yuk kye jangI just finished reading the comments for this post and they gave me the inspiration for my next Iceberg Tale.

There is a neighborhood hole-in-the-wall restaurant (식당) in Shinchon less than a block from where I used to live.  Because it was convenient and the food and service were good, I usually went there once a week.  The food I ate there was a rotation of bulgogi, kimchi jjigae*, doenjang** jjigae, and yuk kye jang - which is one of the spicier Korean soups.  I can handle pretty much anything spicy and I love yuk kye jang.

The first time I ordered it at the restaurant, the grandmother who ran the place laughed in surprise and then, smiling, told me that it would be too hot for me.  She was a nice old lady, so I just smiled back at her (ferchrissakes people, why do you get pissed off about such things?), told her that I liked yuk kye jang and I’d be okay.  “In fact,” I told her, “please make it as spicy as you can.”  I could see the doubt in her eyes, but she consented.

A few minutes later she brought out the piping hot soup.  I tried to eat a full spoonful, but it was just too damn hot.  I emptied half of it from my spoon and blew on the remaining liquid.  The grandmother cheerfully shouted from the opposite side of the small room, “It’s too spicy for you, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not.  It’s just too hot,” I said and I proceeded to gingerly consume my meal while the grandmother chuckled and (presumably) thought, “Silly foreigner.  He never should have ordered the yuk kye jang.  It’s too spicy for him.”

We went through the exact same routine the next four or five times I ordered it.  It was like we were having a mini war and I was winning.  The first battle ended with her thinking that I was nuts.  In the ensuing battles her reactions morphed from “Okay, buddy, the joke’s over, I’m genuinely concerned about you,” to finally, “Alright, damn it, you win.  I admit it.  You can eat yuk kye jang.”

A few weeks after that first visit, I walked into the restaurant, kicked off my shoes, and sat down at my usual table in front of a small television that was bolted into the wall.  “I’ll have the yuk kye jang,” I told the grandmother and - enjoying the satisfaction of victory - gave her a knowing smile.  Resigned to defeat, the grandmother simply said “yes” and went back to the kitchen to prepare it.

I was watching some Sunday variety program on television when the grandmother brought out the soup and placed it in front of me.  I nodded my thanks to her, picked up my chopsticks and, eyes barely turned away from the tv, reached into the bowl for a piece of beef.  Focused again on the program, I put the food in my mouth and chewed briefly before swallowing.  The next thing I knew, the piece of meat had “gone down the wrong pipe”.  I started coughing and choking.  I reached for some water to help force the bite down.

The grandmother, hearing the commotion, came rushing out of the kitchen.  “Are you okay?” she asked me.  Taking another drink of water and gathering myself, I replied, “Yes.  I’m alright.”  Seeing that I wasn’t going to die, the grandmother smiled and said,

“See?  I told you the yuk kye jang was too spicy for you.”

I never went back to that restaurant.***

*jjigae - the Korean word for stew (though most Korean stews are closer to soups)
**doenjang - soybean paste
***Just kidding.  Of course I went back there.