Makgeolli and First Love 101 ? An Introduction Sep 27, 2013 Makgeolli and First Love 101 ? An Introduction “Now, you lean against me with a bitter smile, saying you can't take any more. You've closed your eyes...” When the film came to an end, my heart sank. Kim Dong-ryool's “An Essay of Memory” flowed from the speakers. I sat, dazed, as the ending credits rolled. The stream of light shooting out of the screen seemed to summon up a time beyond the present. I found it hard to get up. The black curtains were drawn back, the cinema lights turned on. The gazes of the few other people left sitting with me in the theater seemed to be directed not at the screen but at something beyond. As I watched myself in the newly re-illuminated space, fretting that my face might betray the way the film had conjured back traces of memories of a figure from my past, I had a sense that the ending of this film was in some way different to that of others. My first love The sight of Seung-min staring, bewitched, at Seo-yeon as she sat by the window while sunlight poured into the classroom brought back vague memories of my own first love. I saw her on a bus heading to Gongneung, a royal tomb located in a beautiful park, on a spring day when the cherry blossom was in full bloom. A friend of my friend, she was tall ? well over 180cm ? with lovely eyebrows that looked as if they had been deliberately curled. A very tall girl with daintily curled eyebrows: not a great combination, you might think, but I liked her the moment I saw her. Most of our dates took place over the phone. This was because she lived in Seoul. Over the phone, taken when my mum wasn't looking, I spent whole nights listening to her voice with its light Seoul accent. I loved the excitement of counting down the days until the school vacation, when we could be together. I didn't think the distance between Seoul and Busan would be any problem to us. In the end, though, those 398 kilometres won. I couldn't believe it. I was overcome with grief for the love that had bloomed so briefly before fading away. “It's hard for me not to be able to see you when I want to... But it's hard for you too, isn't it?” Was the distance between our two cities so great that I had to be dumped over the phone? In a bar in front of our university, I sat down with a friend, ordered a huge pot of makgeolli (Korean rice beer) and cried a lot. “I just want to see her once more... Surely I can see her again?” Perhaps my friend couldn't stand the sight of me gasping for breath as I sobbed my heart out: he drained his bowl of makgeolli in a single gulp, then spoke. “I didn't want to tell you, but actually... she was cheating on you! Forget about her!” He must have thought this would comfort me, but for me it came like a hard counter-punch to the back of the head. For a moment, my bitter tears stopped flowing and my heart, which had been overwhelmed by the weight of the breakup, grew hard. That day, for the first time in my life, I drank to get myself unconscious. Also for the first time, I discovered how it feels when alcohol rearranges the entire celestial order until the solar system revolves around your head. When the imbalance between supply and demand became too much, my gut decided to renounce all of its possessions. It surrendered every last bit of food and drink I had put into it. This was a proper breakup drink. I spent the next day with a hangover every bit as painful as my recent dumping. My head felt as if it would split. And that was how my first love ended: a neck-wrenching twist of fate accompanied by a head-wrenching hangover. My poor first love, ended with a makgeolli hangover. Perhaps that's why whenever I see makgeolli it reminds me of my first love. First love and makgeolli One thing I learned during my student days was how to combine two bottles of makgeolli and one of Sprite in an empty brass kettle. I remember the innocent white colour of the drink when first mixed; the first taste of its combination of sourness and sweetness. This is a seductive drink that doesn't let you go once you've been seduced by it. After the first gulp, you'll be convinced that no other alcohol is as pure and as sweet makgeolli. The similarities between first love and makgeolli don't end here. Just as the kaleidoscopic mix of emotions felt during first love is uncontrollable, drinking makgeolli can produce a colorful spectrum of controllable burps. The feeling of downing a cup of cold makgeolli and wiping the last drops from your mouth with the back of your hand is not unlike a clumsy first kiss, as lovers come together with thumping hearts. But above all, what makes makgeolli similar to first love is the hangover it leaves. The gentle, sweet taste that fills your mouth with each gulp; a drink seemingly seemingly as innocuous as milk, delivers a headache the next morning like a 100-tonne hammer blow to the back of the head. Just like the day I found out the truth about the love I never thought would finish. The consequences may vary according to what I eat while drinking, how much I drink and what kind of makgeolli it is, but the bottom line is that my encounters with makgeolli aways end with a splitting headache. Persevering with love and makgeolli nonetheless No one gives up on love altogether just because his first love was a failure. And it's hard to stop drinking just because you can't remember what happened last night. We begin new affairs on the pretext that meeting others will heal us through love, and we find ourselves out drinking makgeolli again on a rainy day despite the murderous headache it gave us last time. Whenever I smell a hot, freshly fried pajeon leek pancake, or tear off and eat a strip of ripe, pungent kimchi ? even now, as I write this article while feeling slightly peckish ? the first thing I thing of is always a cool bowl of makgeolli. After watching , too, I had a similar craving. It was like the sweet-sour memory of first love that surges back up again just when you think you've finally forgotten it; like the aftermath of first love disease that torments the brain once it finds its way in. Having dug up distant memories of first love, I want to drink again today as I did back then. I want to meet up with my friends, for all of whom first love is now no more than an overchewed piece of gum with no flavour left, and talk until the cows come home, reliving all these memories. I want the pleasure of shouting at the top of my lungs for another kettle of that magic makgeolli-Sprite mixture. Busan's best makgeolli and makgeolli pubs Geumjeong Sanseong Makgeolli Each region of Korea has its own makgeolli. Geumjeong Sanseong Makgeolli, however, is the only one to be have been officially designated a local product of its region. While most mass-produced makgeollis use a Japanese-style yeast, Geumjeong Sanseong makes and uses its own yeast from hard-cooked rice, according to the traditional method. If you apply for an experience programme at Geumjeong Sanseong, you can try traditional makgeolli manufacturing methods for yourself. Once you feel the heat of the enormous quantities of rice cooked in order to make the traditional yeast, you'll long for a cool cup of makgeolli. The health qualities of this particular variety, characterized by its sour, yoghurt-like taste, are so many that simply listing them would fill a whole page of A4. The best of these, you'll be able to verify when you're sitting on the toilet the next morning! Alcohol-fired Power Station As dusk falls and the sky darkens, I realize another day is over. What have I done today? I fed the kids early this morning, sent them to school, went to work, made various phone calls, sent various emails, edited a broadcast and now I'm almost done. Nothing really much happened. Still, I feel tired and somehow empty. It's that time when I feel the kind of hunger that can't be sated by food. It's “drink o'clock.” When your clock strikes beer o'clock, you need to head to “Alcohol-fired Power Station.” To take a few steps into one of the many alleyways just off the main seaside drag in Haeundae, Busan, is to travel back in time to the 1980s. In the darkness looms an outdated neon signs; just because its not turned on doesn't mean you can turn back. You've never seen it turned on anyway. When you go in, don't be surprised to see mountains of bottle tops on the floor. Just sit down like a regular and order a plate of pork, squid and octopus with red chili paste and a pot of makgeolli. The shabby interior of the place just makes it feel even more intimate. Tin bowls of makgeolli sit on wooden tables; water comes in one of the bright red plastic gourds found at spring water sources in the mountains. The strange combination of all these things may just be the perfect way to convert a sense of alienation into one of familiarity. Beomil Bindaetteok ? 30 years of tradition Conveniently located as far as possible from every bus and subway station, this bindaetteok (fried mung bean pancake) place has been renovating itself for 30 years and enjoys a steady stream of customers. This in itself makes it worth a visit. But the best part of it is the smell of sizzling pig fat on the hot grills around the place that greets you as you open the door, and the bindaetteok that fries in it. The crisp outside and moist inside of the pancakes, the meat, crushed beans and bean sprouts and crunch of spicy fresh chilies strike a perfect combination. 8,000 won gets you five pancakes fried in pig fat and a bottle of makgeolli here, another attraction of this place. If you're still hungry after this, why not order a pajeon? This may not be the seafood feast and sea breeze of a stereotypical trip to Busan, but for Koreans it brings back memories of the kind of comfort food their grandmother would fry up on rainy days. With customers of every age sat at its various tables, this pub is something of a healing place for the shopkeepers in its Beomil-dong neighbourhood and is just the place to drop into when you need a bit of extra warmth. Nothing beats the feeling of leaving here with a full stomach. Makgeolli Salon Seomyeon is a center of youth and fashion in Busan ? even the makgeolli comes trendy here. Makegolli traditionalists may feel awkward when confronted with the cafe-esque, sophisticated exterior and interior of this place. The imitation leather seating, the red plastic makgeolli cups and the fashionable exposed pipework of the interior feel totally incongruous with the simple, homely taste of makgeolli. Then you see the writing on the wall: “Salon.” This is not a pub. It's a salon. On the menu, a list of more than 10 varieties of makgeolli catches the eye. Regional specialties such Deoksan rice makgeolli; white lotus fresh makgeolli, said to have been made with lotus flowers; and sweetcorn makgeolli rub shoulders with “fusion” offerings such as honey makgeolli and bokbunja (Korean raspberry) makgeolli. The sheer variety on offer here is enough to get a dedicated drinker interested. I won't make any specific recommendations, though. I don't want to deprive you of the pleasure of scouring the menu and deciding on the perfect choice for yourself. This kind is the kind of place you might find young ladies in miniskirts who want to drink makgeolli but not in the midst of dozens of middle-aged men. Youth, passion and freshness are what you'll find in this pub. I mean salon. Source: (Busan Film Commission Newsletter), No. 5 Written by Cho Hana (former KNN broadcaster, freelance radio producer, daughter of a food researcher)