Flirty Pancakes
Sometime in November, 2005
This time, I get to have more than the whirlwind 2-day-1-night sprint through Seoul. This time, my sister is also in Korea and we can have a groovy time, us girls only. For all of 4 days! Missynomad was in Korea on her way to the UK, and stopped in Seoul to experience the ultimate ironies in life – backpacker’s hostel for a few days, then 5-star corporate hotel for a few more. If the Westin’s Heavenly Beds weren’t so comfortable, the contrast would have made anyone’s head spin.
We went out walking a lot – street markets, curio shops, gawking at the gazillion posters of the same popular movie star in the same broody mournful pose, bonding, talking. It was nice to spend time together – talk about stuff we always talk about – boys, and parents. More importantly, you can always count on her to back you up when attempting to diplomatically walk away from a flirtatious pancake seller.
Especially one that has the build of a soldier boy, distinguished good looks, the charm of a Casanova and makes pancakes that taste like heaven on a crepe.
We walked by the stall when all we were going to spare it was a cursory glance. The glance froze on a picture that hung on the side of the tacky little stall. It was framed ornately, and was clearly very very old. In it was a young woman, holding up a pancake griddle or something that looks like it.
He waved us over to the hot griddle. “See? This is good! Makes strong bones,” he exclaimed, pointing at the pancakes.
The little pancakes had a slight green tint-they were mixed w green tea. He gestured towards a little sack, I peeked inside. "Good, put in pancake - tasty." Inside was a mix of raw cane sugar, sunflower seeds, and ground peanuts. My sister fished out 500won (50 us cents) and bought one for each of us.
What delight! Hot and fresh, with the perfect mix of fluffiness and chewines, oozing the sugar mix, munching was an act of pleasure itself. The petite little things were gone in a few bites, but what a few minutes of heaven.
My face must have given it away, as Mr Pancake beamed, draped his arm around me and said, "You like? Good! You want to take photo?" My sis gladly obliged ,snapping pictures of the brawny pancake seller, his strong biceps nudging at my neck, his gripping fingers at my shoulder.
This level of affection made me nervous. So I looked at him -- what I was going to say died on my tongue.
Mr. Pancake was chiseled-jaw, tall, bronzed, sharp-eyed samurai handsome. Up close, I lost my breath for a moment. He grinned, and my sis started to laugh. "So, chie, you like his pancakes?"
Before I could find my tongue, he gripped harder and waved at my sister. “You go, she stay. Thank you, byebye!”
I started to panic a bit. Oh no, kidnapped by pancake seller. Never mind that he’s got that rough edge that I find very attractive in men – he’s still a strange man in a strange city. I edged away a bit. “Thank you, very tired now, must go! Airport tomorrow!” My sis caught on. “No, no, she must go back to her husband.” *cross fingers behind back as I’m not wearing a wedding ring*
I managed to snake out from under his arm. In chorus, we were backing away and making our excuses. “Pancakes very nice! Good luck, bye bye! Must go! Taxi waiting!”
Mr. Pancake was waving as we turned away, we rounded a corner, and my sister looked at me straight-faced. “When was the last time you can say you were hit on by a pancake seller?” We dissolved into giggles, and the girl-bonding continued for the rest of the night.
This time, I get to have more than the whirlwind 2-day-1-night sprint through Seoul. This time, my sister is also in Korea and we can have a groovy time, us girls only. For all of 4 days! Missynomad was in Korea on her way to the UK, and stopped in Seoul to experience the ultimate ironies in life – backpacker’s hostel for a few days, then 5-star corporate hotel for a few more. If the Westin’s Heavenly Beds weren’t so comfortable, the contrast would have made anyone’s head spin.
We went out walking a lot – street markets, curio shops, gawking at the gazillion posters of the same popular movie star in the same broody mournful pose, bonding, talking. It was nice to spend time together – talk about stuff we always talk about – boys, and parents. More importantly, you can always count on her to back you up when attempting to diplomatically walk away from a flirtatious pancake seller.
Especially one that has the build of a soldier boy, distinguished good looks, the charm of a Casanova and makes pancakes that taste like heaven on a crepe.
We walked by the stall when all we were going to spare it was a cursory glance. The glance froze on a picture that hung on the side of the tacky little stall. It was framed ornately, and was clearly very very old. In it was a young woman, holding up a pancake griddle or something that looks like it.
He waved us over to the hot griddle. “See? This is good! Makes strong bones,” he exclaimed, pointing at the pancakes.
The little pancakes had a slight green tint-they were mixed w green tea. He gestured towards a little sack, I peeked inside. "Good, put in pancake - tasty." Inside was a mix of raw cane sugar, sunflower seeds, and ground peanuts. My sister fished out 500won (50 us cents) and bought one for each of us.
What delight! Hot and fresh, with the perfect mix of fluffiness and chewines, oozing the sugar mix, munching was an act of pleasure itself. The petite little things were gone in a few bites, but what a few minutes of heaven.
My face must have given it away, as Mr Pancake beamed, draped his arm around me and said, "You like? Good! You want to take photo?" My sis gladly obliged ,snapping pictures of the brawny pancake seller, his strong biceps nudging at my neck, his gripping fingers at my shoulder.
This level of affection made me nervous. So I looked at him -- what I was going to say died on my tongue.
Mr. Pancake was chiseled-jaw, tall, bronzed, sharp-eyed samurai handsome. Up close, I lost my breath for a moment. He grinned, and my sis started to laugh. "So, chie, you like his pancakes?"
Before I could find my tongue, he gripped harder and waved at my sister. “You go, she stay. Thank you, byebye!”
I started to panic a bit. Oh no, kidnapped by pancake seller. Never mind that he’s got that rough edge that I find very attractive in men – he’s still a strange man in a strange city. I edged away a bit. “Thank you, very tired now, must go! Airport tomorrow!” My sis caught on. “No, no, she must go back to her husband.” *cross fingers behind back as I’m not wearing a wedding ring*
I managed to snake out from under his arm. In chorus, we were backing away and making our excuses. “Pancakes very nice! Good luck, bye bye! Must go! Taxi waiting!”
Mr. Pancake was waving as we turned away, we rounded a corner, and my sister looked at me straight-faced. “When was the last time you can say you were hit on by a pancake seller?” We dissolved into giggles, and the girl-bonding continued for the rest of the night.
posted by tygertyger at 1:34 AM
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