A New Gourmet

'Delicacy' rarely brings to mind a horror like this: the still-wriggling leg of an octopus named Frankie struggling to free itself from the vice grip of my chopsticks. The frantic puckering of the fleshy purple limb suggests a cry of "Why me?" I'm starting to wonder the same thing, Frankie.

The scene of my encounter with this unique cuisine is Noryangjin fish market in western Seoul. It's a short walk from the subway station, but as I head toward the entrance I can already catch a whiff of brine on the air. Inside, the market floor moves with the organized chaos of rush hour traffic as seafood vendors clad in purple galoshes wave forward the crowds of hungry diners. They guard rows of tanks swarming with aquatic life, and the chilly smell of sea water suggests they were caught this morning.

I'm struck by the efficiency of each transaction: the seller pockets a wad of won and then - armed only with gloves and a net - scoops a fish from its home and stops its struggling with a sturdy bonk to the head. Choosing my dinner would be easier if it didn't stare back, but I find myself in front of a wall of aquarium glass, unable to look away from the gawking faces of crabs, squid, octopi, and fish of all stripes.

"Pick one," orders the fishkeeper. Pick one? I'm here to try sannakji (raw octopus) but I didn't anticipate having to choose who I want to eat.

"Uhh...that one," I mumble morbidly, pointing to Frankie huddled in the tank corner. The vendor plunges a gloved hand into the water and hoses my meal down before cutting the legs into bite-sized pieces with a cool, practiced precision.

I'm hustled to a table with the squirming mass of sannakji before me. The restaurant area roars with the crunching, smacking sound of satisfied carnivores and - taking heart - I reach for my first bite. The key is this: dip the piece in a salty sauce to paralyze the leg. I choose instead to stun mine with a biting shot of soju, Korea's ricey equivalent of vodka.

The first leg is chewy and not altogether unpleasant, though I can't help but glance uneasily at my writhing plate. I wrap my second bite in lettuce with a smear of red pepper paste. The bright spice notes complement the octopus perfectly, and I'm able to finish my plate with something closer to gusto. This meal is not what most might call gourmet. But as a second shot of soju radiates through me, I decide - with apologies to Frankie - that Noryangjin provides the primal, adventurous soul of a good meal.