Monthly Archives: February 2011

Park’s Menu

Cape Town, Food,

After a year of Korean food (sometimes unwillingly), I came home and found myself missing it. Since then, I have struggled to find a Korean restaurant anywhere. To be fair, I haven’t spent a lot of time in major metropolises and I haven’t tried as hard as I possibly could, but I was still very pleased when I discovered that there was a Korean restaurant around the corner from the guest-house where I was staying this past week.

Park’s Menu is a small restaurant on Klipfontein Road (Durban Road) in Mowbray, Cape Town (Campground Centre for those who are familiar with the area). It’s bigger, inside, than it appears from the street. Chairs and walls are white, with collections of odd, old wall-cabinets decorated with old books and china and flowers, creating a comfortable, airy feel. The place is a little quirky, but not in any way pretentious or annoying. Gentle jazz in the background completes the relaxed, warm atmosphere. It’s a bit of an oasis on a busy road.

The menu is properly Korean, ranging from manduguk and bibimbap to galbi and ssambap. Also, a take-away menu that says “there is more dish if you eat at the reastaurant”. I was standing outside, reading the menu in the window when the waiter came out and handed me a take-away menu. I think he was a bit taken aback when I immediately said I was coming inside.

I sat at a pretty white table next to the window. The waiter was super-friendly and efficient and, interestingly, not Korean, although all of the other staff do seem to be Korean. I took ages to order – how do you choose when you haven’t eaten any Korean food in 8 months and you know you won’t be back soon? Eventually I settled on mandu for starters and haemeul pajeon for mains.

As I waited, it struck me that the place smelled Korean. Not overwhelmingly and not in a bad way. It’s a smell that is difficult to describe but I think probably has something to do with bean sprouts and tofu. I never noticed that in Korea but it triggered such strong memories of so many Korean dinners.

The mandu (steamed dumplings) was great. Just the way I remember it. And distinctly different to the dimsum you get at other places. It’s tough to identify exactly the difference but I think it’s the filling. And the dumpling bit is softer. Also, joy of joys, proper chopsticks. Not metal chopsticks, sadly, but flat chopsticks, the shape of the Korean metal chopsticks. So much better than other chopsticks!

The haemeul pajeon (seafood pancake, but that translation is wrong and I have yet to find a better one) was great. Apparently it’s the chef’s speciality. It was thicker than I’m used to, which made it a little difficult to cut with chopsticks, but it was delicious. The mains come with kimchi and beansprouts (namul). Nothing quite like the spicy, sour, crunchy, juicy joy of fermented cabbage. Nothing in the whole world. It’s definitely an acquired taste but once you’re used to it, it can be really good. This was good kimchi. Not too spicy, perfectly crunchy and sour.

The restaurant also has, specially imported from Korea, tables with the stove-top grill so typical of restaurants in Korea. It’s a great way to eat. There is a particular stove-top table section on the menu. If you’re up for spicy food, try the kimchi-jeongol. Or (less spicy) the Bulgogi (delicious beef stew).

They also have a Korean-food buffet once a month – 12 March 2011 is the next one – which would be a great opportunity to experiment if you’ve never tried Korean food. The menu doesn’t offer alcoholic drinks (so strange to eat Korean food without Hite or Cass) but they seem fine with people bringing their own wine (corkage R25).

I’m delighted to have found a great Korean restaurant in South Africa and will definitely be back. Just thinking about it now, I’m wishing I was close enough to pop through for lunch. If you’ve never tried Korean food, or you haven’t eaten kimchi in a while, Park’s Menu is a great place to spend some time and enjoy the tastes of kimchi-land.

The wonder of ideas

Ideas, , ,
They say everyone should have a hobby. Mine is debating. Not just arguing, informally – although analysis of everything, all the time, comes naturally now – but formal, competitive debate. One of my favourite quotes is from Ursula le Guin’s novel, The Dispossessed:
“They argued because they liked argument, liked the swift run of the unfettered mind along the paths of possibility, liked to question what was not questioned”
Debating is fast, competitive and intense. It requires concentration, quick thinking, engagement, knowledge, confidence and wit. It’s a great way to feel alive. That’s what people say about adventure sports. I suppose this is a little bit like an adventure sport, testing yourself, pushing your limits, adrenaline coursing through your veins.
It’s also addictive, in a way. Once you first learn the joy of being in the thick of that logical argumentation, of the shared experience of contemplating different solutions to complex real-world problems, with the tools of analysis, argumentation and persuasion, you either love it or you hate it.
Debate was the reason I went to Botswana at the end of last year. Every year, University students from around the world gather together to test their skills against the best in the world. For almost 10 days, they argue, in debate venues, over drinks, on game drives, immersing themselves in the incredible intellectual stimulation of coming head-to-head, on a contentious issue, with someone from a completely different context, paradigm, continent. The experience is so all-consuming that, for that little time, the world outside that bubble seems to fade away.
The events are part of the reason debating hooks people in. The people are another part. Because debating is an adversarial system, you learn, if you are a debater, to enjoy an adversarial relationship without it becoming unpleasant. You can handle friendly competition and disagreeing is not the end of a conversation, it is the beginning. You process news and information (especially news and information about far-away places) through the lens of a debating – “how will that help my argument?”, “hey, that is a clear violation of this international treaty I first heard about in a debate last night!”, “there are such strong normative arguments against those new tax breaks”, etc. You find yourself wanting to discuss news, politics, economics, with other debaters, for the logical analysis they will bring to the situation, because they will be interested in seeing both sides, because they will probably all have different perspectives, because they will argue about it and in the arguing, in the testing of ideas, you will form your own opinions and learn.
After years of constructing funding proposals and media releases about debating, years of talking about how it teaching people research skills and produces exceptional public speakers, I know, deep down, that that is not the point. It’s true, but it’s not the point. The point, the real reason we debate, happens in the room. It is that moment, after just a few minutes of thinking about it, when you stand up and present, in 7 minutes, the best arguments, using exactly the right information, constructed perfectly, delivered with wit and eloquence, the best, most persuasive arguments, and you sit down – adrenaline still pumping, feeling incredibly alive – and you know you’ve gotten it right or you’ve done better than ever before and (or) you’ve won a tough room.
Putting yourself out there every time, using your intellect, your experiences, your knowledge and your emotions to build a case and then putting it out there for others – whose skills and intellect you respect – to attack and tear down, takes courage. Doing it again and again takes determination. Doing it well takes training and practice and time. It’s worth it when it works. And it’s worth it because debating lets you slowly fall in love with the wonder of ideas and “the swift run of the unfettered mind along the paths of possibility”.

They say everyone should have a hobby. Mine is debating. Not just arguing, informally – although analysis of everything, all the time, comes naturally now – but formal, competitive debate. One of my favourite quotes is from Ursula le Guin’s novel, The Dispossessed:

“They argued because they liked argument, liked the swift run of the unfettered mind along the paths of possibility, liked to question what was not questioned”

Debating is fast, competitive and intense. It requires concentration, quick thinking, engagement, knowledge, confidence and wit. It’s a great way to feel alive. They say that about adventure sports. I suppose this is a little bit like an adventure sport, testing yourself, pushing your limits, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

It’s also addictive, in a way. Once you first learn the joy of being in the thick of that logical argumentation, of the shared experience of contrasting different solutions to complex, real-world problems, with the tools of analysis, argumentation and persuasion, you either love it or you hate it.

Debate was the reason I went to Botswana at the end of last year. Every year, University students from around the world gather together to test their skills against the best in the world. For almost 10 days, they argue, in debate venues, over drinks, on game drives, immersing themselves in the incredible intellectual stimulation of coming head-to-head, on a contentious issue, with someone from a completely different context, paradigm, continent. The experience is so all-consuming that, for that little time, the world outside that bubble seems to fade away.

The events are part of the reason debating hooks people in. The people are another part. Because debating is an adversarial system, you learn, if you are a debater, to enjoy an adversarial relationship without it becoming unpleasant. You can handle friendly competition and disagreeing is not the end of a conversation, it is the beginning. You process news and information (especially news and information about far-away places) through the lens of a debating – “how will that help my argument?”, “hey, that is a clear violation of this international treaty I first heard about in a debate last night!”, “there are such strong normative arguments against those new tax breaks”, etc. You find yourself wanting to discuss news, politics, economics, with other debaters, for the logical analysis they will bring to the situation, because they will be interested in seeing both sides, because they will probably all have different perspectives, because they will argue about it and in the arguing, in the testing of ideas, you will form your own opinions and learn.

After years of constructing funding proposals and media releases about debating, years of talking about how it teaches people research skills and produces exceptional public speakers, I know, deep down, that that is not the point. It’s true, but it’s not the point. The point, the real reason we debate, happens in the room. It is that moment, after just a few minutes of thinking about it, when you stand up and present, in 7 minutes, the best arguments, using exactly the right information, constructed perfectly, delivered with wit and eloquence; the best, most persuasive arguments, and you sit down – adrenaline still pumping, feeling so incredibly alive – and you know you’ve gotten it right or you’ve done better than ever before or you’ve won a tough room.

Putting yourself out there every time – using your intellect, your experiences, your knowledge and your emotions to build a case and then putting it out there for debaters, whose skills and intellect you respect, to attack and tear down – takes courage. Doing it again and again takes determination. Doing it well takes training and practice and time. It’s worth it when it works. It’s worth it because debating lets you slowly fall in love with the wonder of ideas and “the swift run of the unfettered mind along the paths of possibility”.

Where people sing

Uncategorized, ,

It’s a cool morning in small town South Africa. The sun will probably come out later but for now the mist has yet to burn off and it is pleasant. As I sit at my desk, working, a breeze comes through my window. The breeze carries the sound of singing.

I never knew there were places where people didn’t sing. I don’t mean didn’t sing ever, but didn’t sing often. Not like here. Not like home. Places were singing was considered the preserve of expert singers, except, perhaps, for the odd karaoke experience. Then I moved to another country. In Korea was the incessant blaring K-pop. Shops here play music, too, but there it is K-pop everywhere and all the time. I hardly used an mp3-player before I left. There I missed music so much, I used it all the time.

The first protest I saw in Korea left me bemused. A forlorn group of people standing around with some signs. No movement no energy. I had to ask a local to confirm that it was a protest. Such a far cry from the powerful, energetic, at-times-terrifying, singing, dancing protests of my homeland. Music – singing, dancing – was traditionally a prelude to war here, in much the same way as the Maori war-dance now used by the New Zealand rugby team. Singing and dancing express anger and frustration, as well as sorrow, fear and joy.

I am walking to the shops on a Tuesday morning. Across the road, also walking, is a group of 50 or so Working-on-Fire staff. They walk quickly, strongly, almost as if they walk in formation. And as they walk, they sing. Not the monotonous chants I associate (perhaps wrongly) with American-movie soldiers. They sing beautiful, 3-part harmonies. Deep, rich, chocolaty bass voices blended with elegant alto and strong tenor. They sing effortlessly, weaving their voices together. A gardener weeding a pavement flower-bed stops to listen. This isn’t a performance, they just happen to be singing.

Perhaps I too often buy into exaggerated stereotype that associates Africa and song, but I have lived where K-pop counts as music: It thrills my soul to catch the drift of song on the wind, to be reminded, gently, joyfully, that I live where people sing.