Last Sunday there was a Korean lunch at the First United Methodist church in North Andover, where our group was staying for the weekend. We were late and sheepishly wandered into the dining hall/converted gym/worship space, to our delighted surprise an elderly Korean woman approached us matter-of-factly and said, “Welcome, you hungry!?”
Plates of steaming hot rice, bowls of kim-chee, hot marigold colored sprouts, blood red spicy noodles, boiled zucchini and seaweed soup soon surrounded us. We were pointed to a plate of tough leaves the size of a deck of cards, hard and hairy, the method of rolling the rice and other dishes into them was quickly demonstrated and we were left to our own devices.
I pinched table spoon size servings unto my empty plate, adventurously chopsticking dark red noodles on top of savory sprouts, marrying zucchini with the sticky rice and seaweed, I wanted to leaving nothing untasted. The leaves were rough, minty but nutty, and my fellow group members soon abandoned them for more traditional eating experiences. I scooped rice into the center of the leaf and added a few red-worm-like noodles on top. The sweet spicy redness burned the roof of my mouth but the cooling mint of the leaf quickly filled my nostrils calming any unpleasant sensations. Chewing and chewing my blood quickened and a prickly heat flushed my arms and face. “Not so hot,” my friend Kyle asserted, sweat accumulating on his brow. More. I took a pinch of the golden long sprouts that had been stir fried expecting a sort of - warm alfalfa like flavor. The heads of the sprouts turned out to be hard, with a flavor reminiscent of peanuts and the long tail of the sprout was airy, crunchy, and cool.
The zucchini, humbly boiled, had a life of its own, zucchini flavored zucchini. They were crudely chopped into large chunks without seasoning or spices, meant to be appreciated for their own subtly, juiciness, and texture. An operatic dance of chopsticks and criss-crossing arms filled the the long table top next to ours, about 20 people pinched their dishes of choice, while chatting amongst themselves: some were Korean, some not, the Ghanaian pastor sat in the center making wide gestures while he spoke reminding us good naturedly that we were late.
Most of the diners were in their 50s or 60s and observing all of this I was overwhelmed by the balance. The balance of the meal, sweetness with mintiness, savory earthy flavors with the fiery heat. The old school New Englanders eating with new school Korean immigrants. Our youth group driven by environmentalism and the collection older generations driven and united by their Methodist faith. Gastronomical transformation - the stomach and the eyes aligned in a new experience to tell the brain the “what is” of “what is going on?”. Good things: balance prevails: wow filled my head. Just then a woman came around with a hand full of lychee fruits the size of tennis balls. I bit into the hard skin and peeled one for Kyle and myself. Life is good.
1 comments:
I am more than happy that you are allowing comments once again. I truly do adore your reading. It has so such much flow, It sort of like reading a book and ready loving it. Your imagination is just so vivid and transparent. I also see that you are enjoying your bike crusade. I used to do it with a passion back in the days. Now I dont even own one. I take that back. I actually have an old ten speed in the garage, but dont use it. It is evident that you truly dig the beauty and advantages of multiculturalism and the richness that it brings. Having lived through similar experiences i can almost taste that Lychee across the airways. Life is good!!!
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