soju

Every group of human beings that has assembled into a society has developed a way to forget all of the problems that arise because of existence. In Korea, the way is called "soju."

This is soju and me:



Soju, as one might expect of an Asian alcoholic drink, is made from rice. My Korean-English phrase book for travelers defines it as "rice wine," but calling it wine is a bit misleading. It's more of a liquor, a liquor that tastes awful.

I've had a few experiences with the vile drink, and to my discerning tongue it tastes like a mix of gin and rubbing alcohol. Granted, I've never tasted rubbing alcohol, but the senses of smell and taste are indelibly connected, and so I feel I have a general idea of what it would taste like if it were mixed with gin.

Koreans have done okay with masking its taste. I've had a few soju cocktails which were pretty much Slurpees with soju poured into them, and which were quite delicious because the soju was overwhelmed. However, more often than not, the drink is consumed undiluted, so that one experiences every ounce of its repugnance.

A person can buy soju pretty much anywhere. Every restaurant has it readily available, and rightfully so, because every time I've gone out to eat and seen more than 2 Korean men eating together, they are doing so over a bottle of soju. It can even be bought in juicebox form, so that the average Korean businessman can enjoy a few horrid ounces during his lunch hour.

I'd like to say that I'll never again touch the stuff, but I know that I will. I'll drink it, and I'll hate it, and I'll love it.