Savage Words: The price of a good meal sometimes doesn’t come from your wallet

I was in South Korea recently.

It was fun, interesting, eye-opening, and it included one of the most delicious and physically painful meals I’ve literally ever sat through.

A friend has family in Seoul. She was there for the summer, and we met up with her for dinner. She clearly knew the ins-and-outs of Seoul, and took us to a very cool neighborhood steeped in tradition.

We wandered through narrow streets where the buildings that lined them had been there for hundreds of years. The restaurant we finally happened upon was that of Hanok architecture. Basically, think of a traditional Asian building with the swooping roof lines.

Our friend told us the restaurant was very traditional. You know, shoes off at the door, and gasp…sitting on the floor with legs crossed.

That thought of sitting on the ground troubled me. I was looking forward to the food, but I was dreading the thought of me getting down, and even more concerned about the prospect of getting back up.

When we arrived at the restaurant, there was a long wait, which was fine. The area and architecture surrounding us was beautiful. I was more than happy to take it all in.

But what captured my attention over everything else was the people already inside the restaurant. They were sitting at chairs, eating at a normal-sized table, with shoes on.

I thought maybe I caught a lucky break and we were at a different restaurant than the one where the process of hunkering down was the only option.

But as our name was called, my hopes were soon dashed. We worked our way towards the back of the restaurant where a more traditional setting soon filled my space. Sure enough, shoes were off and the three others with me were soon crossing their legs and getting comfortable under the table about two feet off the ground.

Our friend and host told us that her father knew the owner of the restaurant, which is why we got special treatment to go to the back of the where the dining was done from the ground. Apparently, it was a status thing to get to eat sitting on the floor.

What a lucky break!

I knew I was in for a tough dinner. But it smelled amazing, and looked amazing. So off with the shoes, I gingerly made my way to the floor.

I knew my legs would never make it. There was no way I could sit there for an extended amount of time with my legs crossed.

I asked our host if it would be rude, or inappropriate, if I let one leg go straight and have it stick out into the aisle.

Her response wasn’t even a response. I could tell by the look on her face that sticking my leg out wasn’t going to fly. So I tucked it back in, and did my best to manage.

It was a hot pot restaurant, which means you cook your food at the table in a pot of broth that is warmed up by a flame at your table. I know flames don’t get hotter in some places on Planet Earth versus others, but I swear that broth would not get hot. Every minute…every second…as I watched the flame, that broth wasn’t getting to the appropriate temp.

But finally, the heat came and we were able to start cooking our meats and veggies. Then, tragedy struck. The flame went out.

Our host called one of the ultra-polite waitresses to our mini-table for some assistance. She got there, and it was a stretch for her to reach the burning unit. She leaned into my back as she stretched. She finally looked down at me, hoping for some assistance.

“Listen, dumb American. I’m going to need you to move a tad.” 

She didn’t say that, but I read her eyes, and that’s what they seemed to say.

I looked back up at her with pleading eyes of my own. If she could read American faces, this is what I was thinking: “Ma’am, I can’t feel my lower extremities. I simply cannot move.”

And I wasn’t kidding. I couldn’t move. My butt was numb, and I’d lost all feeling in my legs and feet earlier in the meal.

I stuck it out as long as I could. Just short of an hour into the experience, I finally broke down, and I let our host know that I was waving the white flag.

“I know this is probably very rude, but I have to stand up,” I told her. “But the upside is, you’re all in for a real treat watching me try and get up.”

But I did finally make it up after a few stumbles and grunts. I walked to the front of the restaurant, back into the tiny street with all of the amazing architecture.

My dinner party finished up, and I was more than grateful to pay the bill. 

Two hours later, I got the feeling back into my legs. It was a price I was willing to pay for a fantastic meal and an experience I’ll never forget.