Chinatown—Saigon

Sanshan Hokkien Temple, Ho Chi Minh City.

We did something we had never done before. The two of us piled onto the back of a moped, trusting our taxi driver to take us through the crazy streets of Saigon. Two-wheeled vehicles are the preferred means of transportation here and it is not uncommon to see three, and sometimes four people on a bike.

He drove us four miles, weaving in and out of traffic until he dropped us off at Bình Tây Market in the heart of Chinatown. 

The emergence of the Chinese in present-day Vietnam dates back to 1664 with the collapse of the Ming Dynasty. During subsequent years many Chinese fled the Motherland. In 1778 some of them took refuge near present-day Ho Chi Minh City due to a fear of retaliation for their support of the Nguyen Lords. In 1782, more than 10,000 of them were killed in what is known as the Tay Son Massacre. 

This Chinese community became its own village, known then and now as Cho Lon. Over the years it has been absorbed into Saigon, but retains much of the original Chinese flavor. It is now the largest Chinatown in Vietnam. 

Chaotic street just outside Binh Tay Market in Saigon.

Aromas come from all directions. 

Inside of Binh Tay Market.

Motorbikes are the principle means of transport in Saigon.

I don't even know how to begin describing Cho Lon. The smells are different. Maybe it's the herbs, the scent of fresh fish, the dank alleyways, the humidity, the incense. I don't know. 

There is the Chinese script that is everywhere, the lanterns, the different foods and Chinese temples. There is an older feel to it, as if you stepped back in time fifty years. 

Chinatown is not confined to a block, or any small space, but spreads in all directions, and there is no distinction as to where it begins or ends. The substance of Chinatown is a blend between Chinese and Vietnamese culture, making it difficult for the casual stranger such as myself to distinguish between the two. 

Fresh ingredients waiting to be used.

Taking a break at a park in Chinatown.

Food cart attached to a motorbike.

Our first stop was into the heart of Cho Lon: Bình Tây Market. This chaotic hub is arguably the best in Ho Chi Minh City. The market building itself had two stories, but vendors spilled out into the streets. The place was packed with fresh produce and food stalls. 

Compared with the other major market in Saigon, this one had no tourists and vendors were not at all pushy. Much of the space was devoted to practical items such as cookware, towels, blankets and the like. No souvenir items at all. 

The food section was sensory overload. There were so many smells and so many foreign foods that I couldn't comprehend them. I didn't even know most of what I was seeing. 

Pet rooster on the sidewalk.

A seller of headstones.

Chinatown felt like Saigon, but crazier and more chaotic. There seemed to be less room, more traffic, and more congestion. Sidewalks often had no room because they were filled with vendors and parked motorbikes, leaving the wary traveler at his own peril to walk along the edge of the street with traffic whizzing by just inches away. 

Of course, we had to eat Chinese food while in Chinatown. Not being too familiar with either Chinese or Vietnamese cuisine, it was difficult to distinguish between the two. We settled on a restaurant serving dim sum, a name referring to small Chinese dishes. I ordered dumplings filled with shrimp, which I ate with chopsticks and dipped in an unknown sauce.―Later in the afternoon we stopped at another restaurant and ordered wonton soup. 

It was while eating wonton soup that we experienced our first Vietnamese rainstorm. We stayed safely dry within the recess of the restaurant while fat drops of water fell from the smoggy Saigon sky. No one missed a beat. Pedestrians and motorists alike donned colorful rain ponchos and continued on their way. Within five minutes, it was over. This was a tease of what was later to come. It was monsoon season here in Southeast Asia. 

Dim sum.

Wonton soup.

No visit to Chinatown would be complete without a visit to one of the many temples. We visited three altogether, and all were similar, but unique in their own way. Common to all were the incense, the intricate sculptures, fine paintings, Chinese script and solemn atmosphere. 

The most iconic was Thien Hau Pagoda, built in 1760 by Chinese immigrants from Guangzhou. It was dedicated to the goddess, Lady Thien Hau, who gives blessings of prosperity and health on fisherman, sailors and others who travel on the sea. The new immigrants believed they had been helped by her during their travels to Vietnam, and thus built a house of worship in her honor. 

The main room was the Black Hall where there was a statue of Lady Thien Hau, as well as spiraled incense hanging above and sticks of incense in large pots. There were several red pillars with Chinese characters. As with all the temples, there were many intricate sculptures, both in the halls and outside on the grounds. 

The Black Hall of Thien Hau Pagoda with spiraled incense hanging above.

Courtyard of Ong Bon Temple.

Detail on Thien Hau Pagoda.

Pots of incense inside a Chinese temple.

One thing that amazed me about Saigon, but also Chinatown, was the innumerable amount of narrow side-streets that wound their way between buildings. They reminded me of the narrow slot canyons back home. But people live here. They park their motorbikes outside. If you peek inside, you can catch a glimpse of their humble living quarters. Although small, they keep them well decorated with plants.

One of the oldest alleyways in Chinatown is Hau Si Phuong, with two levels of colorful homes. When we visited, all was quiet. A man sat shirtless outside his door and a solitary scooter passed through. That was it. Wrought-iron railings surround the second-level balcony. Clothes were hung out to dry and plants decorated near the front door. Some had a rooster in a cage. This alley is over 100 years old and retains much of its original beauty. 

Hau Si Phuong Street, one of the oldest in Saigon's Chinatown.

Pharmacy of traditional Chinese medicine.

Along a street corner we found a pharmacy that sold traditional Chinese medicine. I stood and observed for a few minutes, watching many customers come and go. The shop was small—like almost every shop in Saigon—stacked with small boxes and bags of herbs. Some were behind a glass sliding door that a lady had to unlock. As I observed I became curious about this traditional art of healing, and wished I had known more. But, for now, a quick glimpse would have to suffice. 

Unlike our four-mile motorcycle taxi ride that brought us to Chinatown, we ended up walking the entire distance—and then some—back to our hotel. The Chinese script, the lanterns, the dim sum—they gradually faded out and were replaced with the usual din of Ho Chi Minh City. ♠ 

The Other Santo Domingo

While at a tourist attraction in East Santo Domingo, we peered over a stone fence and to my pleasant surprise found a cockfighting club across the street. To spend a few hours watching sparing roosters was on my “to do” list, but we didn't know if we'd have time. Now that we had found one across the road, it would be a piece of cake to work into our schedule. 

When we were done visiting the tourist attraction we entered the streets of Santo Domingo via the only exit available. All we had to do was turn right and follow the sidewalk to the far side of the block, then cross the street. But it wasn't that easy. 

As soon as we started walking, we were stopped by a group of police. “Where are you going?” they asked. I don't remember if I spoke in English or Spanish, but replied that we wanted to walk to the Club Gallistico. He immediately shook his head and said, “No, you can't do that. That's too dangerous.” He fed us with more mumbo jumbo, then offered to find a taxi driver to take us elsewhere. 

Man fishing with a can in the Caribbean Sea, Santo Domingo.

Street sweeper.

He walked inside the tourist attraction (and probably found one of his friends), and came out with a guy willing to drive us. We didn't need to go much further. Maybe a mile. He dropped us off and we spent an hour at the “Columbus Lighthouse.” 

After that I didn't know where to go. Here, there were no taxis, the parking lot was empty, and no sign of public transportation. I saw someone walk across the street toward another neighborhood. I thought that would be a good idea. 

But once again, we were stopped by police before we got to the road. “Where are you going?” 

“Over there to find something to eat,” I said. 

Once again he shook his head and said, “You can't do that. It's too dangerous.” 

He walked over to talk to one of his buddies, then returned to us. “Come with me,” he said. Within a minute we were in the back of his police car! 

We didn't know how this would turn out. There are all sorts of stories about corrupt cops and kidnappings in third-world countries. What were they going to do with us? 

But we didn't drive far. Probably less than a mile. 

He pulled over next to a small beater car with a cracked windshield. The driver was sound asleep on the seat. The police had to knock on the window to wake him up. He lurched suddenly before he realized what was going on. 

“Can you take these two to their hotel?” 

So he was finding us a taxi driver. I suppose the police were just trying to keep us safe. They probably felt there were certain areas in the city where tourists didn't belong. I thank them for this, but still wish I could have watched my rooster fight. 

The police told us to be sure to agree on a price before we left, which we did. But the driver claimed that the drive was further than he expected and tried to charge us more. Such shenanigans were common in Santo Domingo. 

Obelisk of Santo Domingo.

Man washing a minivan.

I loved my stay in this Dominican capital city. As I have written earlier, part of this city has an Old World charm. But as is true with any place, it also has a rougher, seedier side. As this story illustrates, not all is romantic in Santo Domingo. 

Some areas of the city had trash strewn everywhere as if it were a communal dumpster. Above every street seemed to be strung a dozen power lines, appearing like a tangled mess behind a television set. Dogs and cats roamed wherever they pleased. 

Streets of Santo Domingo below a tangle of wires.

Watching the street was a twisted pleasure. Traffic was pure chaos with no regulations at most intersections, compelling all to fend for themselves. Stop signs often meant nothing. They loved to honk. Potholes were everywhere. 

Mopeds were a popular choice of transport and were often used to transfer entire families, as well as loads of material in the way we would use the bed of a truck. 

One mode of public transportation that is popular among locals are beat-up minivans called públicos. When I say beat-up, I really mean it. Usually the sliding door is either open or missing and they drive down the road with a guy standing at the door (probably to take the money). Most of the ones I saw were old dented up Daihatsu's that looked like terrorist vehicles. Apparently they have fixed routes and are very inexpensive. 

Minivan taxis, or públicos, in Chinatown, Santo Domingo.

We were also surprised to learn that Santo Domingo has a Chinatown. Located northwest of the Colonial Zone, it is complete with a welcoming paifang, several Chinese restaurants, statues and food carts. I would have explored, but with our limited time I was more interested in finding the authentic Dominican Town. 

Once we had a crazy lady yell at us continuously for five minutes from the other side of the street. The rant had something to do with America, the Central Bank and the poor. She admitted she was crazy. 

A game of basketball in Santo Domingo.

A friendly game of checkers is a common sight on streets.

For the most part we felt safe in Santo Domingo, but perhaps that is because we stayed in the safer zones like Ciudad Colonial and Gazcue. Like Mexico, it seemed to be highly militarized. I went to an ATM and not only found a line of people, but also men in military uniforms toting automatic rifles.

Probably the biggest concern were the hustlers. These are the vendors on the streets or taxi drivers who are always ready to swindle a few extra dollars from naive tourists. It's a game you learn as you go. Almost every visitor will be taken advantage a time or two.  

Having said that, Santo Domingo is a wonderful city. One of the things I liked most was watching all the families. Sometimes it feels as if the family is a dying breed in the U.S., but in the D.R., it is alive and well. On Saturday night, at the Plaza Juan Barón, we found a carnival with amusement rides, cotton candy and karaoke. Mothers and fathers were there with their toddlers while teenagers ran free, moving from ride to ride. It was a chaotically crazy environment, but a fun one. The plaza sat next to the sea, inviting a warm Caribbean breeze. We bought some yaniqueques before returning to our room. 

Carnival with amusement rides at Plaza Juan Barón.

A friendly group of girls.

The city certainly came alive at night no matter where you were at. It seemed as if music blared from every street corner and every store front. Old men sat outside on the street and watched the people. Sometimes they played dominoes or chess. They didn't have much, but were happy to be alive—and enjoying life. 

On our final night in Santo Domingo, we decided not to take a taxi back to our hotel from the Colonial Zone. Instead, we would walk the one mile distance on a pedestrian street called Calle El Conde. It turned out to be the most lively place of the evening. 

Storefronts were open, artists sold paintings, men played checkers, hustlers pushed to sell their wares. Jenelle bought some larimar from a tall guy that looked and sounded like a Haitian immigrant. He wore his hair in dreadlocks and reminded me of Bob Marley. He was very nice, but we had to haggle him down on price. 

Pedestrian street of Calle el Conde.

Typical modern art in Santo Domingo.

The pedestrian street was well lit, but after we got to Independence Park we had to be on our toes. We stopped by our room to drop off what we'd bought, then returned to the street for one last hurrah in Santo Domingo. 

We walked for five minutes along empty streets to a mini market we had spotted earlier. We ordered four sandwiches, two for now and two for tomorrow at the airport. We sat on plastic chairs in front of the store, out in the open air. The night was winding down. The occasional van or moped sped past. The ice cream shop next door was closing up. It gave us time to take it all in. 

If I ever get the chance to return to Santo Domingo, I would do it in a heartbeat. It is a very photogenic and charming city, full of energy, but rough around the edges. And no, we didn't make it to a cockfight. That will be first on our agenda next time we come! ♠

Our final night in Santo Domingo, eating at a Mini Market.

 

The Ultimate Chinatown—Bangkok!

We step off the boat at Ratchawong Pier and into a different world. Men push loaded carts down the road while ladies grill food at a stall. Buildings appear a generation older and the din on the street is pure chaos. I feel as if we've traveled back in time fifty years, but in reality we have just entered the Chinese district of Bangkok.
 
This area has been home to the Chinese community for over two hundred years when they were dislocated after King Rama I built a new palace. They moved downriver to the Sampeng area, occupying a large area roughly between the Chao Phraya River and Charoen Krung (New Road). This space is now densely packed with shophouses and street vendors, sprawling through a complex web of alleyways.
 

Sampeng Lane.

We turn right and enter Sampeng Lane, a very narrow alley congested with shops and merchandise spilling onto the walkway. There is so little room that we have to constantly turn side-ways as we pass the oncoming crowd. Ahead is an old blind lady with a contraption on her shoulders that holds a microphone, as well as a bucket for money. She sings a beautiful high-pitched song as she walks along the narrow passageway, but walks slowly and holds up the line.
 
Everything seems to be sold here: stuffed animals, toys, t-shirts, baby clothes, purses. Merchandise is stacked high and shade canopies hang over the doorways. Sometimes it is easy to forget that we are outside because the sky is but a fleeting suggestion above us.
 
We cross another bisecting street, this one a bit wider, but still packed with vendors. Many of these are selling street food. Skinny men with dark leather faces and gray hair push carts heaping with fresh vegetables. Ladies with aprons grill bananas over a charcoal flame or fry balls of dough in simmering oil.
 

Yaowarat Road.

A mess of wires over Yaowarat Road.

Not far away we arrive at Yaowarat Road, the main corridor through Chinatown. Here now we have vehicular traffic. Taxis and tuk-tuks vie for position. Perhaps there is enough space for two lanes of traffic, but it is a dog-fight to eek forward wherever you can. Tall signs in either Thai script or Chinese hang from the buildings. Electrical wires drape across the road.
 
Chinese influence on Thai culture has been immense. Since the fourteenth century the area of present-day Thailand has seen several waves of Chinese immigration and intermarriage to the point that there is Chinese blood in almost every Thai citizen, including the king. Chinese-Thai business interests play an enormous roll in the Thai economy. This is played out in Chinatown where real estate is some of the most expensive in the country.
 
It is interesting that Yaowarat Road is lined with over 130 gold shops. It is the world's largest market for hand-made gold ornaments, supplying demands in Dubai, Singapore, Hong Kong, Europe and the United States. As curious tourists, we decide to step inside a gold shop to see what they are all about (obviously not to buy). No sooner do we enter the doors than a gentleman whisks us out, stating that we have to be members to enter the premise.
 

Hidden alleyway.

Running perpendicular to Yaowarat Road is another narrow alleyway. Vendors line both sides of the passage, standing behind tables topped with exotic spices, fruits and salted fish. Most of the tags are in Thai or Chinese and I don't know the name of anything. One man sells a variety tea, the dried herbs piled in bins. Alongside are a selection of tea kettles.
 
Walking down this lane is almost like walking through a tunnel with numerous cave-houses built into the side. I say that because this street is a narrow gap between buildings and the canopies of the vendors are drawn out, blocking much of the light. When walking past you will notice that some of the openings are portals into dark shophouses. It's like you are visiting an ant colony with so many people, so many smells and noises, yet all you can do is walk past and hope you can take in at least a portion.
 

Leng Buai Ia Shrine.

At the far end of our dark alleyway, we see an opening with the bright noon-day sun shining down. We explore this new open-space and find a courtyard to a Chinese temple. My first observation is the difference between this temple and the more traditional temples in Thailand that have white walls and multi-tiered orange roofs with golden lamyongs flaring from the ends.
 
This temple is in the Chinese style. The roof is made of glazed colored tile and on top are two stuccoed dragons facing each other. The columns in front of the entrance are also decorated with stuccoed dragons. Inside is a shrine with a sculpture of a man and his wife, along with other deity and a couple dozen figurines. A plaque informs us that this is an ancient Tae Chew shrine that is possibly 300 years old and the oldest Chinese shrine in Thailand.
 
Bangkok is a crazy jungle of urban confusion. You can find any surprise around the next corner. How many unexpected shrines like this can you find in Chinatown? Who knows? Walking down the street is like living in a choose-your-own-adventure book and at every junction you are faced with the decision: do I turn right or left, or keep going straight? Whatever decision you make will bring a new experience.
 

Wat Mangkon Kamalawat.

The sage on the left holds a parasol, the sage on the right a snake's head. 

After wandering through the maze of streets for another twenty minutes we come to another Chinese temple, this one bigger and more well-known than the last. It is named Wat Mangkon Kamalawat.
 
There are several shrines within this temple and many devotees kneel and offer obeisance. Incense flows to the sky. Citrus is offered at the alters. This is a Mahayana Buddhist temple, which fuses several ancient beliefs, including Confucianism and Taoism. Chinese lanterns hang from the ceilings and golden sages watch forbiddingly. Elsewhere in the compound are medicine stalls, booths selling devotional paraphernalia and a fortune-teller.
 

On the fringe of Chinatown.

Heaps of used machinery in Talat Noi, a section of Chinatown.

For our final four days in Bangkok we stay at a hotel overlooking the Chao Phraya River on the fringe of Chinatown. Squeezed between other drab buildings, the hotel is very inconspicuous and would be nearly unrecognizable as a place of accommodation without the green awning draped at the front. Just below our hotel, pretty much at the side of a parking garage, is a Chinese Temple. Outside hang red Chinese globes and inside I can hear people singing or chanting. I don't dare go in. The temple is very simple, and if you aren't right there, you won't even notice it. Nearby a small shrine displays several Buddhist figurines, as well as flowers and incense sticks. A small sign is in both Chinese and Thai.
 
The neighborhood around our hotel smells like grease. This is because they sell second-hand car parts here. Walking down the street there are heaps of metal, including engines and mufflers that belong to anything from cars to mopeds. It's like having the junkyard as close and convenient as the grocery store. Sometimes a couple men will be tending the heap by sitting next to it on a chair, smoking cigarettes and talking. Any foreigner who walks past will get a look of suspicion. This area is known as Talat Noi and used to be the site of ice factories, saw mills, rice mills and shipyards. Scraps from these places were collected and sold. Nowadays it is a center for used machinery and motors.
 

The Golden Buddha.

Also located on the periphery of Chinatown is Wat Traimit, a Thai-styled Buddhist temple that is home to the Golden Buddha—the largest solid gold Buddha in the world.
 
It is an interesting story of how the Golden Buddha arrived at Wat Traimit. The image was cast in the thirteenth century. During the rein of Rama III (1824-1851) it was brought to Bangkok, but to conceal its value to would-be thieves it was encased in stucco. It wasn't until 1955 when being transported to its current location at Wat Traimit that a crack in the stucco revealed the true nature of what lied beneath. It was then restored to its original glory.
 
The lustrous Golden Buddha sits on a white marble lotus-pad surrounded with offerings of lotus flowers. The Buddha sits with the right leg folded over the left; his left hand lies in his lap with the palm upward while the right hand rests on his knee with fingertips facing the earth. The statue weighs 5.5 tons and from weight alone is valued over ten million dollars. It is very fitting that the Golden Buddha would reside in Chinatown, home to one of the world's largest gold markets.
 

Yaowarat Road at night.

It is now one of our final nights in Bangkok and after a wild tuk-tuk ride we are back on Yaowarat Road. Neon signs flash overhead and below all traffic is at a crawl. The gold shops have all closed their doors and rolled down the metal gates, but now in front of them are vendors selling food. Trays with mounds of green and red chili peppers are on a table in the middle of a sidewalk. Next to them are buckets of rice and a cauldron for cooking noodles. A sweaty lady labors to cook food for the waiting crowd. Men sit on plastic chairs and enjoy a savory dish.
 
Trying to maneuver through the streets and around the traffic and stalls are throngs of people, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. I look below and there is a man with no legs moving alongside us. He carries a money purse across his shoulders and uses wooden blocks to grip as he walks on stump and hand across the sidewalk.
 

We find a small noodle shop and go inside for a bite to eat. It is a refreshing reprieve from the chaos of outside and we look at a menu that offers pictures for some of the dishes. Jenelle isn't hungry, but I order a bowl of fish-ball soup. It comes in a simple form. Along with a handful of bisected balls of fish are a few slices of greens and a modest amount of noodles. The fishy broth is smooth and hits the spot.
 
Our night is winding down. On our way to our hotel we stop at Odeon Circle. This is considered the gateway to Chinatown. A large roundabout marks the intersection of Yaowarat Road and Charoen Krung. In the middle of the circle is a huge red Chinese gate. It is ornate as is everything in Thailand, with Chinese letters on one side and Thai on the other. It was built in 1999 as part of the celebrations for King Bhumibol's 72nd birthday. It is now an icon in Bangkok. Below the gate are two lion statues made of white jade.
 
On the other side of the roundabout is another shrine. It is a small but ornate building with red columns and two Chinese globes hanging from the top. In front are tables set out with offerings. I can see people over there, one lady is lighting a candle or incense. It amazes me because it is close to ten o'clock at night and the city seems as alive as ever. ♠ 

Chinese gate at Odeon Circle.

Chinatown—Las Vegas

The six of us sit around a table with a circular grill in the center. Kimchi, pickled vegetables, rice, dipping sauce and a bevy of other condiments spread across the table. When the Asian waitress comes she brings three plates heaped with meat: bulgogi, beef brisket, and pork belly. Some are sliced paper-thin while others remain thicker, each with streaks of fat. With silver tongs she transfers the mound of meat to the grill and soon the fillets begin to sizzle and curl and a sweet aroma fills the air. This is how we begin our first Korean barbeque.
 

Until a few years ago, I had no idea that Las Vegas had its own Asian District. Since that time, it has become a mandatory stop when we travel to Sin City.
 
Unlike the Chinatowns of New York or San Francisco, which have a long history with Chinese-Americans, this two-and-a-half-mile strip of Las Vegas is relatively modern—1995 to be exact. It began when Henry Hwang, K.C. Chen and James Chen built a seven-acre shopping district in the style of an emperor's palace, with ceramic-tiled roofs and a paifang entrance gate. Over the years it has grown and now the streets are lined with restaurants, supermarkets, massage parlors and signs in Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Vietnamese, Thai and more. Roughly speaking, the Asian District centers on Spring Mountain Road and runs all the way from I-15 to Rainbow Boulevard. 

Not only did I eat my first Korean barbeque at Chinatown in Las Vegas, but my first Vietnamese pho and Indonesian mie goreng. It was here I received my first foot massage. I think you can find almost any Asian item you are looking for in Chinatown. I come here to buy kaffir lime leaves and Thai eggplant.
 
Tucked behind a massage parlor and sushi house we found an authentic Japanese Ramen shop. This was recommend by a friend who assured me that they were just like the ramen shops in Tokyo. Once again it was on-the-job learning as I watched them bring a large bowl of noodles with black broth and an egg, corn and slab of butter to garnish. I learned to hold the chopsticks in my right hand while using a spoon to slurp up the broth in my left.
 

Probably my favorite place to visit in Chinatown is the supermarket. Along Spring Mountain Road there are at least two large Asian grocery stores, as well as a Korean supermarket. This last time I gave each of my kids a small allowance and let them choose their own instant noodles. We love ramen at our house, but at an Asian supermarket, you have an entire aisle full of noodles you would never find at home. They had a hey-day buying their own private stash of exotic noodles to bring home.
 
As for me, I scoured the store for anything I've never tried before. In the past I've bought duck eggs, fermented soy bean chili sauce, furikake, masaman curry, tom yum soup paste, fish balls, rice noodles and dried shrimp. I love the smell of fresh fish on ice or pungent aroma coming from the spice aisle. It truly feels like you're in another country. 

Back at the Korean barbeque our waitress teaches us how to eat. After grilling the meat, you wrap it in a leaf of lettuce, then dip it in a garlicky soy sauce. If you prefer, you may eat it with rice. In addition to our meat there are small plates with kimchi, glass noodles, pickled vegetables, spring rolls and other condiments we've never heard of. We begin practicing and start to get the hang of it. The most difficult part is using chopsticks, but that we overcome. The meat is extremely tender and each has its own unique flavor. When we are finished, the waitress brings more. We choose baby octopus, squid and another plate of bulgogi.

After an hour we all are stuffed! This Korean barbeque is all-you-can-eat, and a great deal from what I understand—only $20 per person. In my typical fashion, I pick the leftovers from my kids' plates and finish off the condiments. To top things off, we each get to choose a scoop of ice cream—strawberry, chocolate or green tea. I choose the chocolate and savor every last bite . . . and then I finish off the last of the kimchi. Money well spent! ♠