Thanksgiving with black beans and rice

It's Thanksgiving in Korea, and I'm drinking a glass of red wine and waiting for my black bean soup to simmer. Don't feel sorry for me. I've been waiting for this night for a long time.

I worked today, a surprisingly relaxing and productive day. In the morning I wrote a story at home about Amerasian children, kids whose moms are Korean and dads are unknown American soldiers. Most of the moms are poor, illiterate, and former prostitutes. The kids are racially stigmitized and don't stand much of a chance in a place where public middle and high schools require tuition, bus and administrative fees, and uniforms.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to the home of one of the kids, a teen-ager who would have much rather been text messaging his friends than talking to me. Hae-rym went too, along with Mr. Yi, a man who works with the kids in Korea. This teen lives with his grandmother. The mother left when the boy was a month old, and no one knows if she's alive. The grandmother supports the family by collecting cans and cleaning houses. Most of their furniture and clothes have been donated by neighbors or the man, Mr. Yi. I could go on, but you can look for the story if you want; it's supposed to run Sunday.

Later, I asked Hae-rym if there were any non-Korean kids in her classes growing up. She said there was only one, a girl who was half Korean and half German. The girl was smart and a teacher's pet, and no one liked her. It's funny. I think of Korea as this foreign, unique place. But really, it's very homogenous. On the military bases and in the neighborhoods that cater to Americans, there's a mix of races and nationalities. The army is obviously full of black, white, Latino and Asian faces. Outside of those places, there are only Koreans. In Dongdaemun, where I work, I'm the only white face I see when I go off base.

And that brings me back to today. I finally ventured into a Korean restaurant on my own with the goal of ordering my favorite food here: pimpibab. It means stirred rice and comes in all forms, but basically it's vegetables, lettuce, egg, sometimes meat, spicy sauce and rice that you mix together in a big bowl and eat. I've learned enough Korean to recognize pimpibab on the outside menu, so I went into the Authentic Korean Pub. Yes, that was the restaurant's name.

When I order, it turns out there are several kinds of pimpibab. I ask for no meat, and the waiter understands, then he points back to the list. I can't make out anything else, so I motion for him to pick. He gives an impressed look and leaves.

Then he brings me a cold version of the dish, with a fried egg on top. (In other versions, the hot rice and vegies are all in the same bowl with a raw egg on top. When you mix it together, it cooks the egg, sort of like Korean carbonara.) I mixed in the warm rice and got a wonderful rice salad. And it was only 5,000 won, less than $5. He picked the cheapest one for me. I'm going back.

My lunch was much better than the one dished out for soldiers and workers at a mess hall on Yongsan, my Thanksgiving story assignment. Those guys might think different, but the slabs of turkey, steaks, lobster and other things floating in "butter" sauce made my stomach turn. The soldiers and officers were nice, though, and not really sad about being away from home on Thanksgiving. For the most part, they felt like me, that it's another Thursday that happens to be a holiday; or they want to go home today just as much as they do any other day.

I feel like I am home. I finally got to cook, my house smells like cumin, and I've discovered the commissary sells avocados and cilantro, things I thought I'd have to do without for a while. Now I'm eating my soup and feeling very content. (Although, I did have to resort to orange cheese. The commissary really is about middle and southern American, and, Paige, I am feeling your pain.) I was invited to someone's house tonight to eat leftovers, but I just wanted to be home. So I am.

And aside from wondering why anyone would think orange cheese is a good thing, I'm fine. I'm also in a good mood because at work today, by myself, I reread the finale Post-Standard page that Don, Michelle, Nancy and everyone else put together for me. There's nothing like laughing out loud by yourself at the memory of a college student taking a bite out of a stripper's crotch. That really was a good news day.

So Happy Thanksgiving. I wish I was with you, but mostly, I hope you get to eat the food you're most craving and have a wonderful time in your own home.