This “Tail” Ends Well

“And the little dog lost his bone forever,” she read. Then she stopped.

“Oh my,” I said, “What happens next? Is there another chapter?”

Principal Yu replied, “No, that is the end.”

And now I am supposed to share this sad story with my elementary students? Oh well, I thought, I guess Koreans are realists. And I have a limited selection of English books to read to them. Guess it’s never too early to learn the hard truth—not every tale ends well.

…

DL was driving us home from dinner (at a salad bar) when he pointed at a restaurant and said, “Dog soup.” I quickly asked, “They serve DOG soup there?” He laughingly said, “At many places. Like there, and there…and there!”

Apparently, we were at the hotspot for dog dishes. And I don’t mean the cute red ones with “Fido” written on the side, that you fill with your dog’s water. I mean the ones where you put Fido in the water, boil him, and serve him to your friends.

I had forgotten that Koreans indeed eat dog. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind before coming, or since arriving, up to that point. I asked him, “Do you eat dog?” His answer, I thought quietly, could affect our friendship. He replied, “No. It is a traditional dish. Many of the older people eat it. Young people cannot stomach it.”

In a cruel twist of fate, that same street hosted an obedience school for dogs. It was called “Obey Academy.” That must be the place where they teach them not to run away.

…

Dinner had been exceptional. Pastor Lee invited me to his sister’s house. He said, “I want you to know that you are not an outsider. We welcome you as family.” The spread was amazing: Korean “pizza” (which is like a seafood pancake), tender beef, spicy kimchi and vegetables, and bean curd soup. It was the best meal I have had in Korea.

The family had a cute dog, which they let out of the bedroom to come eat the remaining scraps on our plates. I asked them, “What is his name?” Pastor Lee replied, “His name is Golgi.” “That is sweet,” I said, “What does that mean?” He said, “It means meat.”

“Did you say meat? As in, meat that you eat?” I said it almost incredulously, yet mostly embarrassed that I called the name sweet. I really need to learn Korean fast, I thought! I also fretted, that the next time they invited me the dog would no longer be alive. Maybe little Meat is next on the menu—and I just fattened him up?

Pastor Lee smiled, “Yes, it is just a funny name.” I breathed a cautious sigh of relief…

Then he said, “Many Koreans love to eat dog. Not our pets, but other dogs. Our church members may serve you dog one day. Do you think you will eat it?” He was smirking.

…

Mrs. Kim’s son, Tim, was visiting from the Philippines, where he attends university. Out of respect to the pastors at the church, and out of excitement to showcase Tim’s good English, she invited me to dinner at 5pm. Pastor Lee said that I would be an honored guest, though I could refuse if I already had plans. I was free, and I happily agreed to go.

Pastor Lee’s face was very serious when he said, “Mrs. Kim is very happy. But she is worried that you will not like the dinner. It is traditional Korean food. Will you eat dug?”

I needed him to clarify, “What did you say we would eat?” He said it again, this time a little louder, “Will you eat DUG?” I felt my eyes grow wider. I said, “You mean, DOG?” He shook his head yes, “That is what I mean—DUG.” I turned pale as I said, “O…K…”

Though I wanted to immediately manufacture an excuse not to attend, I was facing a pastoral dilemma. You see, I am a very adventurous eater. I have eaten things all over the world—spiced insect, duck brain (and bill), chicken throat, sheep stomach, cow colon, pig’s blood, goat fat—all kinds of offal, which is not all that awful actually! And I know that entering a new culture means trying new food and expanding your palate—not for the sake of food, but for the sake of relationship. If you want to truly reach the people, you must eat with them, have fun with them, and live among them.

Sure, you can draw lines. But you must be careful not to offend needlessly. Moreover, living overseas has opened my eyes to new things in the scriptures. I have come to see so much of Paul’s writings in their context: cross-cultural ministry. He was an apostle to the Gentiles, a people who were not his own. And it makes much sense that he would talk about cultural issues concerning food (and how self-preference and personal bias can cause us to miss opportunities to be a witness). He writes the following—“For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking but of righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit (Romans 14:17).” And—“If one of the unbelievers invites you to dinner and you are disposed to go, eat whatever is set before you without raising any question on the ground of conscience (1 Corinthians 10:27).” Also—“For everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected with thanksgiving, for it is made holy by the word of God and prayer (1 Timothy 4:4-5).” There is much more reading on the topic, such as Peter’s vision of the “unclean” food in Acts 10.

That day, as I was walking home, I “happened” to see five people walking their dog. I began feeling sick. I thought, could I really eat one of those? Or am I going to pass on this one? I was having a mini-crisis of faith and a deep feeling of culture clash. Perhaps, I reasoned, they will understand my reservations. I will rightly claim “weak faith” on this one! Or I will say, “It will offend my American friends if I eat dog.” In the end, I decided that I would wait until we arrived at the restaurant for a final verdict, although that left me 3 hours to “avoid” thinking about it. I prayed for strength and wisdom.

They came in the church van to pick me up. It felt like forever before we arrived, though it was just 30 minutes to reach the mountainside. It gave me more time pray. I prayed until we walked up to the door, above which was a big English sign that read…

Canaan Duck. I started laughing out loud. They laughed too, though they didn’t know what was so funny. They pointed out, “He is turning the color of his red shirt!”

We went on to enjoy a delicious dinner of grilled duck in lettuce wraps, with roasted potatoes and cinnamon-spiced persimmons. I worked up the nerve to tell them about my fears—that we were eating dog tonight. They really saw the humor in it, though the pastor was slightly embarrassed by his pronunciation of the word duck. He had that familiar smirk when he said, “I do not like dog. I only ate it when my poor country church members made it for me. But that has been 10 years. I do not plan to eat it again!”

The End. (For now. Though something tells me there may be another chapter ahead…)