Thanksgiving Day

As the holidays are upon us again, some say it can be a difficult time to be on foreign soil and be so far away from what's familiar. I don't doubt that in the slightest. Thanksgiving is such a day to celebrate connections with family and to relive past moments with loved ones through shared time, familiar tastes, and comforting foods. One reason this holiday is so cherished in America is, in part, because of the foods served on that special day, foods that we've come to expect and come to put enormous effort into. Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving, for example, is so hilarious to us because it's the opposite of our expectations. Snoopy serves up some scrumptious toast, pretzel sticks, jelly beans, and popcorn to the guests gathered 'round the dinner table--any kid's dream meal, for sure!--and yet, Peppermint Patty isn't satisfied. "Where's the turkey, Chuck?" she asks. "Don't you know anything about Thanksgiving dinners?" She gets upset just as an expatriot might at such a time; I'm tempted to ask the same thing. "Where's the turkey, Korea? Don't you know anything about Thanksgiving dinners?"

On a day that should be full of familiarity, so much is foreign: When I should be on holiday, I find myself at work, conducting classes like normal. When I should be eating a special meal, I feed myself a simple lunch at the office. When I should be with family, I have plans to go back to my apartment and eat dinner alone. "Happy Thanksgiving," Andy told us this afternoon as we planned for another day of teaching. That's it? Just "Happy Thanksgiving"? No celebration? No decorations? No pumpkin pie? No change in routine? Is there nothing at all that resembles Thanksgiving? Sitting at the end of the day, however, I am gratefull to conclude that it wasn't "just another day." I may have had to work, yes, but I've found that the day could be special through other ways; I found a piece of something familiar at dinner tonight. Brandon had suggested we have dinner out as a way to celebrate Thanksgiving together. His idea beat my plan to be by myself, so I was totally up for it. Andy mentioned a few favorite restaurants of ours, but Brandon wanted a place we hadn't tried. He said we should have barbequed chicken, since Koreans don't really have turkey. After unsuccessfully looking for a chicken place, David, Andy, Brandon, and I settled on barbequed duck instead. We ate at a place called "Sulph Duck," a classy restaurant just a few minutes away from our school.

The tables were about shin-high, in traditional Korean style, just tall enough to put your legs underneath if you were sitting on the floor. We left our shoes at the door, in a bookshelf used specifically for that purpose. We sat on dark leather pillows that resembled Western seat cushions without the annoying ties in the back. Our table itself had a large circle cut out in the middle with metal groves inset in the space left behind, the place where the pot of scalding wood chips, Korea's barbeque pit, would go. The ceiling had metal piping running along it with vertical pipes extending down to each table past eye-level; these were the exhaust pipes, I was told. Imagine the amount of smoke generated by a pit like that at every table! First they brought out the fixin's: kimchi (of course, a staple side dish), coarse salt, wasabi-soybean sauce, black bean paste, sliced garlic, raddish slices, vinegar-soaked cucumbers, lettuce (to wrap the meat in), and shredded cabbage with drizzled wasabi-mustard. Then they brought the chopped duck and grilled it right before our eyes.

As another side dish, they had something that I didn't think I'd like: a shredded cabbage with some sort of pinkish dressing smothered on top of it. Andy had warned me before about eating the cabbage salad at another restauarant, so I was planning to avoid it. During the meal, however, at more of Andy's advice, I decided to have a bit of it wrapped up in the lettuce with the meat. The cabbage tasted oddly familiar. When I tried it alone, I understood why. "Remember what I was telling you about," I asked David. "About cole slaw? This is it!" It reminded me of the sweet slaw that my grandma makes--I had found southern-tasting cole slaw in a far away place like Chungju! I ate the whole plate and my companions asked if I wanted more. "I'm good," I said. I sat there savoring the familiar taste, remembering my dear, sweet family. I thought about the other sensations from the meal as well: the smell of wood burning; cucumbers that tasted like sweet pickles; and juicy, smoked meat. It all reminded me of real Texas barbeque, as if I were enjoying the familiar tastes of home. I couldn't have asked for a better Thanksgiving than that!

Tonight, I am thankful for the support of my family and my friends who have been gracious enough to permit me to leave on this grand adventure. I am ever grateful for an employer who pays me enough to live on my own. And I am especially grateful to a God who has supplied all my needs and continues to pour out His rich mercy. It has been a Happy Thanksgiving indeed!