Travelogue: Part Two

(Again, this post has been presented pretty much as it was written. I'm quite pleased with this one, in actual fact, so if you do get a laugh out of it let me know!)


Well, I just figured out how it is that my universal, right-round-the-world plug adaptor actually works, so that means my laptop is up and running and that means I'm back to work. 'Work' being a relative term, being as I'm cruising at 33,000 feet in comfort aboard a Korean airlines aircraft. Economy really isn't as bad as it used to be, judging by the shiny screens, the movie selection and the insistence of the in-flight advertisments (I still have the urge to think of them as propaganda, thanks, Doctor Steel). That means it's time for the thrilling second installment of Troy's travels!

Bibimbap. I learned about something new in the world of cuisine just now. I'm not really a fussy eater by any means, most that know me will attest to the fact, but I have to admit that I do much prefer when my food is actually cooked. When I can readily identify the constituent ingredients with a quick glance at the plate you're not necessarily turning me off, but I like to know that heat was, at some point, applied to my meal. I'll let you know what a bibimbap is, though. You take a bowl. Into that you throw some shredded green thing, some diced white thing which is potentially onion, a second green thing which is neatly sliced and something brown which I think is masquerading as some kind of meat replacement. To throw on top of that you're given a little container of steamed rice which has been thoughtfully permitted to cool and go sticky, along with a small sachet of seasame oil and some hot sauce in a little tube.

I do say 'throw on top' due to the fact that this is a Construct Your Own Meal adventure brought to you by the ingenuity of Korean Airlines, and after the initial gleeful mania of hurling everything I don't recognize into a bowl and giving it a quick mash with your fork wears off, you're left with something that looks like someone who had a serious grudge against vegetables attacked them with... well, hot sauce and some rice. This wouldn't upset me nearly half as much were it not for the way that bibimbap were presented to me in the first place.

"Excuse me, sir, the options for the meal tonight are beef or bibimbap."

Not wanting to push the boat out too far on my first venture into Korean cuisine without at least some forewarning, I put on my best smile and answered, "I'll have the beef, please."

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir, but we have run out of beef."

Korean girl, your uniform is pressed very nicely and your smile is sincere, but you can't possibly be serious about how that conversation just took place. I struggle. Under ordinary circumstances I'd ask why, but I know very well the answer. Every passenger aboard with a passport that isn't green had the same idea as me. I want to explain to the stewardess that presenting this to me as an option is roughly on par with what my mother used to do with me when I was a child. Present to me the illusion of choice before deciding on a course of action and politely informing me of it. This bugged me sixteen years ago and it bugs the hell out of me now, too.

Very carefully, trying to ignore the potential for a flashback, I return the stewardess' smile as best I'm able. "Sorry, so, uh... what are the options?"

"Beef or bibimbap."

"But there's no beef."

"That's right, sir, I'm sorry."

It wouldn't matter at this point if Bibimbap was an eight foot tall amazon slathered in barbeque sauce carrying a bottle of tequila in one hand and a basket of limes in the other. What I want, now, completely irreconcilable with reality, is the beef. The stewardess is smiling at me, still, in the zeptosecond it's taken me to try and force this grim fact on my now attentive stomach. Beef? it wonders aloud, giving me a quick tickle to remind me of its presence. We like bee-WHAT. I've just heard from up top. Is this shit true?

Yes, it's true. The options are beef-or-bibimbap-but-there-is-no-beef.

I'm starting to wonder if I'm not being set up. Is this a proving ground for comedy material? Is Eddie Izzard lurking somewhere to jot down my reaction? "Is there anything else?" I ask, still smiling the rictus of a man preparing himself for a second sucker punch.

"The only other option is the bibimbap, sir."

That's that, then. I cast my vote like a Russian at the polls. "I'll have the bibimbap, please."

The service is quick and there is wine. I prepare my tray for the meal laid out in front of me and inspect it as it arrives. There's a chance, at least, that there's something good still available somewhere on this place. I can't readily identify any of this, though! I unwrap my fork and spoon to start digging apprehensively around the outskirts of this unlikely meal. Hell, I'd even settle for an eight inch amazon at this point, but she's not to be found and any promises of the tequila with her quickly evaporate. Damn. There's a glimmer of hope, however! To the right hand side of my tray is something gently steaming, something that's been prepared - or even just microwaved - and presented to me as a hot option. God, thank you, there's a chance. Has there been a mistake? Is this both bibimbap and beef on the same tray?

It doesn't take long to inspect the foil and dash my hopes. Seaweed soup. Now, before you turn your nose up and cringe at the mention of it, I've never had seaweed soup. I know that it's a staple of many diets in asia and the pacific, so I lift my shoulders in a figurative shrug and decide I might as well hedge my bets. Get the hot food in me first to improve my mood and then tackle trying to graze on the unruly hodge-podge of miscellaneous forestry that's been arrayed in front of me.

Seaweed soup tastes about as good as you'd expect something called seaweed soup to taste. I make a little 'smek smek smek' face with my lips and give it a chance. It promptly decides that this is its chance to make a full assault on my tastebuds. I am not subject to the Operation Overlord of taste invasions. Okay, I can deal with that. I'm not even getting the US invasion of Grenada over here, so, okay, I've got to set my standards a little lower. Perhaps the Korean people are used to things being very bland? I don't know. I'm a foreigner to their land and customs and increasingly their cuisine. I push my tongue to the roof of my mouth on a manhunt for the flavour of seaweed soup and what I get back is a few tertiary reports from tastebuds long thought lost on a mission to the Plains of Bland. I had hoped for a full-scale thermonuclear war on my senses. I got two guys in a squad car.

I put the seaweed soup aside and focussed on the bibimbap. It came with hot-... shit. SHIT! I just realised as I write this that I had a small tube of pepper sauce available to smear over the bibimbap. Why didn't I think to put that in my seaweed soup?! Shit! That's fucking genius! Damn. I'm going to have real trouble letting that go. Damn.

Alright. The bibimbap. It actually came with instructions! Our row of three was given a small card instruction sheet for how to successfully orient the food in your bowl without looking like a complete and total fuck up. Here, I took a picture of it for you all.

Doesn't it look appetising? That doesn't look remotely like a bowl of chunder, does it? Of course not! Sick would at least be warm! I'm staring down at the monstrosity I've unleashed with a few deft swipes of my fork and preparing to steel myself for the moment I know has to come. I'm hungry. I'm not going to eat for another ten hours. It's beef. It's beef. It came from a cow and has been thoroughly mistreated at the hand of an expert chef who was brought down from his hermitage atop the Himalayas by a team of sherpas and one plucky alpaca with the sole intent of producing something that I will find palatable. Don't worry, Troy. Bibimbap is greasy, uneven and cold - not even properly cold, but the half-chilled of food left unattended long enough to lose its heat from the oven. This is beef. This is everything you wanted. Take your fork, tuck in, take a mouthful. Savour what the ancient art of a hermit chef long thought lost to the world has wrought.

Bibimbap tastes like shit.

If all that build up made you expect some more grand explanation of what I had to eat, ask yourself, are you disappointed? If you are, you're a fraction of the way closer to understanding what I had to endure at that first mouthful of my first exposure to Korean cuisine. It tastes like leftovers out of the fridge. Cold, a little formless after you've stirred it into the bowl to try and kick the flavour awake, but just inoffensive enough as a result that you're left desperating wanting a reason to really kick back and unleash the fury on this stuff. I'm not even scarred by the experience. Just deflated.

The stewardess brought me a beer, though. I'm not too upset about that. I'm trying to read the writing on the can and I just can't shake the feeling that it looks like the 'hieroglyphics' from Futurama. I am enjoying this beer. I think the first thing I do when I get off the plane in New Zealand is head to a bakery and get myself a pie.

You can guess what kind.