger was the bulgogi, barbecued beef. I was methodical about my choices, analyzing every detail of the food before deciding to put it on my plate. The vendor was clearly amused by my cautious approach to choosing food, for she couldn't stop herself from smiling. I finally pointed to the dwigim, Korean tempura, since it was the closest thing to chicken fingers on the table. The golden batter and visible grease stains were too enticing to pass up. I also chose a small portion of white rice, steamed vegetables, and green onion pancakes. The vendor tried to persuade me to help myself to kimchi, however the smell of fermented cabbage was enough reason to shake my head "no".
Staring at my plate, I probed the food for several minutes before finally mustering the courage to try the dwigim. I cringed as I brought the food closer, convinced that I wouldn't like it. I was a self-proclaimed "food psychic", knowing that I wouldn't like a particular food before even trying it. After swallowing the dwigim, I realized that I actually liked it. The crispy batter was exactly what I was craving. I moved on to the other food on my plate, inhaling the small portion of rice, then the vegetables, and lastly the green onion pancakes.
Surprisingly, I felt a strong sense of accomplishment, as if I had just overcome a great obstacle in my life. In a way I had. But I couldn't help wonder, how many other things had I passed by due to my preconceived "disapproval"? I was unaware of the possibilities offered in other cultures. By trying foods such as the dwigim and steamed rice, the idea of new and different alternatives became more obvious. I dismissed my prejudices and learned the importance of trying new things. Who's to say that Korean food can't also be considered "good food" simply because it is different? Despite being a relatively trivial matter, the food experience allowed me to appreciate another culture in a way I never expected. I discovered the importance of an open mind and the positive results that can come with trying new things. Before this vacation, I would have never guessed that I would return home with a rice cooker and traditional Korean cookbook.
I was a captive. For nearly twenty-two hours I was confined to a single chair, offered small meals accompanied by water. I did not suffer alone, but with my family and two hundred other passengers. The "Fasten Seatbelt" sign emitted its dull orange light, signaling our descent. I couldn't help but feel nervous. As the plane slowed to a halt, the flight attendant's voice could be heard throughout the cabin: "Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to Incheon International Airport and enjoy your stay in Seoul, South Korea."
Oh, I get it! Alright, now I see how this essay is sort of humorous... You should add a sentence to the beginning to tell the reader that this is about cultural barriers as they manifest in culinary matters. Great essay! Make it clear in the beginning, so the reader is not lost.
