Kong guk su and The Staple

I'M sure I've espoused my love for the local Gim Bap Chon Guk (heaven) many times before.
But allow me one more rave.

Gim Bap Chon Guk's are the Korean equivalent of the sandwich bar or any other little place which you always go to in your lunch break.
They're a chain of eateries which are on every corner. And while every one serves exactly the same dishes, my favourite is by far the one in Dongchoon Dong, which is the end of town where we work.
To me, they ace every dish; the kimchi is usually good; the yellow raddish is always crunchy and sweet, never soggy and old; and the accompanying doenjang guk (soya bean soup) is nice and salty.

In fact, I enjoy the place so much I'm even entertaining the idea of translating a little note for them when I leave to tell them so.

I go through enormous eating phases here in Korea, which go something like this: find something I love, eat it everyday for a week, get sick of it, then give it a break until the craving returns.

The latest centre of my attention has been kong guk su, which surely says something about how my tastes have become more honed to Korean.

Kong guk su is a mass of slippery noodles sitting in a bowl of cold sesame milk or black bean milk, garnished with a few slivers of cucumber and with a little side dish of salt to taste.
I favour kong guk su on black bean milk, just like my favorite haunt makes. It's a little more watery, with flecks of black bean swimming at the bottom and roasted sesame seeds floating on top, but to me it's more refreshing than the sesame seed milk variety, which is creamier and heavier and sometimes powdery.

Regardless of the base, both varieties need to be as cold as possible because there's nothing nicer than alternating between spoonfuls of noodles and cold milk chilled by enormous ice cubes - as wrong as that may sound.

When my tastebuds begin to wander I always return to The Staple, which, for me and everybody else, is Bibimbap.
Bibimbap comes two ways - one in a hot stone pot, which seems to be the one most westerners are familiar with, and one which is cold. I prefer the cold variety.

I love that with particular dishes, including bibimbap, you get a divider container with a small serve of about six different sides. Sometimes baby potatoes with soy sauce and sesame seeds; greens; maybe some omlette and processed fish or marinated tofu.

I'll never forget the first few times I ordered bibimbap. The eatery ladies would stand there to make sure I mixed it enough because, as I've discovered, it certainly isn't bibimbap - according to them - unless it's totally and utterly mixed into a mess of rice, vegetables, seaweed, egg and hot sauce.

After 10 months in Korea, I couldn't agree more.
Amen, ajumma.