The Day I Called Everything “Kimchi” and a Grandma Corrected Me

 

There were like 50 clay pots in the courtyard. Big ones. All in rows.

I saw a grandma open one. It was red. It was bubbling a little. I said “Oh, kimchi!” and smiled real big like I knew stuff.

She looked at me. Shook her head. Said something in Korean. My friend translated: “She said it’s not kimchi. It’s something her grandma started.”

I felt like I called a dog a cat. In front of the dog’s owner. The grandma just patted the pot like it was a pet and closed it again. I stood there feeling very, very dumb.

I Thought It Was Just Spicy Cabbage Until I Ate Like 10 Kinds

At dinner, there were little red dishes everywhere. I pointed at one and said “kimchi?”

My friend said “yes.” I ate it. Then I pointed at another red dish. “Kimchi?” He said “also yes.”

I was confused. They looked different. Tasted different. One was crunchy. One was watery. One made my nose run.

I asked “how many kimchi are there?” He just laughed and said “a lot.” I stopped asking. I just ate. My mouth was on fire but in a good way. I still don’t know the names. I just know they’re all red and I like them.

There Was Brown Paste and Red Paste and I Mixed Them by Accident

At a restaurant, they brought out little bowls. One was brown. One was red. One was black liquid.

I thought the red one was “spicy” and the brown one was “not spicy.” So I avoided the red one like it would kill me.

Then I accidentally dipped my spoon in the wrong one. Mixed them. Panicked. Ate it anyway because everyone was watching.

It was… actually good? Salty. Deep. I don’t know. My friend saw my face and said “you’re not supposed to mix those but okay.”

I’ve been mixing them ever since. Don’t tell anyone.

Summary

I thought all red Korean food was kimchi. It’s not.

There are pots. And grandmas. And a lot of red stuff. And brown stuff. I don’t know what any of it is called. I just know if a grandma is patting a clay pot, you don’t call it kimchi unless you’re 100% sure.

📌 Things I Noticed

• There are a lot of clay pots: Everywhere. And you don’t touch them unless a grandma says it’s okay.
• Not everything red is the same: I learned that the hard way. My mouth learned that too.
• If you’re new: Just point and smile. And don’t mix the pastes unless you’re ready to commit. I was not ready, but I did it anyway.
• 
  

This is just what happened to me. I don’t know how fermentation works. I’m not a food expert. Don’t ask me what’s in the pots. I still call everything “spicy red stuff.”

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👉 [Next in this series]:  The Night I Walked Into a Bathhouse at 11 PM and Everyone Was Asleep

👉 [Previously in this series]:  The Day I Sat Down for Dinner and There Were 12 Plates for Just Me