Sometimes you try to be healthy; you think, I shouldn’t eat too much or I should cut down on certain things and be a better person. You are what you eat, after all is said and done.
That was my thought process when I sat down yesterday evening at my hotel restaurant in Seoul (Fraser Place – for those who are tracking). I had already perused the menu outside and thought I could have a nice pasta dish – indulging in a few carbs on my business trip, wouldn’t kill me.
When I sat down at my table, I was handed a “specials” menu which forced me to reconsider. And change my mind I did. The first item on the special menu was a rather promising “roast beef salad” accompanied with tomatoes. Great, I thought, I can have a bit of protein with some very healthy green stuff.
I ordered a glass of house red and settled down into my Economist.
The wine arrived promptly and as I sipped and read the food was delivered quite quickly also.
To my utter dismay the beef was not beef at all. I know the Koreans, and their cousins over the Sea of Japan, love a bit of marbling in their beef and was somewhat prepared for a tad of fat on my beef; but two years living in Japan and a number of trips to Korea couldn’t have forewarned me for what was thrust in front of my nose.
Beef?! Where was the beef?!
I could see the fat – oozing ominously at me – but struggled to locate the beef. Each sliver of an excuse for bovine booty was at least 70% fat. I tried a couple of pieces and retched. Shall I complain? What’s the point? I yielded and proceeded to cut off all the fat on my “beef” slices to make it edible. I ended up with about 25% or even less of the original “meat” and chomped my way through the leaves.
You can see from the photo a beautiful pearl-like quality from the fatty residue left on my plate, just how sickening this was.
When the waitress came to collect my plate, I was anticipating, at very least “was your meal OK” as an enquiry – but absolutely nothing was said.
Perhaps all the white guys leave their fat; perhaps all the waitresses are dumfounded as to why; perhaps all the chefs do this on purpose to make us foreigners a tad uncomfortable about complaining – “oh, this must be a cultural thing”-syndrome.
I don’t know – had I been less tired, had I been more inclined to return, had Seoul sparkled in other ways, I might, just might have had the energy to complain. As it was I was fatigued, jaundiced, and quite honestly knackered. This lethargy saved the restaurant manager from my wrath. But then again, perhaps my word of mouth blog is more potent.
Would any of YOU dare try the “roast beef salad” at the First Floor Restaurant at Fraser Place, the next time you’re in Seoul?
Answers on a post card please and send them directly to the GM in Seoul.!
Fat-chewingly yours.
Darren
