Kalbi, soon doo boo, and another soup, a spicy broth with brisket. More banchan than I've ever seen, at least twenty little dishes covering the table.
Smoke filled the air as we grilled our kalbi. The soon doo boo bubbled in its clay pot. I had to ask for more kochujang; I put it on everything, in great quantity.
I miss this food. We ate all the kalbi, most of the soup and the banchan. I could smell the smoky aroma of kalbi on my hair when I went to bed that night. I ate the bit of leftover soon doo boo for breakfast the next day. When I unpacked on Sunday, the scent of the grill lingered in the shirt I'd been wearing at the restaurant.