Last night Adam and I had the pleasure of being invited over to the high school gym teacher's home for dinner with his family. Wanting to bring something as a gesture to say thanks, we asked both of our co-teachers what the proper gift is. And get this: whenever Koreans go over to each other's homes for dinner, the traditional thing to bring is boxes and boxes of tissues. The teacher that we went with brought SIX boxes. (As a sidenote, whenever anyone has a housewarming party, typically about 90% of the guests bring the lucky family laundry detergent. Where do they put it all?!)

We didn't exactly feel like adding to what I can only assume is an overstuffed closet bursting with tissue boxes, so we decided to play up the foreigner card and bring a cake. Yet what was supposed to be a fallback on our blissful vision of normalcy became instead a clash of cultures. When we went to the bakery to pick out our offering of gratitude, the lady behind the counter kept asking how old our baby was turning! After unsuccessfully insisting that the cake was not going to be for the birthday of our nonexistent child, I finally caved in and accepted the pushy woman's offering of a candle for the fateful moment of presentation. But, with a twinkle in her eye, she outfitted our cake with FIVE candles and TWO noisemakers. Not to mention the decoration of two hearts stuck in the middle of the cake with "Sweet Love" splashed between the two. If I had been able to stop laughing, I might have noticed how nice of a presentation it would have been for the make-believe baby.

The dinner itself was delicious. Mrs. Chae, the wife of the gym teacher, made a dish called bulgogi, which is apparently quite the hit with foreigners. As much as I hate falling into stereotypes, I fell into this one as if it were meant to be. The dish consists of thin strips of beef simmered with onions, carrots, and innumerable spices, served with bean rice. Mmmmm. The food continued to be served and the conversation was lively. It grew more and more boisterous as the alcohol continued to be served. Mr. Chae was very proud of his collection, boasting that he had over 30 different types of liquor. A strong Catholic, he perceived much of his controlled drinking as a way to stay healthy. I quickly understood why... The traditional soju was served, but other, more interesting drinks followed. First there was the fruit drink, which tasted like an extremely strong, aged port. To him, he claimed, since he couldn't taste the alcohol, it wasn't alcoholic. Huh, who knew? Next came the most popular liquor of Taiwan, which he picked up during his travels. At 58%, it burned the entire way down, but I somehow managed a smile amidst the choking. Last was the most interesting. Most likely something that I will never, ever, even if I wanted to, forget. It came from a 3-liter case in the back corner of the cabinet, reserved for special occasions and, as he was proud to share, aged for three years. It was some sort of homemade concoction that had now-colorless white carrots fermenting at the bottom. It tasted like a mixture of sweet potatoes and seafood all at the same time, and I was secretly pleaing that there were no shrimp sharing the same fate as the carrots. Whew! I managed to get it down! That moment I felt almost as proud as when I managed to swallow boiled tofu in front of the teachers, with only minor gagging.

Thoughts of the carrot conconction from hell were quickly erased once the dinner had finished and the five year old twins were allowed to play. While eating the cake that we had brought (which tasted like marshmallows), the twins decided to make Adam and myself their personal playtime assistants. Sooo much fun! While the adults were glued to the TV to learn about the latest developments in North Korea, we chose to remain somewhat oblivious to the troubles of the world and instead remember what it was like to be amused by the some of the purest pleasures life has to offer.

Don't you wish life could always be so simple?