Every Korean meal is a costume party but the food wears the disguises. The eggs are cross-hatched,
the duck is lacquered, the beef askew, the greens red hot.. The salad is mixed up, the tongue falls silent,
the brains are amnesiac. As for the fish, you'd best be quick--it's cuttles.
In the midst of dinner appears the Grail (the room overflowed with fine smells as though scattered
with all the earth's spices") -it's the kettle of fairies, a culinary tower of Babel, herbs, seaweeds, segments,
slivers, microcosms all counterpointing to infinity, feverish as a Constituent Assembly.
The poorest Korean child sees these wonders at least once a vear for his birthday. But at midnight
the enchantment is over and, like Cinderella in reverse, he regrets the vanished pumpkins