Burnt Galbi

Minnesota’s girlfriend, Wisconsin, is Korean. But she doesn’t speak Korean; she grew up in Wisconsin and I don’t know if she was born in America or what. But she looks Korean enough that when we went for dak galbi (short rib barbecue) tonight, the waitress would address her in full-speed Korean. Wisconsin navigated it perfectly with “Ne” and nods. To the waitress, she was the guide showing a few waygooks around the city.

The place was crowded, even by Korean standards. I think we almost got turned away because there was no room, but I can’t be sure because Australia was handling it since his Korean exists and ours is limited to a dozen words between the three of us, but a table cleared up and they cleaned it as they sat us. After wiping off the spills from the last patrons, some guy came in with white burning charcoal and stuck it in the center of the table and put a grill over the top. Then the waitress came back with six big cuts of ribs and some mushrooms and tteok (rice cakes) and she cooked two big cuts of ribs in front of us then left us to take care of ourselves. It’s not that hard, right? You flip the meat when it’s ready and then eat it when both sides are cooked.  This was my first time going for dak galbi, but it’s not so different from bulgogi (fire meat, barbecue, I think beef) and samgyeopsal (pork barbecue).

But we burned the meat. And the waitress scolded Wisconsin for it. The boys weren’t to blame—we were just dumb waygooks. But a real Korean girl should be familiar with dak galbi.