Everywhere we go, we see stalls offering great cauldrons of steamed mussels for passers-by to slurp down on the half-shell together with a nip of throat-burning soju. There are stands selling noodles in soup, served-- of course-- with saucers of kimchi. There are plates of chewy, rubbery ttok-- rice cakes in a deep red chilli sauce. Elsewhere, women fry Korean pancakes- pajon and pindaettok-- on well-greased griddles while thin strips of sweet potatoes are deep-fried like fine french fries. And there are charcoal braziers on every corner, roasting chestnuts or grilling ojingo-- flattened, dusty cuttlefish or squid, a chewy, salty, fishy favourite.
At dusk, tents mysteriously appear on every street corner, their inner tables loaded with an amazing array of raw shellfish and fish, morsels of grilled meat and entrails, fried foods, seaweed, kimchi, and much else-- all the sorts of foods that help work up a powerful thirst. The canvas walls of these literally fly-by-night establishments reverberate from the sounds of singing and raucous clanging of metal chopsticks well into the wee hours of the night as white collar workers who just "happened to be passing by," enjoy another long night of revelry.
Please send any comments about this website to: