The Warmest Welcome

The lights far out on the ocean water look eerie and unnatural in the icy blackness of the early winter night. They silhouette the fishing boats from beneath, hypnotizing squid into their waiting nets. These lights are the trademark of Seokcho, a small Korean fishing town, my berth for the night.

A modest little restaurant stands quietly on a side street, catching my eye as I hustle against the relentless, piercing wind. It's dignified and almost lonely in the dark street, its simple white sign offering hearty bone stew.

As I open the door she welcomes me in with a broad, honest smile and the familiarity of a grandmother. She grasps my bare hands and rubs them vigorously for warmth before taking them to lead me to a table near the kitchen. "It's warmer there." she tells me, before scolding me for not wearing gloves and muttering off into the kitchen.

The restaurant is empty except for the two of us, clean and simple, its under-floor heating glorious as I sit cross-legged.

The food is already on the table before I realize that she didn't actually wait for me to order. The steaming stew is still bubbling in its little black cauldron in front of me, the side dishes resplendent in a bouquet of choice and flavour.

My eyes close as the first succulent mouthful of stew floods my mouth. I feel my cheeks flush and my nose tingle under the gentle influence of its spice, the tender meat surrendering at the merest movement of my tongue.

When I open my eyes I realize she is sitting across from me, smiling at my obvious bliss. She stays with me for the whole meal, making sure I did not eat alone.

She pushes side dishes in front of me, motioning me to try more, content and fulfilled in being able to share her hospitality.

As she cleared the table at the end of the meal I realized that I experienced "jeong:" a concept central to Korean culture. A radiating benevolence and kindness toward others, its shared humanity like shelter and a warm meal on a cold lonely night.