Eating my way through miles and times

No one cringes at the idea of wearing silk, yet when thinking about eating that dextrous weaver of fashionable scarves, most people would think twice. I certainly had my initial reservations, but over the course of my three months in Korea, I learned to respect this humble snack. Sold among the many street vendors of fried scorpions or grasshoppers on a stick, the boiled silkworm—or the “Korean boiled chestnut,” as it was described to me initially when I asked why a nut had legs—is the culinary epitome, along with bandaejigae—or army base stew— of the Korean spirit of resourcefulness and survival.
Korea, historically flanked on both sides by two powerful neighbours, has had a difficult history. Invaded many times, the people of this country have had to survive not only warfare, but also the food shortages that followed. During times of peace, the silkworm was an important way of earning an income, as its silk could be dyed and transformed into beautiful hanboks—traditional dresses—that would grace the bodies of Korean women. Yet, the importance of the silkworm would become even greater in times of want when it would be boiled and its nutritious insides could provide the necessary protein and sustenance.
The Korea of today has transformed itself into a regional power, and its citizens enjoy a standard of living its seniors could not have imagined when they were children. And yet, the boiled silkworm is still omnipresent and eaten at picnics in the park or during conversations with friends, as a reminder of times when life was not so leisurely, and also as a testament to the innovativeness of generations past.