If you're taking a bus any longer than two hours in Korea, it's bound to make a stop in the middle for people to tend to their natural callings. Rest stops almost all have a stand that sells a little pastry stuffed with sweet, red bean paste and walnuts.
Most food stalls close up around 10 pm, but for whatever reason, the bean ball stand is open at all hours. You can hear the sound of the machine pumping out these little gems as soon as you exit the bus. This is the sound I'd like to hear on my deathbed because wherever I'm going, they better have bean balls.
No matter my hunger level, I will purchase these at every rest stop. It took me a good ten months to even figure out what they were called. Up until that point, I would always exit the bus with a quick announcement, "Guys, I'm going to get me some bean balls." And most of my friends would scrunch up their faces because bean paste is sort of like sauerkraut, there's no space for middle ground.
You like it or you don't.
 |
| Photo by Sean |
If trapped on a deserted island, I'm convinced a daily granting of bean balls could keep my sanity at par.
If these came in other flavors, as in, if some were stuffed with vegetables and others with cheese and fruits, I wouldn't be coming back to America. I'd just keep throwing back these tiny parcels of goodness until someone wheelbarrowed me straight to heaven.
Here's to bean balls - for always making me eat just (twenty) one too many of you.
No comments:
Post a Comment