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A bowl of Pyongyang raengmyeon (cold noodles), seen in September 2018. / Korea Times photo by Jon Dunbar |
By Jon Dunbar?
On a visit to North Korea in September 2018, the cultural delegation I was part of went to a Pyongyang's colossal Ryomyong Street for lunch. The restaurant was in the Green Architecture IT Center, a striking piece of architecture featuring flower-shaped pods. We took the elevator up to the third floor and walked up one more flight into a colorfully decorated dining room I recall being circular.
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There were 10 of us seated around one big table, and our Korean guides sat at another table nearby. I understood their need to be apart from us at meals, as we must be exhausting for them to bring around, look after and solve any cross-cultural problems.
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The waitress brought out various bland foods for tourist, which inevitably included potato wedges, something served to us at most meals presumably because they didn't upset our famously unadventurous Western palates. As the courses were trotted out, the waitress noted I didn't seem to have an appetite.
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Then I saw our guides were each served a bowl of Pyongyang raengmyeon (cold noodles). I piped up, "Why are our guides eating better than us?" The waitress promptly brought me a bowl of raengmyeon.
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By then, most of the others had discovered the roof access to this place and were admiring the view outside. Two others remained inside with me, but both told me they had no interest in trying this bizarrely cold noodle dish.
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The roof of the Green Architecture IT Center in Pyongyang's Ryomyong New Town, seen in September 2018 / Korea Times photo by Jon Dunbar |
I knew where they were coming from; for decades I shared their opinion. My first time trying it was in South Korea in 1996, when I was staying with my uncle for the summer in Yeosu before my final year of high school. Every meal he took me out for was not to my taste, and when I requested we go for noodles, he took me to a restaurant that served naengmyeon, which is how you say raengmyeon in the South Korean dialect.
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It was hard to eat and unpleasantly unfamiliar. First, as the name suggests, it was cold. And it was flavored with vinegar and mustard, with various other ingredients unpalatable to a teenager such as pickled radish. The noodles were stringy and goopy and hard to actually eat. It was one of many miserable culinary experiences on that trip.
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I didn't change my mind until 2010, during my first visit to North Korea. Last month I shared the story fro that trip of trying Pyongyang's surprisingly excellent pizza; we had been given that option as an alternative to a famous raengmyeon restaurant. One friend who went there told me later they weren't even allowed to order the raengmyeon for some reason, so I clearly made the right choice.
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I would've happily returned to China and then South Korea without ever trying Pyongyang raengmyeon, but on one of our last days there we visited the restaurant of an automotive factory and had by far our best meal in North Korea. The restaurant served lamb skewers and various other barbecue meats cooked at the table. Then after, we were ushered into another room where we were served bowls of raengmyeon, basically as a dessert. I had already eaten my fill, but I wasn't going to pass up this chance again. It was the only meal that trip I ate with my guides, and I learned how to eat it watching them wolf it down.
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Down in South Korea, I've been to several restaurants serving naengmyeon, including a few claiming to serve North Korean-style; they were expensive and didn't live up to my expectations. I found the best, most authentic naengmyeon was usually at the cheapest restaurants. The best place for naengmyeon I ever found in the South was a counter in an underground mall just outside Cheonan Station, probably about the humblest place you can imagine.
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So on my 2018 return to the North, sitting in that weird round utopian building, I wasn't going to let my companions miss out on this life-changing meal. I urged them to try just a little, giving them both a spoonful each of noodles and vinegary broth. Try it they did, and they were both instant converts.
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Something about Pyongyang raengmyeon is special. Maybe it's some authentic preparation technique, or North Korean ingredients, or the rare exclusive experience of being there trying it. When you try it, you are tasting a future made possible only by increasing inter-Korean openness.
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When I returned to the South from my second visit, I found that naengmyeon had become a big hit through the summit diplomacy between President Moon Jae-in and North Korean Kim Jong-un, who dined together and their meals included cold noodles (sometimes I wonder if they bickered over the proper pronunciation). Suddenly everyone was talking about Pyongyang naengmyeon. But to me, nothing down here was enough to replicate those two great meals I had in Pyongyang.
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