Eating out with Gomsaem

I think I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I may have offended one of the English teachers at the high school when I didn’t remember his name when he called me. For the sake of this post, we’ll call him Gomsaem (Bear Teacher), which is his common moniker at school and partially to blame for my confusion about what his name actually was.

Well, he hadn’t talked to me for a while, and I began to genuinely worry that I had actually offended him. Finally, last Tuesday, I told Phoebe (I gave my co-teacher this English name) about my concern. She assured me that he was naturally a quiet teacher and that everyone was quite busy with preparing for the Kangwondo Board of Education’s visit later that week, so I should not be concerned. I told her that I hoped that was the case because I liked him and would like to hang out with him some more. As I noted before, we seemed to have common interests, namely Japanese popular culture (i.e. Anime).

She must have told him about my concern though, because that evening as soon as I got home I received a call from Gomsaem offering to take me out for bulgogi, Korean’s most famous dish and a hamlet specialty as the beef in the region is particularly good, but a dish of which I had not yet had the pleasure of partaking. We also shared a bottle of 100 year soju, a soju which is less intense, more flavorful, and golden in color compared to the clear watered down vodka variety that is Korea’s staple alcohol. He even told me that I didn’t have to use two hands around him when we poured drinks for each other. This is a fairly big deal and represents the breakdown of hierarchy between two people who may then talk to each other as equals. As an example of how serious this is, I’ve only had one other Korean person tell me to stop using two hands before.

We mostly just talked about the differences in drinking culture between America and Korea. Apparently, this conversation was good enough to warrant second round, however. (NOTE: Second round is when you move from one location to another during the evening. Drinking is usually involved as with most Korean activities, but this is not to be equated with the custom of barhopping in America, during which one only frequents a variety of drinking establishments. Second, third, or even fourth round can just mean everyone goes to a noraebang (singing room) or bowling after having had the previous round.) We ended up at a hof-soju establishment (hof, meaning beer which is not the Korean word for beer nor the English word) and continued the evening from there under the stipulation that I would pay for it since he paid for dinner. (He warned me that’d it’d be expensive, but considering what we consumed—about seven or nine beers between us and an order of chicken—I don’t think $19 was too much money to spend.) Here the conversation moved from American/Korean cultural differences to more political topics—war and abortion really, and which was more abhorrent. (Those who know me can guess where I stood on each issue.) It was actually the first time I’d had a frank discussion on either topic for quite some time, perhaps since even before going to University. Oh, and luckily the Koreans share this custom with the Japanese; whatever is shared over drinks is immediately forgotten the next day. We’re still friends despite our differences. What differences, you ask? Exactly.

Phoebe asked me the next day with a knowing smile whether or not I still thought Gomsaem didn’t like me. It is good to be among friends.