Beautiful Soup?

So I am wrapping up my first few weeks here in South Korea, the land of the morning calm, or the Empire of Han.  The name of Korea in Korean is apparently up for debate.  In North Korea it is Choson, which is land of the morning calm, and in the south it is Hanguk (Han-gook), the country or empire of Han.  This brings us to where I’m from, I’m Miguk (Mee-gook) or American, or a literal translation Beautiful Country.  However, in Korean, country is more commonly ‘nara’, and ‘guk’ is soup; which means Miguk (America) could be translated as Beautiful Soup, which I guess is somewhat fitting, since we call ourselves a mixing pot.  So, in the kitchen that is America, we throw in a little of ‘your tired, your poor, your huddled masses’ simmer them in amber waves of grain, beneath purple mountain majesty and spacious skies, and end up with a beautiful soup of culture that is all American. 

Back in Korea, they do love their soup and eat it every meal of the day, from their morning calm to dinner, the staples of every meal are soup, rice and kimchi - a fermented and spicy cabbage.  In addition to those staples, I must also mention Soju, the national liquor.  You might be thinking “What is Soju?” And I’m glad you asked, because that just makes the next statistic even more impressive.  Soju is the highest-selling alcohol in the world.  The Jinro brand sold 61 million cases to beat out the world’s number two liquor, Smirnoff Vodka, which only sold 24 million cases.  AND, coming in at number three was another soju brand at 23 million cases!  So combined, they beat out Smirnoff by over three times the sales.  That is a lot of drinking done mostly by 50 million South Koreans.  Tonight, I’m trying to share in the glory by drinking my ‘white russian’ with soju instead of vodka.  Now the question is, would that make it a white Korean, or am I the white Korean?  Or, should I put down the soju, because it is some powerful stuff, and this line of thought is getting a little too deep.

In addition to Soju, Koreans are also starting to drink coffee.  However, in their fast-paced life they don’t seem to have time for the slow drip, and prefer the speed of instant coffee.  They even sell it with cream and sugar all in one handy single-serve satchel.  I, however, prefer the real bean experience and spent several days shopping for a coffee maker, and then a few more days looking for real ground coffee instead of crystals. 

I finally popped into the coffee shop just up the street from my apartment where the smell of the roasting coffee was wafting into the street.  Inside, I found two coffee chemists behind the counter meticulously monitoring the controls and temperature gauges on the computerized roaster, and taking occasional bean samples to measure the roasting progress.  The only thing they were missing were lab coats, which they had substituted with coffee house sweaters. 

On the counter were test tubes with slow, cold ‘Dutch coffee’ drips running for the coffee drinkers that don’t drink it for the caffeine.  Apparently it is the heat that releases the caffeine in coffee, so brewing the Dutch coffee with cold water leaves it with very low caffeine content.  Yeah, I don’t see the point to caffeine-free coffee either, but they bottle the Dutch coffee in wine bottles, for the sophisticated drinker, and it’s a bit of a thing here. 

Anyway, lining the walls of the coffee shop were large plastic bins and burlap bags filled with fresh coffee beans from around the world, awaiting roasting by the coffee technicians at work behind the counter.  In short, this place takes coffee seriously. 

Just inside the door, they have a book case of small-batch coffees with names like Gentleman, Geisha, Tchembe, Panama Diamond Mountain, along with a few I actually recognized.  I asked one of the chemists what he’d recommend for a French Press, and he went into a ten-minute monologue arguing the pros and cons of a few choices and finally settled on the Tchembe.  Bear in mind that in most shops where I had looked for a coffee maker, the word “French Press” and my best charades impression got me nothing more than quizzical looks; but here, it got me a coffee thesis.  Unfortunately, it was in Korean.  I was in luck however, because the label listed flavor notes in English: Dried Banana, Strawberry, Spicy, Heavy. 

Banana?  Strawberry?! What have I gotten myself into?  I thanked him for the advice and continued to browse the shelf reading the flavor notes for something a little less daring, and suggesting a darker roast.  As I narrowed my search, the only other patron sitting at the counter chimed in to ask if I had understood anything from the recommendation.  And he asked me in English, so I now had a translator on the coffee safari.  After some discussion, I decided to try the ‘Gentlemen,’ which said it had notes of caramel.  And, after a little more discussion to explain that I did realize it was not a tasting room, and I would have to pay for the drink, I sat down to watch the coffee-making performance. 

The barista began by pouring hot water back and forth from one kettle to another, extending his arms to extend the pour, either for show, or to aerate, or maybe even cool the water to the right temperature.  Whichever the case, he was happy with the results and next, he poured some in the coffee pot to warm it, and then poured it out.  Then, he carefully dampened the filter, before adding the grinds and beginning the slow-pour brewing.  After he finished brewing, he sampled two small shots to check the quality before pouring a cup for me and my translator at the bar.  I didn’t dare ask for cream or sugar.

My first choice was nice, but had a bit of an acidic finish, so I decided to try the Tchembe that he had recommended.  After another preparation performance, I found it had a cleaner finish and, possibly due to the power of suggestion, I could actually taste a hint of strawberry.  After an hour of sipping and chatting with my new translating friend, I thanked the coffee chemist crew and headed home with a bag of fresh ground Tchembe goodness.