It feels like 11pm. It's really only 7 or 8, but it feels like 11. Work has been a nightmare and I have spent the past week coming in early to rewrite a 200+ page multi-client report worth at least $50,000 in four days. I sag into the booth, stare into the pickled broccoli, and listen to Kelly ramble about salt. "It's the reason China was able to build the Great Wall They had a monopoly on salt and iron which was needed to process salt This actually allowed people to start raising cattle and horses domestically in the first place..."
The waiter returns with miso soup and two stone bowls. They remind me of the metal and wood steaming platters that keep fajitas warm. The bowls are huge and filled with rice, vegetables, and a half-cooked egg arranged on the top. I break the egg and let the yoke color the rice. Kelly's ramblings have turned into some strange cousin of scat.
"I'm sorry, hon'. What'd you say?" I ask him. "It's bibobop," he repeats. "I'm sorry, what?" "Bi-bim-bap. Bibimbap." He scrapes the rice crusting along the inside of the bowl and mixes it so the rest has a chance to turn into crunchy sheets. "It's Korean comfort food." I shovel some into my mouth, careful not to burn myself on the bowl. Despite the strange name and presentation, it might be the most normal thing I have eaten with Kelly. (It's essentially fried rice from the local Chinese Take-out.)
"You should write more about my birthday," he says, a little miffed I haven't explained the bone marrow story in more detail. "I don't know, Kel," I say and stab at a zucchini. "It's sort of in the past." "Well, David Sedaris writes in the past." I don't argue and wonder what the brown tendril is that I have wrapped around my chopstick. It's almost vegetable in appearance, but I've learned that you can't really ask questions in Chinatown. (Well you can, but the answers aren't what you want to hear.)
My first "weird food" incidence was going for dim sum in Chinatown with Samantha, Sean, and their friend Ashley. The walls were blood red and covered with gilded mirrors. The tanks were filled with live fish and waiters ( I suppose you could call them that) pushed their carts between tables. The four of us were the only people in the entire restaurant that were not Asian. Sean had been several times before, so I trusted him when he picked out rice balls wrapped in lotus leaves. "What's this?" I asked him, pointing to the meat inside the rice ball. Sean shrugged and continued to shovel tripe into his mouth with glee. I decided not to ask any further questions when a cart went by with phoenix claws.
If dim sum was my formal announcement, then Kelly's birthday was my debutant ball of weird food. Going to Evie's restaurant, we sat at the bar and picked at cheese platters, duck, and sweetbread. "It's cow thymus," Kelly says as the bartender puts down the plate. It looks like a giant hushpuppy soaked in gravy and sprinkled with peas. "Grammy always says that you can't say you don't like it if you don't try it." I finish my glass of something pink (I assume it was a rose, but Kelly has pointed out mistakes in past posts) and scoop out a bite with my fork. It's softer and spongier than what I expected. The gravy is super savory and sharp, cutting through the strange texture of the sweetbread. I manage to eat it without freaking out, but think twice for going in again and decide to stick with the duck.
A few more glasses and Kelly and I go off alone to get drinks. This begins the infamous "Bone Marrow Incident". Taking a taxi, we take the first seats empty at the bar and I let Kelly's friend (he knows EVERYONE) make us cocktails that have as much liquor in them as a Long Island. "I'll also get an order of fries and the bone marrow," Kelly says. The words "bone marrow" are said as if they were some luxurious treasure...the Tut's tomb of food. His order comes with the bones arranged in a neat row, a pile of cut baguette pieces set up artfully behind them. "You have to try it," Kelly said and spooned some of the marrow straight from the bone onto a slice of bread. I've never been a hungry drunk (sometimes I'll snack, but I never had a "I must EAT!" moment), but I remembered Grammy's advice and copied his movements with only a little hesitation. The marrow was good, but reminded me too much of a savory jello. It had a grainy texture and taken straight from the bone was a little too ghoulish for my inebriated mind to grasp.
"So what do you think?" Kelly asks me about the bibimbap. I pop the brown tendril into my mouth carelessly, relieved it's a vegetable of some kind. "It really is Korean comfort food," I tell him.
No comments:
Post a Comment