Blame It On Kimchee

When I was attending language school, I was so immersed in Chinese culture that it barely registered that any other Asian culture existed. Several weeks into the total immersion method of acquiring a language along with some of the culture, my friend Jeff suggested we go out for some dinner. Jeff was studying Korean language and culture. He said that he knew a place near Fort Ord, on the north side of Monterey that served excellent, authentic Korean food. I had eaten Chinese food, and had eaten Japanese Sushi, but at that point, I had never sampled anything Korean or anything that was from any other Asian culture.

Kimchee is a staple of the Korean diet. In fact, every meal seems to involve kimchee and rice. Some of the guys at school had already warned me about the potency of kimchee, but they hastened to say how good it was. So, I was looking forward to trying it.

I had never paid any attention to Korean culture at all. I was studying Chinese and had more than enough to learn about their 4000 year history and culture. To that point, it had always seems to me that Korea was of lesser interest as it was a relatively smaller country than China, had much fewer people and it did not have the extensive history and culture that China boasted.

I accepted the invitation because I had heard that Korean food was pretty damned tasty, if a bit on the hot side. I liked spicy food.

We drove to a alley on the north side of town, and my friend parked his car. We walked for five minutes down a series of streets and then finally turning down one alley and then another until we arrived at a place adorned with a sign bearing only Korean writing. Once we were inside, I realized that if three or even four couples came in at one time the place would have a line. As it was, we were the only ones there, but it was early in the evening. My friend assured me that he had been there when there was a line of people patiently waiting to be served.

My friend spoke to the owners in broken Korean, but as I did not understand any Korean, I was fairly impressed. At the time, I was about ten weeks into learning Chinese. I had already tried and failed to carry on a conversation with a native speaker. I was certain that if I were in a Chinese restaurant, I would not be unable to order a meal. What my friend was doing in Korean was beyond what I could do in the language that I was learning.

The waitress brought out bowls of rice and several small dishes bearing different types of kimchee. Apparently, my friend knew the Korean names of each of the varieties of kimchee that we were served. He invited me to sample each, then explained to me how each was made.

There are over a hundred different types of kimchee. That night, I sampled but a few. Kimchee is usually made from Chinese cabbage, rutabagas, cucumbers, onions, or peppers - just about any raw sliced vegetable. There are some types of kimchee made from sliced watermellon rind. Often kimchee is made of a combination of vegetables. It is mixed together, wilted in rocksalt for a few days, then rinsed, drained and mixed with a several other ingredients, depending on the season. The most common varieties are winter kimchee. These are made with ground red pepper, minced garlic, MSG, and rice powder. After initial preparation, the contents are stuffed into a large jar or other container, sealed and either refrigerated or, more traditionally, burried in the ground until use. 

As fascinated as I was with the background, I rapidly acquired a taste for kimchee. In fact, I ate a lot of kimchee that evening. I was fearless, despite Jeff's admonitions about what was in it and dire predictions of later intenstinal discomfort. After I consumed several fairly small bowls of kimchee along with rice, I chased it down with cold diet soda. I did not realize that was a dangerous combination. I had assembled the components of a small nuclear reactor in my belly.

When we left the restaurant, I was full. An hour later, I was hungry again, as has always seemed to be the case with a westerner eating Asian food from any culture. I had an important examination on Tuesday. I needed to study for most of the weekend. So, I excused myself to my room where I stayed up for most of the evening and well into the wee hours of the next morning. Then, I went to sleep.

Late Saturday morning, I went to the dorm's common restroom for my shower. While I was shaving afterwards, Jeff entered and asked if I was feeling okay.

"I'm fine. Why?"

"It is just that usually kimchee gives you the fiery Hershey squirts the first time because of all the roughage and fermented raw vegetables and red pepers."

"Well, I grew up on a farm. I have eaten vegetables all of my life. Granted, the hot pepper, garlic and whatever else you said was mixed with kimchee is probably something I have never had before, but I feel fine.

Jeff shook his head in disbelief. "You ate enough kimchee to be in misery by now."

"Maybe I am immune."

Jeff smiled, "Yeah, well maybe it hasn't hit you yet."

* * * *

Chris, my roommate, was infatuated with Demi Moore. He wanted to go see her latest movie. As I would never decline the opportunity to see a pretty face in a movie, I decided to tag along. The movie was "Blame It On Rio". Despite the stellar cast of accomplished actors and actresses, the movie, in my unprofessional estimation, sucked. It might be due to the severe cramps I started to experience halfway through the film.

I am the sort of person who will stay to the end of a crappy movie. Having paid to view something, I will be there for the duration, anticipating some last minute redemption that never seems to arrive. From my experience, if the first ten minutes of a movie are bad, the rest will be as well.

I watched all of it, fighting back the cramps until the very end. When the credits started to roll, I was off like a streak to find the restroom, as I was in urgent need.

For God knows what reason, the restrooms in that theater were on the first balcony. Chris needed to take a leak so he was right behind me as we ascended the steps, taking two at a time to reach the first balcony and the restroom. Jeff went to a urinal. I went to the farthest stall, the one against the wall and furthest from the door. I was expecting the worst.

Before I could finish unbuckling my jeans, it began. It seemed as if I was firing a retro-rocket as I sat down. I figure that I was four seconds into the burn for descent and hovering over the toilet before I started to monitor my wristwatch. Finally, I finished making a soft landing on the seat. Yet the butt blast continued, and I was watching the seconds tick away on my watch. I began to feel like I might spend the rest of my life there, farting. The gas leak lasted 25 measured seconds but had begun perhaps as many as five or six seconds before I started to time it. Gratefully, it subsided. For all the discomfort I endured through the movie, it was nothing but gas. Had Ripley's been there to document the moment, it might have set a world's record.

When I emerged from the stall, there was a gross absense of any other life in the restroom. That in itself was odd, as there were over two hundred people in the theater. I exited the restroom and descended the stairs. For whatever reason, everyone in the lobby was staring at me. I looked for Chris and finally found him distantly ready to exit. Once he saw me, he pushed against the door and was immediately outside.

I ran to catch up to Chris in the parking lot. He turned and focused on my eyes, "What the hell was that?"

I stepped back, honestly having no clue what he was talking about.

"You farted for like ten seconds."

"Twenty five actually. Maybe a bit longer, I don't know."

"You are proud of it then?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, actually, I am. So, I farted. Like you have never farted?"

"I have never farted for 25 seconds!"

"Well, eat kimchee and drink diet soda on top of it."

"You know there were people who needed to go to the restroom that heard that thing and turned around at the door and left.  I cut mine off short and hurried out for fear you'd say something to me, like, 'how was that?"

"I thought about it. But, well, it didn't even stink," I offered.

"How does that even matter?"

"Well, it matters to me."

"Does it, really?"

"Yes, it actually does."

"I'm not so sure I shouldn't just let you walk back to the dorm."

"I'm over and done with it. It is all out of me."

"How do I know that?"

"Dude, it lasted for better than 25 seconds. What else could I possibly have left in me?"

"You tell me?"

"Well, I think we are safe for the drive home."

"Roll your window down."

"You're serious."

"Hell, yes, I want to live and breathe."

"Chris, we are roommates."

"And I'm going to call you the 'gas man' from now on"

"It was harmless! It didn't stink."

"In your opinion. What a comfort that would be to all the people who might have been trapped in the theater with you had it erupted during the movie."

"I respectfully held it back and was in misery for my efforts."

"At least I lite mine when I have a fart fit."

I chuckled.

"Dude," Chris drew a deep breath before continuing. "I will admit that was an achievement."

"But I think it was a good thing that I didn't light it."

"The Chamber of Commerce for the City of Monterey and outlying areas thanks you."