I enter Choi Go Jip, a Korean restaurant on Street 360 effusively recommended by savvy friends. It’s still early, not even 10:30 in the morning, and the restaurant is predominantly empty. The place makes me feel a little uneasy: the bare walls, wide corridors, frail light seeping through large windows. It’s all too diaphanous for my taste. Too cold. Quite fitting for such a meeting, perhaps?
I sit at a table encased in waist-high wooden planks – a grill pit occupies the centre, akin to typical Korean gogi gui – and anxiously await my companion’s arrival. After a couple of minutes, a tall, bald man, brandishing a despicable goatee, enters the restaurant. He takes a seat in front of me.
To ease the tension I order a bottle of makgeolli ($6), a rice alcoholic beverage. It’s delicious. In fact, it is so good that I gulp three bowls on the spot. Its sweet, refreshing flavour goes down with extreme ease. He chugs a bowl then slams it hard against the table.
We each order a large bowl of bibimbap ($7) and decide to share the LA ribs ($15). I ask God for that to be the only thing we share today. The waitress removes the cover and carefully places the meat onto the grill as another waitress places myriad pickled side dishes along the table, creating a kaleidoscopic effect. You have everything from fermented soybeans to kimchi pancakes. Armed with scientific curiosity, I dive in, sampling each one.
They are all savoury and spicy.
As the meat sizzles on the grill, a mouthwatering aroma caresses our nostrils. I dig in first. I pick up a piece with chopsticks and bring it to my mouth. It’s tender and delicious. My companion follows suit and stuffs some meat and kimchi into a lettuce wrap, bringing the entire thing to his mouth. He bites into it and an expression of pure bliss takes over his roguish visage. As I watch him, I have a frightful epiphany: only self-centred, hedonistic bastards are capable of experiencing such profound elation.
Bibimbap is my favorite Korean dish, served in the traditional, piping hot earthenware pot, and the one placed in front of me does not disappoint. Maybe I have had more flavourful MSG-enhanced versions, but this one is great; light, fresh and with no unnecessary oil. The burnt rice stuck to the bottom is irresistible.
Not a word is spoken as we devour the amazing Korean spread. The silence only heightens the tension, now a thick ether filling the empty space between us. I finish chewing, swallow, and look him in the eye. It’s time to talk business. ‘Why are you back, Lucio?’ His face contorts into a smirk. “Unfinished business, my friend.”
I keep my poker face, reach for some more meat and stuff it into the lettuce. ‘Lucio, I just hope you aren’t still thinking about last summer.’
To be continued…
Choi Go Jip, #31 Street 360; 023 964 112