Pass the Kimchee

If I read the site correctly (and judging by the typos, how likely is that?) then this is the fiftieth entry in this blog. I don't know whether I should be proud of my enduring record of Siena's formative years, or disappointed that I haven't blogged more often in eight months, or disappointed that I've procrastinated on my own work so much. And I'm sure that you could care less about my feelings--dish about the baby! Okay, fine.

Siena loves Korean food. I'd bet that half of you can't name a Korean food (no canine humor, please) and the rest of you have never eaten any. But we live a stone's throw from Koreatown, the part of L.A. that most resembles Blade Runner and a neighborhood where you can't swing a dead cat (no pun intended, seriously) without hitting a Korean barbecue restaurant.

If you've never been to one--and if, like MiMi, you never will--then you're missing out on a great dining experience. Your table has a built-in recessed hibachi in the center, and whatever you order--short ribs, chicken, whole squid--comes out raw, along with a dozen small dishes of pickled vegetables and sauces that I can't begin to identify. You throw your entree on the grill, cook it to suit your tastes, then eat it with any combination of the veggies and sauces that you prefer. It's very social, a lot of fun--and if you're white, you could be the only roundeyes in the place. Of course, the best recommendation for an ethnic restaurant is seeing the paisans dining there, so this is a good thing. But by and large, these places draw a local crowd.

Except for us. Daddy, of course, will eat anything that won't eat him first. And Mommy loves seafood, so the prospect of grilling a whole frigging squid, tentacles and all, is a welcome respite from the TGIFried Calamari that everyone else serves. And Siena? She inherited the best of both parents; a taste for seafood, and a willingness to try anything that she can get to her mouth.

So Saturday night we went to Soot Bull Jeep, a well-known Korean BBQ joint whose name probably means something in Korean that makes sense and has nothing to do with either soot, bulls, or jeeps. We'd been there before, and were careful to order entrees that we could dumb down for a toddler's palate. But this time Siena went for anything we offered her. From the miso soup appetizer to the pickled-celery side dishes, from Daddy's short ribs to Mommy's blackened tentacles, Siena tried it all and liked almost all of it. The grilled garlic cloves, however, came out of her mouth almost as soon as they went in. But for a two-and-a-quarter-year old, that's still an impressive meal. Some of the locals even commented on Siena's impressive gastronomical ecumenism (now there's a phrase that I don't trot out too often).

To be sure, Korean isn't Siena's only foray beyond conventional "American" food. The girl can work her way through a plate of (shelled) crawfish, a platter of Ethiopian mixed veggies in Injera bread, or a tray of sushi. We're grateful that our girl isn't a finicky eater, though I suppose the day could come when she only eats french fries. But until then, Daddy's happy to split a plate of bok choy with his little girl.