The Oyster

In 1999 a spark happened. Korean Garden in Junction City, Kansas. My National Guard unit, the 744th Transportation Company was running special missions with our trucks. It seems that the military, during Desert Storm had made one of the most shocking decisions of the entire conflict, by which I mean they forced us (surprisingly not at gunpoint) to pressure wash our army trucks and trailers in saltwater. In the years that followed, not surprisingly to anyone breathing air, the trucks were categorically rusting out and were catching fire and electronically shorting out due to widespread corrosion in the electrical systems. 

 

8 years later, the state of NH found a shop in Saginaw, TX to refit the tractors and a maintenance company at Fort Riley Kansas to refit the trailers. 60 trucks and 122 trailers needed transporting. After a long day of driving from northern Texas, we arrived at Fort Riley, Kansas in the afternoon and changed into civilian clothes. We called a taxi to take us into Junction City just a few miles outside of the post. Riley had seen better days. Now, looking like a ghost town as we arrived on the main strip in Junction City, where a depressed plethora of restaurants awaited our scrutiny. The Failed Clinton Administration had closed many once-bustling bases and reduced the local economy the income of a 13-year-old paperboy. The conditions of the restaurants only proved that point. 

 

The taxi that picked us up should have earned us medals for bravery. A near-blind 50 something troll-like woman driving a 1989 Chevrolet Celebrity station wagon that was obviously lacking adequate exhaust and brakes came to bring us into town. There were probably 9 of us jammed into this thing. Even worse was that she drove it like an enduro car clearly oblivious to the fact that the car was a death trap. She dropped us off on the strip and we were thankful none of us died or even messed ourselves. 

 

We set off on a journey that took us into one restaurant after another. They all failed somehow. One might have a menu that did not appeal to the mass of us. Another may have revealed a less than clean kitchen which was seen when a door opened. Another the carpets smelled like mildew and dog and of carpet fresh. We came to a sports bar kind of place that served typical bar food, burgers, fries, wings, etc. It was there we lost 3 of our posse. We continued on and within minutes we came upon a very small and modest building that housed a simple family Korean restaurant called the Korean Garden. Our group contained two contrasting "Wayne's". One of them I would have expected to have stayed at the sports bar. The other Wayne knew Korean food well because when he was on active duty, he was a colonel's driver in South Korea. This colonel LOVED Korean food, so he ate "on the economy". (A phrase used when you are on military duty but you eat your meals at local restaurants instead of in a mess hall or military rations). So other Wayne KNEW Korean food.  With the exception of one of us, no one knew what we should order. Fortunately, there was "other Wayne" to explain it to us. We all ordered.  It was evident in the gleam in other Wayne's eyes when he smiled and said, "man! you guys just ordered a crazy amount of food!", we were in for an experience.

 

The restaurant was simple, clean, and family-owned. No gratuitous decorations. Just simple with white linen table cloths and a nice atmosphere. Today I find it odd, looking back other than the bulgogi and rice and maybe some pork belly, I cannot tell you what I ate. But there is only one way to describe this moment in my life.  Anthony Bourdain described his first oyster as the most formidable firsts of his entire life.  That the one first time is what opened the door to every other firsts in his life. This moment, as he described it was, "there was no turning back. The genie was out of the bottle."

 

The six of us all shared our food around the table, family-style. We all could taste everything and in that a festive mood filled the room.  Little did we know, except for "other Wayne" that we were caught in the historic spirit of the the food which was the humble celebration of life.  A people who were starving, down-trodden and poor had endeavored to persevere and in doing so, were blessed so richly for their efforts.

 

Not a single one of us was disappointed. In fact, we were walking on air. This was evident when my friend, Wayne (the first one mentioned) who is a straight-up meat and potatoes man exclaimed with pride as though he had just took the champion title of Fear Factor,  " Mikie, I ate rice!" 

 

For me, I did not know it, but that day became a subliminal atomic bomb detonated in my DNA. Those moments in life are the most amazing to me because we cannot be sure if at that moment we were changed forever or if we just suddenly began to find out who we are. I did not know it was happening, but like a powerful undercurrent in which nothing can resist, I was drifting in that, there was no escaping it.

 

 In the fall of 2000, I was recovering from back surgery, I downloaded Korean recipes by night and cooked by day. Despite my culinary infancy which often led to flavor imbalance, I did not even think of giving up. Like Clapton's, "Have You Ever Loved a Woman" I could not leave it alone. Even 16 years later, I am discovering absolute continents of self-understanding. I know this sounds so dramatic. But I am not kidding! I get it now! I was attached to Korean food before I could truly understand what it really means for my life and existence. Like a pregnant mom craves iron-rich food when she is anemic, I have a fire burning in me and did not know why. The prize though is much deeper than I knew. How could food be so deep? The Koreans got it right. It took a wonderful woman with a cooking YouTube channel named Emily Kim (a.k.a. Maangchi) to help me begin to understand. I promise to explain that very soon. It will all make sense soon, because it is starting to make sense to me.