Retirement Ceremony and Korean BBQ

Two of the teachers at my school are retiring and with only five minutes remaining until quitting time last Friday, my co-teacher inquired if I would sing during their formal retirement ceremony the following Monday. It wasn't her idea to ask. Apparently she was put up to it by one of the music instructors who incorrectly assumed that the English song she chose would be best suited for the one person who could comprehend its meaning. Earlier in my tenure, I may have considered it as a ballsy way to try and fit in, but I have grown comfortable enough in my status among peers to convey my unwillingness to humiliate myself without the slightest amount of guilt. I believe my exact words were "I'd rather cut off one of my fingers." The tone of my declaration, combined with the universal sign of digit mutilation must have come across clearly, because I didn't hear anything else about it until I walked into our school's auditorium Monday afternoon late for the start of the ceremony. I decided to wait out in the hallway until the South Korean national anthem had finished thinking it would be tacky to barge in like the clumsy foreigner I am. Of course the only seat that remained open was in the front row.

The ceremony was more formal than what I would imagine an American elementary teacher retirement party of store bought cake and punch would be. The two teachers- one of which is my good friend and yoga partner- sat facing the rest of the faculty behind a table decorated with flowers. The Vice Principal stood off to the side and listed each retiring teacher's bio- where they went to college, when they got married and what schools they taught at over the years. In Korea, teachers are required to change schools every four or five years so the bio ran longer even without the western tradition of personal anecdotes and inside jokes.

VP Breaks down the career highlights.

Next our Principal (and only other male at my school) said a few words at a center podium and presented the teachers with boxed gifts. I could only make out one of the three- a heavy glass award.

The Principal hands out awards. Notice the color banner in the background. Those things can't be cheap, and yet they print them for every function.

After that one of the teachers read something that she had penned specifically for this occasion over music. It must have been a touching tribute because many of the teachers dabbed at their eyes with tissue. I sat struggling to stay awake.

When the applause from the reading had faded a group of eight flutists stepped forward accompanied by a violinist and a pianist. All of the musicians are fellow teachers. First they played a song that my co-teacher has since taken to humming every vacant second, and then they played along with a choir of a half dozen. My principal picked up the slack for me and belted out the opening solo.

Neither cake, nor punch was served, but after a group photo, we all departed for my school's favorite Korean barbecue joint across town. I have been to this particular restaurant at least a half dozen times. The first time Sami and I were invited by one of my co-worker's husbands who I exchange clumsy e-mails with. Each subsequent time (about 5 in all) has been for a school function. The location is chosen for its ability to accommodate a large group, but the food never disappoints.

The best part about barbecue in Korea, or any restaurant really, is that you don't have to wait longer than five minutes for your meal. The long, communal table is covered with plates of side dishes, and you are encouraged to reach across your neighbor and plunge your chopsticks in at will.

There are two sets of barbecue pits evenly carved into the tables and filled with fire hot coals shaped like rustic wood logs. A simple metal grate is placed over the pit and marinated meat (in our case pork rib) is set on the grate. One person at the table is in charge of turning the meat and cutting it into bite size pieces with scissors. They must not think that foreigners have the mental capacity for such a task for every time I try to grab the tongs and scissors, one of the waitresses (ajumas) grabs them from me and frantically begins cutting- leaving me small pieces as if I were a toddler. Each person builds their own lettuce wrap with one piece of meat, onions, spicy bean paste, garlic and maybe some kimchi and rice. The proper method is to wrap it all up and shove it into your mouth in one bite.

A few of the side dishes up close. Fried fish in a pork cutlet sauce (so good I ate all of it and it was supposed to be shared), a water kimchi and soft tofu.

Lettuces for wraps

Our first meal out in Korea was barbecue and all of the staff and patrons stared at us in horror as we nibbled at our wraps. I thought that there was no way they could expect me to put the huge ball of lettuce, meat and rice into my mouth all at once. This must be some sick joke they play on foreigners, I thought.

Mmm. Fire meat.

Now I don't think twice about shoving it all in and accept the stream of water and grease down my wrist and mouth corners as an authentic side effect. I have even grown accustomed to sitting cross legged on the floor during my meal. I used to last only ten minutes until both legs and butt cheeks fell asleep. Now its 20.

My favorite part of the meal comes at the end, after the meat has been devoured. For "dessert" we are served an ice cold bowl of skinny, buckwheat noodles in red pepper paste called naemyung. A year ago, you couldn't have talked me into this, but now, I couldn't think of a better ending to a meal. Except maybe cake and punch.

My favorite nangmyun. This is the mixed variety, but there is also one served in a cold broth.