The Soft Tofu House will Always Exert for Enjoying my Dinner Appreciate!

My Class was cut short today (a one-on-one session with a radiologist was cancelled because he forgot to show up), so I had a few hours to myself. I walked across town on 34th street from the Hospital where I’m working to the ferry to New Jersey. The hospital is on 1st avenue, just south of the United Nations, and the ferry terminal is directly across town, so I got to take one of the nicest walks in the city. The Empire State building is still a wonder and a thing of beauty, and it’s fun to pass Macy’s and notice that it still advertises “The Biggest Store in the World” (Take that, Wal-Mart!). Even the Jacob Javits center, an ugly little glass box sprawling along the river is interesting, if not attractive, to look at. I’d describe it as an armadillo made out of black Legos, or maybe a pile of Darth Vader’s sugar cubes. The ferry terminal on the New York side is surrounded by lots of demolition and construction and the ruins of the old terminals where cruise ships would sail for Europe. I can remember coming here in the 1960s, the last days of the great Transatlantic cruise ships. My brother helped pay for his Polaroid camera by sneaking on to the departing ships and selling instant photos of passengers.

As the ferry headed for New Jersey in a refreshing drizzle, I got a nice view of midtown Manhattan and of the aircraft carrier Intrepid, now a floating museum with quite a collection of vintage warplanes on its decks.

One bad thing about staying with mom is that she likes to watch TV. She is watching a TV show called “Friends” right now, and I’m catching bits of it as a write. I’m told it’s quite a popular show, though I haven’t ever seen it. It appears to be a lighthearted comedy starring a bunch of attractive young people who talk about sex a lot but don’t actually do much copulating.

The next night, I took my mother to a Korean/Japanese restaurant a few blocks from where we lived when I was a pre-schooler. It’s called the Restaurant So Kong Do, translated as “Soft Tofu Restaurant.” Its logo is two children in kimonos playing Taiko-style drums. It’s an unassuming place, but lots of fancy cars are parked outside. The interior is comfortable, sort of psuedo-rustic Japanese with cedar beams and black-on-white block prints in Japanese characters on the wall. I find myself wondering what the text says.

Many families, from newborns to ancient ones are sitting and eating, most of them in the semi-enclosed booths at the perimeter. Mom and I are the only Caucasian faces and apparently the only English speakers. It’s not an entirely comfortable experience, especially since none of the wait staff speaks English, but mom is daring, and I’m a sucker for any exotic dining experience.

We’re served glasses of iced barley tea; a subtle and refreshing change from water. The menu is very short. It lists four variations on soft tofu soup: soft tofu soup with seafood, soft tofu soup with mushrooms, soft tofu soup with beef, and soft tofu soup with pork. Almost as an afterthought, the menu lists beef ribs at the bottom.

We watch our neighbors to see what we’re going to be served. Each diner gets the soup, served in a sizzling-hot cast-iron pot, along with a raw egg. Each table gets a ceramic cauldron of rice and several tiny plates spicy Korean pickled vegetables. I recognize Kim-Chee, the Korean national dish. It consists of Napa Cabbage pickled in brine with lots of garlic and hot chili peppers. It’s an acquired taste, but I’ve acquired it. There’s also Daikon radish and bean sprouts, all pickled and all spicy. Some diners order the ribs on the side. These ribs are completely different from the ribs I know — they are sliced on the bias, yielding foot-long strips of beef studded with ring-like bones. I wonder how we can possibly eat them with chopsticks.

After we order, we discreetly watch a group of Yuppie-looking men at the next table for guidance. There seems to be a sort of ritual to eating this dish. The raw egg goes into the soup, where it’s cooked gently in the sizzling hot broth. The spicy pickles can be mixed in or eaten separately. The ribs are served with a large pair of scissors, enabling the diner to slice off single chopstick-size pieces. The ceramic pot of rice turns out to be glutinous rice. baked and crusted inside its dish. It’s scooped into a serving bowl and cold water is poured into cooking pot to make an insipid but soothing scorched-rice broth, which people seem to be eating as dessert.

I’m a little surprised and quite proud of how adventurous Mom is being. I only hope that when I’m an octogenarian I’ll be that way. I know she doesn’t quite share my enthusiasm for strange exotic food, but she loves an adventure, and is enjoying this almost as much as me. She plays kitchy-koo with the adorable infant in the next booth, and (in sign language) advises ice to the parents of a very upset toddler who attempted to eat the pickles. When she sees the limited menu choice she comments “Well, at least you know they can’t mess up your order” and, as I scissor away at the ribs she notes “I remember when I had to cut your meat.” She even gamely tries using the chopsticks for a while.

There is a gold-painted dome on each table that looks like exactly like an old-fashioned pre-digital home thermostat. The only difference is that instead of “Honeywell,” it has several words in Korean or Japanese. I speculate on what it might be, and spy on my neighbors to see if they do anything with it. Mom bets it’s to summon a waiter, and sure enough we notice the young yupsters pressing it moments before the waitress arrives to refresh their pickle assortment.

The check arrives. It’s entirely in Korean (or it is Japanese?) except the total, so there’s no way to check the math, but it’s stunningly cheap — less than a deli lunch for one in New York. The accountants will be happy. As we leave, I notice the signs posted on the front door. Underneath a tangle of Japanese characters the English reads “Starting June we will be open 24 hours. We will always exert for enjoying your dinner appreciate.” It’s been a great meal and a minor adventure, and I couldn’t ask for better company. This meal ranks as my finest expense-account dining experience to date.