Koreatown

Koreatown


We live in Koreatown. Our part of Wilshire Blvd. has lots of lovely old buildings that have been abandoned and deteriorating since Century City became the fashionable place to do whatever people used to do in the Wilshire District. I used to walk around the area to buy groceries, get my hair cut, have my nails done and other mundane stuff. Anyway, I used to walk by these lovely old neighborhoods and be sorry about the buildings.. The Koreans have saved the area. It's a major club and social scene for the Southern California Korean young population. They come here from all over to party in these wonderful old buildings.

Anyway, one summer evening some summers ago, Manuel, Joanna, and I were walking around the neighborhood looking for a place to eat. We passed this new Korean grill in a storefront and went in. The signs on the walls were in Korean; the menu was in Korean; the people spoke Korean, and the place was clean, brand new, and empty. The waitresses were lovely. They brought us meat to grill, showed us how to grill it, and brought all of the wonderful little dishes that keep Korean wives in the kitchen through dinner. The food was spectacular; the people absolutely gently and lovely; the bill very high. We walked home and did not go back for about three years.

Last summer, we walked over again. There was a line around the block for this little storefront in an area full of fancy Korean restaurants with valet parking. All the people in line were Koreans but us. We got in line. A man who spoke English came out and took us to a seat; I don't know why we got to go past the line. Maybe three of us was the right number. Anyway, the plate glass windows were propped open to the street, and the place full of cigarette and grill smoke. All the men in the place were smoking away. The signs and the menu were still in Korean, and the staff still did not speak English, but the place was crammed full with a huge line out front. They did not figure out what we should eat or teach how to eat it. We sat in a booth, totally bewildered. What to do?

Manuel finally asked a waitress if she spoke English. She looked at him with total lack of comprehension for about a minute. Then she said in Spanish, No hablo ingles, pero hablo espanol muy bien, so we discussed our order and ordered it in Spanish. I am sure there is no other city on earth where that could happen.