A middle-aged Korean man brings in the third plate of the night and sets it on the table. I’ve had my fair share of soju – Korean rice liquor - and through the dim lighting, I can only make out that whatever is on the dish is brown with a hint of red, and I’m guessing that it’s some kind of beans or nuts.
A friend and I are hanging out in a private karaoke room with a pair of Korean girls that we met earlier at a McDonald’s. We’re taking turns with the song requests, and I’m already making the rounds through cheesy boy-band pop songs. We even slow-dance to the Backstreet Boys. The girl sitting with me, Jung-eon, is beautiful, the kind of beautiful that makes me wonder if having a wife who didn’t speak English could work out. There is something counterintuitively appealing about removing an entire element of communication.
But a barrier is a barrier and between the four of us, it’s a crash-course in non-verbal communication. We resort to crude pantomiming. One of them has an iPhone with a Korean-to-English translation app that has me thanking technology. The translation app always got the point across, but it’d always be sort of … off. For one translation it read 'you are the handsome man for clothes', which I’m guessing was complimenting the way I dressed. I could only hope.
The dish is set down on our table and Jung-eon looks at me expectantly and says, “Try.” I pop one in my mouth and chew as I affect a discerning expression while she watches earnestly. It’s quite a site. Out of context, you’d think I was some important food critic and she was a budding chef. She looks intently at me, as if she’ll take my evaluation of the food she has presented to me personally and that if I find the food agreeable, she, by association, will also be found agreeable. I find her very agreeable.
I smile. “I love it. What is it?”
“Beondegi”
“What?”
“Beon…de…gi” She leans in and pronounces it slower, like I’ll get it this time. When she realizes I’m hopeless, she types into her iPhone translator and hands it to me. I read and immediately regret asking. There’s only one word: Pupa.
“Pupa… That’s, like, a bug. Isn’t it?” I ask.
“Yes! Bug!”
Wonderful.
I’m out here in support of UFG-10, a joint US and South Korean military exercise described as a defensive drill in the event of a North Korean attack. Military exercises aside, I was hoping to experience anything other than base food, which can only be described as edible, at best. Chow hall food is ranked by how similar it is to the food it’s trying to mimic. As in, “these mashed potatoes almost taste like real mashed potatoes.” So, when liberty sounded, I decided I was going to try anything Korea had to throw at me.
Careful what you wish for.
Derived from the silkworm, Beondegi, literally translated to “pupa” is a popular dish in South Korea. The silkworm’s protective cocoon is harvested for silk, and the pupae that remain are eaten. It’s served both hot and cold, as an appetizer or snack in bars and karaoke places or other drinking establishments.
My Korean friend describes it as “old-school street food.” He goes on to explain that it’s falling out of favor with the younger generation. “I don’t think young kids nowadays eat it. Many kids hate it, especially girls.” It seems for good reason. Beondegi, while seemingly healthy because it’s packed with protein, admittedly looks fairly disgusting. There’s also the small detail that you’re eating an insect in mid-transformation, perfectly preserved in its current life stage via deep-fryer. The way it tastes isn’t nearly as offensive as the way it looks; It’s crunchy on the outside, juicy on the inside, and tastes meaty, nutty. And a little buggy.
“Back in the day, Korea was poor,” my friend explains. “So there were not much snacks for kids. Today it’s more like a nostalgic thing to do - to eat it.”
I can relate to that. My flight is tomorrow morning, and I’m already feeling nostalgic for the moment I’m currently in. Outside, I’m watching Jeon-eon walk away forever and I kick myself, convinced it was the Backstreet Boys song that hurt my chances. She turns around and runs back up to me, placing a small kiss on my cheek before she crosses the street and catches up with her friend. I don’t realize until after she’s gone that she’s placed a neatly folded bar napkin in the palm of my hand. Next to her email address, she’s written a short note: e-mail me, backstreet boy!
Peter Kim is a Drexel graduate and writer living in Philadelphia and is currently on Lesson 1 of Rosetta Stone: Korean. Contact him at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .
Article photograph from http://eatdrinkman.blogspot.com. "Dispatch" photograph from King Molan via Flickr (Creative Commons), "Plate" photograph from FoodCollection/Getty Images.
