Home: Where The Fat Happens

Returning to Canada might kill me.

Korean food really isn't bad at all. Prior to coming to Korea I would refuse to eat anything that looked or smelled even remotely funny. I was adamant that raw fish was repugnant and that the only acceptable condiment was ketchup. This all changed on my second day in Korea.

After giving me a whirlwind tour of Busan, The Boss Man offered to take me out for lunch. Ass Kisser Extraodinaire that I am, when asked where I wanted to eat, I asked him to take me to his favourite restaurant. When he giggled and asked if I would eat raw fish, I held back my gagging and assured him that I would learn to enjoy it. Over the next hour I tried a number of different things; some were most certainly raw fish, one was octopus, and I haven't the faintest idea what all the other stuff was. All I remember is that most of it was good. This set the tone for the rest of the year: I would no longer label a food as repugnant without ever having tried it. Except for live octopus or any type of insect. Small minded eater by nature that I am, lines must be drawn somewhere.

I've either enriched my palate or just killed off the majority of my taste buds. Both? Either way, there will probably be some Korean food that I will miss during my brief hiatus, but I won't miss it nearly as much as my favourites from home. With my return to Canada booked for roughly 30 days from now, I have a wish list of artery stopping goodness that I intend to indulge on.

It's quite likely that I will return to Korea fat.

1) Poutine

Guaranteed heart attack on a plate.

I have tested the poutine at a number of establishments in Korea. Most notably: O'Brien's in Busan, The Holy Grill in Daegu, and The Rocky Mountain Tavern in Seoul. Each and every time, it was delicious. The Holy Grill did it best. Still, it... Just. Wasn't. The. Same. Within 72 hours of my return, I promise my thighs that I will go to my favourite deep fried Drunk Food stop in downtown Barbieville and get the largest helping of this crap that they will give me. It's gonna be gross. I might actually die.

2) Arby's Roast Beef Sandwich

Fuck ya.

Every time that hunger has crept up on me over the past month, I've wanted an Arby's roast beef sandwich. My God, have I wanted an Arby's roast beef sandwich. There is an Arby's within ten minutes of where I will be staying when I return to Canada. You better believe that my ass is going to be parked there within 24 hours of my plane's landing.

One will not be enough. There will be three. And one of those will be doused in that disgusting orange cheese stuff that they put on the melts. It's going to be ridiculous. Clearly I will only die of poutine poisoning if the awesomeness of three Arby's roast beef sandwiches doesn't kill me first.

3) Chicken Caesar Pita

Double chicken. Double bacon.

I don't demand that it be from the Pita Pit, but I absolutely insist upon double bacon and double chicken. And just a hint of hot sauce. Of all the things that I want to eat when I get home, this is probably the least likely to kill me on the spot.

4) Bars of cheese

No, really. Bars.

When I visit the grocery store within my first few days back in Canada, there is a very real chance that I will get emotional as I approach the dairy aisle. I might actually cry. That I can't really eat dairy at home without getting sick as fuck won't matter. Should I fail to get disgustingly fat during my visit home, there will be cheese to thank for that. Either way, tears will be had. Entire bars of cheese will be purchased, only to be ripped open and eaten on the way home. Onlookers will be horrified. I will be in heaven. Oh, cheese. How I think miss you. How unhappy my intestines will be to see you. Oh, cheese. Soon.

5) Chocolate Mints

Dessert

Should I still be able to open my mouth without my intestines leaking out of it, after ingesting disgusting amounts of roast beef, poutine, massively stuffed pitas, and bars of cheese, I will follow up with some chocolate mints for dessert.

I haven't decided on a brand yet. Maybe all of them.

Barbie Scores With the Kimbap Lady

My local kimbap-restaurant lady wants my babies. That or she thinks that I'm a stupid foreigner. It's probably a little bit of both, really. Either way, the free apricots and breast groping guarentee that I come out a winner.

As most of us are, I'm a creature of habit. When I'm comfortable with something, I tend to stick with it. Even if it's fucking awful. I drink terrible beer; it's cheap and I'm used to it. I tend to go to the same PC Room; I like the free "coffee" (this would more aptly be described as chemicals-in-a-cup) and the hospitality that I receive from the people who run the joint. I go to the McDonald's near my school 2-3 times a week for no other reason than the fact that it's right up the street and the lady who works the counter is nice to me. I miss her if too many days pass without a visit! I don't even really like McDonald's anymore. I still sleep with a fucking teddy bear for no better reason than it's the same one I've had since I was 7 and I've yet to find a good reason to break the habit. I'm sorry, but "Rebecca, you're fucking 25" is not good enough reason to break up with Zeddy. We're tight. I occasionally listen to really shitty music because I've become comfortable with hearing it. I know that it's bad, but old-skool Paula Abdul is just so damn catchy! I could continue on this tangent for another hour and lose my remaining two readers, but it's 5am and I need to put up a front that I actually have something better to do right now. I will conclude the tangent by pointing out that this also serves as a sufficient explanation of Rebecca's generally sordid history with men. In my pre-Barbie days I would intentionally run myself head first into Bad Ideas with regularlity, because that's what I was used to. There is comfort in familiarity, painful as it may be. I may rectify this during my days as Big White Barbie; or perhaps I'll just perfect the art. Either way, I digress. This is a topic for another day.

Now, my being a creature of habit naturally results in my regularly dining at the same local kimbap restaurant. I first started eating there as a result of the lady from the bar spotting me a free meal in exchange for my stupidity, as detailed in my Big White Barbie Eats Out post. I have since been going in 4-5 times per week. Each time I go in I seem to know a new Korean word or two, which always results in a giggle or two from the Kimbap Lady. For the first couple of weeks I would always order two rolls of kimbap. Hence, whenever I entered the restaurant she would smile, ramble some blah at me, and say "kimbap?" I've thrown her for a loop lately by going in for dinner and getting some variation of bi bim bap. Her response to this has been to sit with me after setting the bi bim bap platter on the table, so that she can mix it together for me and spoon feed me. You think that I'm kidding, but I'm not. This is how she rolls. I had eaten bi bim bap prior to coming to Korea and really don't need the Kimbap Lady to show me The Bi Bim Bap Ropes, but it seems to make her day to swing with a Big White Barbie, so who am I to crush her soul?

On Tuesday I ordered dol sot bi bim bap, which requires significantly less mixing then bi bim bap without the pretty hot bowl. Hence, there was really no reason for Kimbap Lady to coddle me. So, I spent most of my meal alone. This was nice, but I'm not going to pretend that I don't enjoy the company. As an aside, you know that something is wrong when you're looking to the Kimbap Lady to keep you company. Near the end of the meal, Kimbap Lady randomly comes over and takes a seat across from me. She watches me eat for a minute. I smile and tell her in Korean that it "tastes good!" Then I rub my belly and smile or something, because I'm such an excellent communicator. She continues to watch me and I decide that 1) this is a little weird and 2) if she's going to be sitting there she may as well be serving a greater purpose. I point to a side dish in front of me and say "kimchi". Then I point at one beside it and shrug. Kimbap Lady kindly tells me what it's called, and I repeat the word back. We go through this process for the entire collection of side dishes, after which point Kimbap Lady is Big White Barbi-ed out and goes back to the kitchen. Upon her return to the kitchen, I hear her reiterate the entire conversation that she just had with me to the Other Kimbap Lady. They both giggle. I learned new words and had some company. Everybody wins.

All that and I still haven't hit the good part. I totally got some action from Kimbap Lady! I was walking out the door backwards and waving goodbye after having paid for my meal, when Kimbap Lady took one look at my undone coat and sweater, shook her head and informed me in Korean that "it's cold!" She marched over to me, grabbed my scarf and started wrapping it frantically around my neck. She then tied it into a little bow, as only a Korean would, and patted it down my chest. It was at this point that I realize that doing up my scarf was totally just a cover for her to paw at my breasts. Kimbap Lady is a smooth playa, yo!

Kimbap Lady and I have a special, special bond. I'm her Big White Barbie. She's my Kimbap Lady. She gets to feel me up. I get felt up. Everybody wins.