The Day I Sat Down for Dinner and There Were 12 Plates for Just Me


I thought we were waiting for other people.


The table was full. Little bowls everywhere. Red stuff. Green stuff. Soup. Rice. A fish looking at me.


I asked “Who else is coming?”


My friend said “No one. This is for you.”


I panicked. I didn’t know where to start. I just stared at the fish. It stared back. I think it was judging my life choices.



A traditional Korean hanjeongsik table setting viewed from above, showing diverse banchan side dishes surrounding rice and soup


Everything Was Fermented and My Brain Short-Circuited


There was this red cabbage stuff. On every table. Every meal.


I ate it. My face went hot. My nose ran. I liked it. I ate more. My stomach made a weird noise.


My friend said some word in Korean. I nodded like I understood. I did not understand.


All I know is it shows up everywhere. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Late-night snack. I’m not


 complaining. But I also don’t ask questions anymore. I just eat the red stuff.


A close-up of traditional Korean banchan side dishes including kimchi, seasoned spinach, braised burdock, pickled radish, and bean sprouts

The Vegetables Outnumbered Me and I Lost


At home, vegetables are like… one sad broccoli on the side.


Here, they were the main event. Five different kinds. All little portions. All different colors.


I tried to be polite and take “just a little” of each. By the time I finished sampling, my rice bowl was empty and I was full. Of vegetables.


I don’t know how they do it. I don’t know what half of them are called. One of them looked like tree roots. I ate it. It was fine. I’m still alive.


A Korean woman preparing traditional seasoned vegetable side dishes (namul) in a home kitchen


There Was Soup at Every Meal and It Was Always Boiling


Breakfast? Soup. Lunch? Soup. Dinner? Soup.


And it’s never just “warm.” It’s bubbling. In a stone bowl. Making angry noises.


The first time I tried to eat it, I burned my tongue. The second time, I burned my tongue. The third time… I waited. I learned.


Now I just sit there and watch it bubble for 5 minutes like it’s a lava lamp. Everyone else just digs in. I don’t know how they do it. Maybe they have asbestos mouths.


A steaming bowl of doenjang jjigae Korean fermented soybean paste stew in a stone pot, served alongside white rice


I Went to the Grocery Store and Gave Up Immediately


I thought “I can cook this at home.”


I went to the store. There was a whole wall of pastes. Red ones. Brown ones. All in tubs. All with labels I couldn’t read.


Then there were leaves. Roots. Things I’ve never seen before. I picked up a package of something. It looked at me.


I put it back. Bought instant noodles. Walked home. Ate the noodles. They were fine. I am not ready for the paste aisle.


A Korean grocery store aisle showing traditional staple ingredients — tofu, seaweed, fermented pastes, and fresh vegetables

Summary


I thought dinner was one plate. It’s not.


Here, dinner is 12 plates. It’s red. It’s fermented. It’s vegetables I can’t name. It’s soup that tries to kill your tongue.


📌 Things I Noticed


  • There’s a lot of food: All at once. I got overwhelmed. Then I got full.
  • The red stuff is everywhere: I don’t ask what it is anymore. I just eat it.
  • If you’re new: Don’t try to cook it yourself right away. Just accept the noodles. I did. I’m okay.

This is just what happened to me at dinner. I don’t know what’s in the food. I’m not a doctor. I’m not a chef. Don’t ask me for recipes. I still burn my tongue on soup.


👉 Discover more Korea guides here

You may also be interested in:

👉 [Next in this series]:  The Day I Called Everything “Kimchi” and a Grandma Corrected Me

👉 [Previously in this series]:  The Night I Thought We Were Going Home at Midnight and Everyone Laughed

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