Seoul, South Korea
It started, as these things often do, with a text from my better half: "Work trip to South Korea. You in?" Now, I'm no stranger to chasing the dragon of wanderlust, but Korea? The land of kimchi, K-pop, and geopolitical tension? Yes, I'm in.
Before I could say "annyeonghaseyo," (which means hello, and which I never learned to say properly) I found myself sweating through my shirt in Seoul's soup-like summer air. The smartphone in my pocket buzzed urgently — a local alert, the kind usually reserved for amber alerts or impending doom.
After a quick translation from the indecipherable (to me) Hangul (their alphabet), I learned I was now in the middle of the world's weirdest balloon fight. South Korea, it seems, likes to air-drop freedom pamphlets to their northern neighbors. The North retaliates with balloons full of trash, old clothes, and — if the alerts are to be believed — parasites too. Welcome to Korea, where even the sky isn't neutral territory.
But I didn't come here for the political climate. I came for the food, the drink, and to understand how a country can go from war-torn wasteland to technological juggernaut in the span of a single lifetime.
It's a story of the US, and any other country that was against communism during the Cold War, providing massive subsidies to South Korea, particularly the families that own Samsung, LG, Hyundai and the like — known as "chaebol" — who built empires on the backs of a population hungry for more than just their next meal. But I don't think they had another option. I'll let history decide on that one.
But let me tell you about the things I can talk about: the drinks. Doing my usual research, I visited everywhere from 7-Elevens to fancy wine stores, just seeing what was out there. I found the usual big wineries, but with higher prices than I’ve ever seen. I understand; South Korea is, after all, FAR! So I stuck with what the locals drink.
The bread and butter of the country's drinking culture are soju, Makgeolli, and beer. You'll see these everywhere. But let's focus on Makgeolli for a moment. Imagine if alcoholic milk and fizzy rice had a love child, and you're halfway there. This traditional rice wine is Korea's answer to moonshine. Once the drink of farmers and common folk, it's now making a comeback in every trendy restaurant in South Korea.
I found myself in a tiny bar in a back alley of Seoul, the kind of place that smells of decades of cigarette smoke and spilled spirits. The man behind the bar looked like he'd been there since the Japanese occupation, his wrinkled hands deftly pouring Makgeolli into small bronze bowls. "You drink," he said, more command than offer. Who was I to argue?
The first sip hit me like a friendly slap in the face. Tangy, sweet, with a fizz that danced on my tongue. Before I knew it, I was three bowls deep, surrounded by locals who seemed determined to teach me every drinking game in the South Korean repertoire. Pro tip: never try to outdrink a Korean. Your liver will thank you in the morning.
But Makgeolli isn't meant to be drunk by itself. Oh no. This is where Korean cuisine shines brighter than the neon signs of Times Square.
Small plates of banchan appeared on every table as you sit - kimchi that could wake the dead, snappy soybean sprouts, and something fermented, pickle-like, that I couldn't identify but couldn't stop eating.
Then came the Korean BBQ cuts, with a sizzling iron grill right at the table. Beef, pork, lamb, all sorts of meats and cuts, a full experience with each plate a surprise. All this must be eaten with the metal chopsticks that are always a challenge when you have been used to bamboo or plastic.
Korean BBQ at its best
As I stumbled out into the Seoul night, belly full and head spinning, I couldn't help but think of our little wine club back home. In the taxi, with no political or cultural debriefing by our driver, there is only one option but to reflect on what to share with you guys.
You folks, sipping on carefully curated bottles from sun-drenched vineyards, might think you're worlds away from this bustling Asian metropolis. But in the end, it's all the same game — humans gathering around a table, sharing drinks, food, and stories. It's a reminder that whether it's a bold malbec from our forgotten corners of Salta or a bowl of Makgeolli in a smoky Seoul dive bar, drink has a way of bridging gaps and opening hearts.
I will continue my stories about my trip in South Korea and my visit to premium fermented Makgeolli town next week.
Until the next adventure calls (or texts).
Cheers,
Diego
