Cooking in Korea: The Rice Cooker

As a welcoming gift, my school gracioulsy provided me with a brand new bright red rice cooker. This is a staple cooking instrument used in most households in Asian countries.  I was eager to try out this new cooking tool- having grown up in a typical North American household the only way I knew how to cook rice was the tried and tested stove top method.

As I unwrapped the device I noted that it appeared to be pretty basic. A non-stick metal pot set inside a plastic and metal casing attached to a plug. Seemed pretty simple to me. I took the liberty to leaf through the instructions- there was of course one teeny problem: the instructions were in Hangul.  I decided then that I would neatly package the cooker back up until I could figure out what buttons to press and how to actually use it.

The machine sat tucked away for months hidden in the cupboard.  It was only when I moved into my new pad that I decided I would face my steaming fears and attempt to make perfect rice. Step one was to do some research on the internet. I had to figure out how to work the machine  ( someone out there must have posted something on using a rice cooker for dummies). 

Feeling somewhat confident and armed with my larger than one person sized rice bag, I set to work. There was one green light and one red light.  Where I come from green means go, and so that's what I did. I threw the ingredients in and crossed my fingers that the machine would do what it it's meant to.

Thursday Attempt #1: Rice, water, lid down and green light on. 45 minutes and several snacks later- not even a boil.

Following attempt number one, I decided to return to the instruction manual, as though somehow the Korean letters would jump out at me and tell me what I was doing wrong. Having devoured most of the pantry while waiting for the rice to cook I figured the experimentation would have to wait for another dinner.

Saturday Attempt#2: Rice, water, lid down and red light on. 20 minutes and too much water later- soggy rice.

Having seen a little steam, I figured I may have been on the right track. Attempt number three would just have to wait another day. 

Sunday Attempt #3: Rice, water, lid down and red light on. 20 minutes and some steam- perfect rice.

I did it! Cooked rice in a rice cooker! Perfect rice! I discovered though that first using a foreign cooking tool  requires patience, curiosity and a little trial and error. Now that I've mastered the rice I'm going to explore what else a rice cooker can be used for. I'll keep you posted if I'm able to create anything worth writing about.

Only the Lonely

I never expected to still be single at thirty. If you had asked me at sixteen, I  would have told you that by thirty (which was then considered very old),  I would have already paraded down the aisle swadlled in an elegant wedding gown, and  had a home filled with children by now.

There are days when the thoughts of being perpetually single plague and consume me. The rest of the time, I find myself eternally grateful for the years that have that passed on my own. Being single has awarded with me the time to wonder, dream and discover myself.

I've had the opportunity to really look within and figure out what I enjoy and truly love. Without the beckoning of a partner, with whom we often lose sight of ourselves- I've really plunged deep within to live a life I love.

When my insanely toxic relationship of four years finally came to an explosive end, the fear set in.  I wondered how I would ever be alone. I couldn't be alone. But slowly I began mending myself, working things out and found peace.

I've relished in  my alone time, knowing that one day I'll be thankful for the quiet time. I've rediscovered my passion for writing and creating. I've pursued my dreams. I've learned what I like and what I despise. I've found solace in writing, yoga-ing and meditation. I've found joy in cooking (eating) and as much as I fight  it some days- working out. I've committed to paper what I want to accomplish, where I want to go, what I want to do and what I really do want in a partner (I'm a perpetual list maker).

What I can tell you is that with all this alone time (especially during the week here in Korea)  the worry and fear begins to seep in, which eventually turns into minor panic. Have I been alone too long?  Are my expectations too high? Will I ever fall in love again (before I'm sixty)?

There was a time when the thought of being romantically involved caused a wrenching that I can  not quite explain. The thought of heart ache and pain threw me off. But it's been awhile now and  a little romance would be most welcome. I've felt with a certain authority that I've been ready to blend my love for life and a man for some time now. I'm ready to compliment my life. The problem is that he just hasn't shown up. Yet. 

Welcome to LAX

It's only taken me 5 months to realize that I landed at the wrong airport in August. I feel like I should have landed in L.A. given that I've found myself in a city full of vanity and cosmetic obsessions.The only thing that's missing is the blond hair and big boobs.

Korean women go everywhere and anywhere armed with three essential items. A pocket mirror, make-up and high heels. Everywhere I turn Korean women are decked out and dolled up. They turn up for a lazy Sunday coffee sporting the latest fashion trends and can be seen re-applying make-up while holding a latte. I've even  witnessed women hike mountains in stiletto's. I've never been in a culture so aesthetically obsessed.

There are days when I am envious. I wish I was able to leave the house having primed and pampered myself for hours before stepping one peep-toe pump out of the door. I just don't have the time or energy to primp that way before my day begins.

Don't get me wrong-- a week-end night out entails a lot of effort. The perfect blow dry; an extra swipe of blush and mascara. But some days, I just throw on my sneakers, pull my hair back into a  low pony tail and go. There are days when I only catch a quick glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Korean's aesthetic ideals are an obsession. Almost every woman I've met here has had some form of cosmetic surgery. Plastic surgery is rampant here. They tell me it is because if  you have a "flaw" it should be fixed. They pat their faces and stretch their necks a hundred times a day to prevent wrinkles. Korean women talk about rhinoplasty, face-lifts and plastic surgeries like North American's talk about the weather.

Some days it's hard to live in this society. Korea is such an image conscientious society and you can't help but feel less than adequate in your old blue jeans and runners as you walk about town. I'm beginning to wonder if these women have it right!?  Korean women are considered the most beautiful of all the Asian countries.  

I'm told that here in Korea, women have a small window of opportunity to catch a husband. This window usually lasts from 22-27 years. After 27, they are considered old and chances of securing a mate rapidly declines. My guess is that for the many still single Korean women in their twenties the only way to get a men to perk up is to be as atheistically pleasing as can be.

For now, I'm thankful that I have been blessed with good genes and that my age is masked most of the time. I'm also especially grateful that where I'm from- single women in their thirties aren't clawing their way through in search of the last few good men standing.   Although the pool may have dwindled  a little- I'm content as can be just the way I am, without any cosmetic alterations. 

Moving Day

One of the greatest things about being thirty is that I've learned through the years how to be assertive, ask for what I want and tell it like it is. There really is no harm asking- and I've learned that sometimes people actually say "yes". Of course, my way is to do it all with style, class and of course a smile. It's proved to be quite advantageous since being in Korea.

I recall when I first arrived, I made a bit of a fuss over the bed I was given. It was uneven, lumpy and lopsided actually! After a few days of gripes, I was told they were going to provide me with a new bed. Here in Korea, once a decision is made, they act swiftly and smoothly. Within an hour of them deciding that a new bed would be needed- it was purchased, delivered and set up within three hours. People move fast. They say Korea is dynamic- but I never expected to be blown away by how quickly some decisions are made. No hassles, no complaints, just done.

Having been borderline hypothermic for the past two weeks in my apartment, I've been expressing my utter dissatisfaction with the situation. A little griping goes a long way it seems! This morning I was informed that the administration has finally agreed to look at some new apartments for me (this of course was refused when I first saw the apartment 5 months ago). Here's how quick everything happens:

11:00 am Off to see some of the studio styles available near my school.
11:05 am Viewing of studio apartment #1
11:15 am Viewing of studio apartment #2
11:30 am Administration negotiates the lease
11:45 am settled on an apartment
12:00 pm confirmation that the apartment I liked would be mine
12:02 pm advised that I would be moving in 3 days
12:05 pm drive back to the apartment with 5 male teachers
12:10 pm male teachers deliberate, argue and sketch furniture placement
12:25 pm I'm given the apartment key and a few boxes

This timetable was not exaggerated in the least. That's really how quickly everything happens around here. I guess there really isn't any harm in asking and owe it all to the advantage of having lived and learned the right way to get what you really want!

Scrub, Scrub, Scrub

Having been chilled to the bone for a few days- I took matters into my hands and decided it was a good day to indulge in a public bath, otherwise known in Korea as the Jjimjilbang (gender segregated public bath house) If you've read some of my earlier posts- you'll know that making this decision doesn't come lightly!

The place was packed, as I suspected that others were of like mind, beating their weather woes with a good spa treatment. I took my time, enjoying the heat and relaxation. I enjoyed the steam room, jumping from the ice cold pool to hot whirlpool. I even indulged in the high jet massage pool. I felt relaxed and warm. A perfect week day afternoon.

Having spent about an hour savoring the the different pools- my eye caught sight of a woman heading in to a tiny room off to the side of the spa. She was escorted onto one of two massage tables lying side by side. I had heard of these scrub rooms, where Korean women frequently go to have an extreme exfoliation treatment. Women who work at the public baths, called ajuma's (Korean for Aunt) scrub you down.

I sat nervously in the whirlpool, desperately wanting to experience this scrub down for myself. After an internal fight with myself - I decided what the hell. Now or never. As I strutted my stuff across the pools, I glanced over at the lady getting scrubbed down. She appeared calm and relaxed as the ajuma scrubbed away. I stood there for a moment, and caught the ajuma's attention. She smiled as I pointed to my self and made circling scrubbing motions. She nodded her head and flashed her palm. The woman on the table briefly opened her eyes and in her broken English told me to wait a few minutes. As I scoped the scene, I had no idea of the cost, the duration or what to expect- the sign above was of course only in Korean.

My ajuma finally appeared, a petite curious looking woman wearing her bra and panties. She smiled and pointed towards the table. She asked me something in Korean and repeated again. I flicked my eyes towards the woman on the other table, hoping she could possibly translate. She pointed to her face and questioned if I wanted a facial treatment. With nothing to lose I nodded eagerly in agreement.

In silence, she tapped gently on my legs or arms to position me properly. As I lay face up on the table, she poured two pails of hot water over my body. A seaweed and fresh cucumber face mask was slathered on and away she went. She scrubbed every inch of my body. The process is repeated three times, with different products. The scrubbing was quite enjoyable actually. At one point during the treatment I heard her say something to the other ajuma. Slightly paranoid I wondered if she was talking about me? I know that I am the only Caucasian to have entered this public bath. I quickly let it go, and put my attention back into enjoying the treatment.

After applying a thick layer of lotion and exfoliater I was asked to sit up so she could scrub parts not previously covered. As I gently opened my eyes I observed that I was surrounded by piles of dead skin. I must have gasped and winced a little because my ajuma began to giggle. She nodded her head agreeing that the filth around me was in fact mine. I could not believe the amount of skin. I must have shed a least a few pounds. I knew I scrubbed myself- but this was unreal. No wonder Korean women go every second week to get a good scrub down. My skin never felt softer.

As the last rinse was completed, she slicked on a thick layer of body butter and told me to go rinse off. I was done! I felt so relaxed and clean. The whole treatment lasted an hour and fifteen minutes. As I showered up, patted dry and dressed I worried about where I paid for this and what the cost would be.

As I stepped out to collect my shoes- the lady scribbled the amount I owed on a piece of paper for me. The total cost was 15,000 won. That's roughly $14.00. I happily paid for the service, and as I left the building filled with glee- I knew this would become my new addiction.

Antarctica

Nothing screams home like a good snow storm. Feeling like we were in the Canadian Artic last week, Daegu had a hefty snowfall. The kind of snow that streams from the sky. Thick and fluffy. Just perfect for building snowmen and catching snowflakes.

Winter's first snow fall is just one of those things I love. My heart skips, and girlish giddyness washes over me. As I strolled home through the winterwonderland taking in the grey skies, the whipping cold and harsh winds I realized how these days are just the perfect setting to cuddle up inside, light a fire, brew a good cup of cocoa and snuggle up with your man.

As I opened the door to my apartment, I flicked on the lights and undressed from my coat, hat and mitts. I peeked into my apartment but there was no fireplace, no cocoa, and no man.

I settled for a a billion blankets, a cup of Earl Grey tea and sole snuggling. I stretched out on my bed to watch my latest download and pulled and tucked most of the blankets I owned around me. After a few solid minutes, I felt a cold draft in the air. De-cuddling myself to check out the cause of the temperature shift, I noticed that I could see my breath in the air. I knew the weather had turned brisk, but my apartment was nearly as cold inside as it was outside. I double checked that the boiler system was on. The green beam flashed indicating it was on and working. These boiler systems are equipped with temperature gauges, and heat from the floor. I peered at the temperature. A bomby 14 degrees! I scaled the gauge higher in hopes that the number would change.

Two hours later the temperature hadn't budged. I was in Antarctica. I bundled up with my hat, mitts and layered on a heavy sweater. I put on long johns and ski socks and nestled in for my night's sleep.

It's been 8 days. I've now resorted to camping out on the floor of my apartment. Let's not even mention the whole shower ordeal. Some days I feel like I'm practicing for the Polar Bear club.

Two days ago I received my gas/heat bill. It was ridiculous! They say it's because it's a really old building. The temperature in my apartment has not budged from 14 degrees in over 8 days, no matter how high I scale the knob.

As I eagerly await for the Spring temperatures of February to arrive swiftly, I have succumbed to the camp out on my living room floor. I still wear my hat and mitts to bed and dream nightly of toasting by the roaring fire, with a cup of hot cocoa snuggled up with a man.

Ringing in a new decade

It's hard to believe that another year has flown by. I've never been one to go all extravaganza for New Year's- typically I allow my gung- ho friends to pick a place to party and follow suit. Everyone scrambles to find something to do, and usually we end up forking out way too much money for "just another night out". But, as they say... it is New Years!

A new year. A year of possibilities, changes and unknowns. At the stroke of midnight, it all begins. It's always been difficult to reflect on the year passed while Auld Lang Syne is humming in the background, the crowd is counting down in unison and glasses are clinking together. At that pivotal moment expressions of good luck, happiness and health are murmured across the bar- usually by this point we can barely stand- but all the same we're celebrating the new year to come.

It's the following day, when morning breaks and the fog from the previous evenings cocktails and shots lifts that we take the time to reflect and curse ourselves for the debauchery from the previous night's party. As we piece together the night, we are faced with the reality that it is a New Year. I've always gone back to ponder the good and the bad and cross my fingers for an even better upcoming year.

I have to admit, that as I scan the last 12 months- I wouldn't change a thing and am amazed by everything that I have accomplished. Of course, there have been some trials and tribulations along the way- but as much as this is cliche- it is truly these times that pave the way for more strength and adventure.

As I raise my glass to no one in particular- I'm wishing that everyone finds the passion to embark on their own adventures and find their true purpose in life. Here is to loving, living and hoping that all of our wildest dreams come true in the new decade.