Hearty Food of Poland

I was really surprised at how much I loved the Polish cuisine during our visit to the country. It's hard to put a finger on it, but I think it had to do with the simplicity, and of how relatable it is was with the dishes we have in North America. There is nothing exotic like what you might find in Asia, nor does it use hard-to-find foreign ingredients like an odd variety of potato from the Andes.

I feel like Poland takes ingredients that could be easily grown in the United States such as beets, cabbage, barley and potatoes, and uses them in a way that we would never consider. They are simple, cheap and nutritious ingredients.

Here's a list of foods and meals I ate while in Poland, along with a little commentary on each one.

Buckwheat groats.

Kasza gryczana z masłem (steamed buckwheat groats with butter). This was one of the most basic, but satisfying foods I ate. This savory dish only had three ingredients: buckwheat, butter and salt. Even before I stirred in the butter it had a buttery taste. Full of nutrition, inexpensive, flavorful, and basic. Just how I like it!

White borscht.

Żurek z kiełbasą i ziemniakami (white borscht with sausage and potatoes). Known in English as “white borscht,” this soup isn't at all like borscht made with beets. Instead it is a sour soup, made of either a fermented soup base, or in modern times to speed up the process, sour cream. The soup I had came with potatoes and sausage, which resembled the kielbasa found at stores in the States. I couldn't tell you what else was in it. The soup was good, but probably wouldn't get the vote for my favorite Polish dish. 

Cold beet (drinkable) soup.

Chłodnik (cold beet soup). Chłodnik is the Polish version of gazpacho. It is super easy to make at home with ingredients such as beets, radishes, pickles, garlic, dill, chives and kefir. As you can see, it is also extremely nutritious. When I was in Poland I only had this once, and it was blended up in a drink that came from a bottle at the store. If you love beets like I do, chłodnik will be pure heaven. If not, this dish may not be for you.

Beef roll in hunter's sauce, barley, and beet salad (in background).

Zraz w sosie myśliwskim (beef roll in hunter's sauce). When I ate this I felt as if I was eating meatloaf. Instead, it is a flattened patty mixed with spices and grated onion, and fried in oil. The hunter's sauce, from what I gather, commonly comes in a bag. After sauteeing carrots, bell pepper and mushrooms, pour on the hunter's sauce and let it simmer, then bring in the beef rolls and let it all simmer together. This dish is often served with groats and beetroot salad.

Jęczmienna (barley groats). This was served with the beef roll and hunter's sauce. It was very delicious and nutritious. I don't know why we haven't thought about serving barley as a side-dish in the United States.

Surówka z buraków (beetroot salad). When we think of salad in the United States, we usually think of lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers and maybe cheese or croutons. But this dish of beetroot salad completely changed the way I think. It is extremely simple. Cooked beets, grated. Perhaps an apple, also grated, or an onion finely diced. Mix it all together with oil and salt. Of course, there are variations. This colorful salad is very nutritious and from what I could discern, it is very common in Poland.

Bagel vendor in Krakow.

Krakow-style bagels, which are slightly different than normal bagels. 

Obwarzanek krakowski (Kraków-style bagels). Okay, so this is technically not a bagel, but somewhat of a cross between a bagel and a pretzel. I will admit that as I ate this on a park bench in Kraków, I thought I was eating a bagel. Like the bagel, it originated in Kraków, and like the bagel, it is boiled before it is baked. We bought ours from a street cart. The obwarzanek had a chewy texture on the outside and was fluffy in the middle. It appeared topped with cheese before it was baked. Jenelle and I both enjoyed our filling snack, but agreed it wasn't as spectacular as we hoped it would be. We also agreed that if it were sold in the States, it would come with dipping sauce.

Clear beet soup.

Barszcz czerwony (clear beet soup). Just to be clear, I believe barszcz czerwony translates to any kind of beet soup or borscht. The kind of borscht I had while in Poland was the clear variety, meaning in had no chunks and was served in a cup like broth. I'm certainly not an expert, but I believe this borscht is cooked with soup bones and other vegetables, which are ultimately strained to give a clean texture. From what I understand, it is commonly served on Christmas Eve. The one time I drank it, it certainly had the red color, but not the strong beet taste that one would expect.

Potato pancake.

Placki ziemniaczane (potato pancake). This is a simple recipe consisting of grated potatoes, grated onions, an egg, possibly flour, salt and pepper. It is then fried (but not deep-fried) in oil and topped with sour cream. We ate this while sitting on a bench in Zakopane. It was very delicious, but also extremely greasy. I've made it once since returning home and it was equally tasty, but best eaten fresh. From what little I can glean, there is a debate in Poland as to whether it should be made with grated or mashed potatoes.

Zapienkanka, or open-faced sandwich. 

Zapienkanka (open-faced sandwiches). This has been a popular street food in Poland for many decades, but as for us, we only saw it in one place, and that was in the Old Jewish Quarter of Kraków. It is served on a sliced-halfwise baguette, topped with about any combination you can think of, but most typically with sautéed mushrooms and onions, smoked cheese and ketchup. The one I ate was very flavorful. It had smoked ham, cheese, cranberry sauce and crispy onions.

Pierogi.

Pierogi (dumplings). My first meal in Poland included pierogi ruskie, which were dumplings filled with a mashed potato-like substance, and topped with fried ham or bacon. It tasted good. I believed it would be one of many times I would eat it on our trip, but it turned out to be the only time. Pierogi is quite popular in Poland and arguably the most popular food there. Fillings vary and can include ground meat, cheese, mushrooms, cabbage and even an assortment of fruit.

Breaded chicken rolls with a creamy middle of herbs and melted sheep cheese. 

Oscypek (smoked cheese made of salted sheep milk). This tasty cheese is made in the Tatra Mountain region of Poland. There is a similar variety of it across the border into Slovakia. After it has been turned into cottage cheese and repeatedly rinsed in boiling water, it is pressed into a decorative spindle shape. It is then placed in brine for a couple days, followed by two weeks of being cured over hot smoke. Oscypek, along with other regional cheeses, are sold throughout Poland. We saw many being sold on the streets of Zakopane.

Panierowane roladki drobiowe (breaded chicken rolls). On the outside, these looked like croquettes, but in reality they were ovals of chicken. The inside of each had a small hollow space filled with oscypek cheese and herbs that oozed out when cut in half. It provided a very tasty meal.

Kwasnica, or sauerkraut soup.

Kwaśnica (sauerkraut soup). This is another dish that comes from the Tatra Mountains. It is traditionally made with mutton or pork. I ordered this at a Milk Bar in Zakopane. The broth had a smoky, but sour flavor to it. It is a simple dish using only a handful of ingredients: pork ribs, smoked bacon, sauerkraut, potatoes, onions and spices.

Lard spread on onion bread, served with pickled mushrooms and cucumbers.

Smalec (lard spread). I was pleasantly surprised by this concoction. With my meal I ordered lard spread, which they generously applied to my onion bread. They say that lard is the poor man's butter. This lard was flavored with bacon, garlic, onion and spices. It was served with pickled mushrooms and cucumbers, which complimented it well.

Hunter's stew.

Bigos (Hunter's Stew). This is a hearty stew that I learned to make several years before our trip to Poland. It contains pork (formerly venison), smoked bacon, sauerkraut, cabbage, mushrooms, and sausage. I was very much looking forward to eating it in Kraków, which I did in a small shop on Grodzka Street. I was not disappointed, but the stew tasted different from that which I made at home. It looked the same, but there was something divergent in the flavor, and I couldn't quite place my finger on it. It was likely using different sausage or meat, varieties found only in the mother country.

Kielbasa.

Kiełbasa (Polish sausage). I ate kiełbasa three times while I was in Poland. Twice it was thick, smoky and hearty, much different (and better) than what I see sold in the United States. This kind was served with a dollop of mustard or mayo, and with a roll, or “bun.” My favorite experience with this was the Blue Kiełbasa Van in Kraków. There was also another variety of kiełbasa that was softer and nearly identical in flavor and texture as the kind sold in the United States. This was the kind served in my bowl of white borscht soup (mentioned above).

Polish doughnuts.

Pączki (doughnuts). I am no expert on Polish doughnuts, but I wish I were! They are similar to jelly-filled doughnuts in the United States, but are slightly different. I couldn't tell you how. I only had the privilege of eating two during our brief stay. According to the internet, they are often filled with plum jam, petal jam, strawberry jam, blueberry jam or Bavarian cream, among many other flavors. The surface can be sprinkled with granulated sugar. I can say with confidence that my mouth is watering as I write this. ♠

Peak #31

This hike was a one and done. I told Jordan on the way down that I would never hike it again. Having said that, it was an adventure we would never forget.

It began the night before when we drove to the foothills of rugged dry mountains on the edge of the Mojave Desert. There we sat in camp chairs and cooked two cans of chili in a cast-iron skillet over a small propane stove. Distant neon lights now came to life and we could see as far as Mesquite. We slept in the back of the Trailblazer, me in a sleeping bag and Jordan only in his jacket and a beenie (because he forgot his bag!).

We began our long journey at dawn before the sun rose over the cliffs. For being a desert, this landscape was very much alive with barrel cactus, cholla, prickly pear and creosote bushes. Here and there we spotted small colorful flowers, but it was still too early for most of them.

Sometimes we walked in the dry wash, over thousands upon thousands of small white pebbles. As we got closer to the side of the hill we spotted several caverns that were ripe for exploration . . . but for another time.

Setting out at sunrise. 

Interesting caves in the cliffs.

Then we arrived at the edge of the cliffs and into the mouth of a long mysterious canyon. I had seen this slit in the rock from a distance and had studied its topographical lines on a map many times. It's contents, the inner soul of this bulk of rock, was a secret. Although in plain view for everyone to see, I doubted if many took the effort to enter its depths.

Within the first few minutes of entering the slot canyon we were immediately deterred by a dry fall. We had no means of scaling it, but luckily were able to climb the hill to the left and bypass the obstacle.

The canyon opened wider temporarily, then narrowed. Again we came to a dry fall that threatened to stop our course. With a little trepidation we climbed to the top, searching for hand-grasps and niches to place our feet. Once standing safely on the upper shelf, we both agreed that going down would be riskier.

One of many dry falls. 

The temperature inside the canyon was cool. We still hadn't seen the sun peer over the canyon walls and the sky thus far remained overcast. It was certainly a lot cooler than the 88° F predicted on the weather. But the day was still young.

We walked across sand and climbed over boulders to make our way up the canyon. Jordan watched a horned-toad scamper beneath a bush, but other than that we didn't encounter another being. After a mile and a half we came to a junction and here we had to make a decision.

Jordan in the bottom of the canyon. 

In front of us stood a series of nasty-looking cliffs. This was the front side of a ridge we needed to traverse to reach our peak. Either we had to scale it from the front (which we now saw was impossible), or gain it from another angle further up by continuing in the dry wash, either the north or south side. We chose to walk the south-side wash.

I will admit that I was never fully confident we would reach the peak. There was no trail and the peak had no name. I found its topographical prominence on Google Maps and thought it would make for an adventurous excursion and have awesome views.

The wash got steeper and there were more steps in elevation we had to climb. Within a half-mile, we came to another dry fall. This one clearly had a way up, but included a sketchy section with lots of loose rock that could result in a bad fall.  We decided to circumvent the dry fall by climbing up the side of the hill.

Even that was sketchy. The slope of the hill was still steep, but felt safer than the dry fall. At least here there were bushes of which I could grab the limbs for support.

As we climbed higher, we realized that maybe we didn't want to go down and return to the wash. Our climb was on the same ridge we needed to scale, so we decided to continue angling upward and hoped for the best. We decided that if we came to a dead-end, or got cliffed out, we would return the way we came and abort our efforts to the summit. It was now becoming late in the day.

Walking up the hill toward the ridge.  You can see how steep it is. 

Continuing toward the ridge. This is our first glimpse of the peak.

We stayed close to a cliff wall and followed it in a diagonal direction up the hill. This area was still steep and I used sapling branches to help pull me up. We had to be careful where we walked, as some places were more dangerous than others. I had no confidence this route would work. I expected a dead-end around every corner.

Also of high importance for us was to remember our exact route so we could retrace it on the way back. This was the type of place that was unforgiving if we went in the wrong direction or came down to the wash in the wrong place.

This section was slow-going. It took us an hour and forty minutes to travel just half a mile in distance and gain over 1,000 feet. It was also along this section that we came across our first full glimpse of the peak.

Almost to the ridge.  More caves.

A garter snake (I believe).

Jordan standing on the ridge. 

We didn't come to a dead-end and eventually arrived at the ridge. The peak was now less than a mile in front of us, but it felt much further. The hiking from this point was no longer dangerous, although we were very conscious about conserving water. I also worried about completing our hike with sufficient daylight.  We were foolish enough not to bring flashlights.

After six hours of hiking we finally arrived at the summit. What a relief! Did I mention that this was my first peak of the year? My body was certainly not ready for a hike this rough. We were both very happy to be at the top.

From the peak looking west toward West Mountain Peak and Pine Valley Mountains.

Zoomed in shot, looking across the gorge toward St. George and Pine Valley Mountains. 

Our view was certainly grand. We could see pretty much the entire Virgin River Gorge, but none of the river and only a sliver of the freeway. In the distant west I saw Moapa Peak, which seems to captivate the eye wherever I am in this area.

Far to the north I spotted West Mountain Peak, the highest summit in the Beaver Dam Mountains. To the northeast of that were the Pine Valley Mountains.

To the south sat a rugged landscape I was unfamiliar with. Much of this, I believed, was part of the Paiute Wilderness. Southwest of that I was able to recognize Virgin Peak.

Looking south-south east across Sullivan Canyon and toward the Paiute Wilderness.

Looking northwest at the ridge we just climbed. 

A southwest angle, the Virgin Mountains are on the right in the distance. Probably Mount Bangs on left with snow.

We didn't stay long. Even though we were both exhausted, we knew we had a long trip back. This was not the kind of country you wanted to get lost or injured in. It was very remote and access was difficult.

The route back was long, and in some parts tedious. We retraced our same route down the ridge and successfully climbed down or circumvented all the dry falls.

The sun had set before we arrived back at the vehicle, but there was enough of an alpenglow to find our way. The lights in Beaver Dam and Mesquite were now alive and flashing. Luckily I still had a little juice left in my cell phone and we didn't need a flashlight.

On the way back, but still in the canyon.

Beautiful glow upon exiting the canyon. 

This hike was brutal, and like I stated in the beginning, I'll never hike it again. There's probably a reason the peak has no name. But that's not to say I will never return here. There's a lot of unexplored territory. ♠

Peak #31

Distance from car (one way): 5 miles

Net elevation gain to peak: 4,435 feet

Final elevation: 6,624 feet

Total elevation gain: 4,855 feet

Total round-trip distance: 10.3 miles

Total time: 11 h 35 m

The Obedient Wife

Mary Browett Forsyth.

Mary Browett Forsyth was born on June 25, 1823 in Bottesford, England. Little is known about her early life. We know she married George Holmes at the age of 24, and was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints at 26. Shortly afterward she set sail on a ship to America where she landed in New Orleans, then traveled by riverboat up the Mississippi River to St. Louis. It was there that her husband died of cholera.

In 1852 she walked across the plains with other Saints to the Salt Lake Valley. There she married a widower from Scotland, Thomas Forsyth. They began their family and lived the first nine years of their marriage in Salt Lake City.

In 1861 they were called to settle Dixie in southern Utah. They lived for a time in Santa Clara, then Pine Valley where Thomas had plans of building a sawmill, but was later dissuaded when several others had the same idea. That brought them to their final destination, Toquerville.

Thomas and Mary Forsyth.

Toquerville lies along Ash Creek, at an elevation of 3,383 feet. It is an ideal location for growing fruits and nuts.

An article from the Deseret News in 1868 describes the little town: “Peace dwells in the hearts of the people, everyone busy, no loafers, no office seekers, no gambling saloons, no drunkards in our town. We all mind our own business⸻we are all helping to build Zion, the city of our God.”

The Forsyth home in Toquerville still stands in 2026.

In 1865, Thomas and his sons built a house in Toquerville where he and his wife would live until their deaths.

The house was two stories tall, built using rock from Ash Creek, adobe mud to fasten it together, and lumber from their own sawmill. The main floor included a parlor, kitchen and two bedrooms. On the south side of the parlor was a fireplace made of black rock, and next to that a fine wooden desk that Thomas's father brought all the way from Scotland.

The second story was designed with two rooms and a balcony on the east side. Beneath the house was a wine cellar.

That brings us to our little story.

Thomas Forsyth had his own vineyard and made wine, which was stored in barrels in the cellar. He was very proud of his wine because the church used it for their sacrament services.

Side view of Forsyth home. The cellar was accessed from the back.

Sometime before the turn of the century the church decided not to use wine for their services anymore. This was in conjunction with their admonition to obey the Word of Wisdom, which forbade the consumption of alcoholic drinks. The leaders advised all vintners to dispose of what they had and not to make more.

As Thomas heard this directive from the pulpit, he wasn't sure what to do. The wine he had in the barrels was worth a lot of money and it was some of the best he had ever made. He thought perhaps he could sell what he had and then make no more after that.

But unbeknownst to Thomas, he did not have to worry about making a decision.

As soon as Mary Browett Forsyth heard the decree, she slipped home as quickly as possible. Once in the cellar she opened the spigots and let the wine drain onto the rock floor. By the time Thomas returned, there was nothing left.

So you see, Mary followed the example of the mother of Jesus at the marriage in Cana of Galilee. She exhorted the servants: “Whatsoever He saith unto you, do it.” The servants followed His direction to fill the pots full of water, after which Jesus miraculously turned the water into wine. ♠

[Source: "Complete Utah Travel Guide to Where Ancestors Lived, by Scott Forsyth" at Familysearch.org.]

Grave of Thomas and Mary Forsyth in Toquerville. 

Out of the Mouth of Babes

Thomas Forsyth.

There are a lot of fascinating stories of the pioneers who settled Utah, early converts of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Among these are many conversion stories, some of them very unique.

The following was written from the pen of Thomas Forsyth recounting his own conversion around the year 1844. He was born in Scotland in 1813 and came to the Americas as a young boy with his family where they settled in Canada. He married Isabella Donald in 1839.

While living near Lake Huron he received a letter from his Uncle James in Scotland. His uncle asked him if he knew anything about the Latter Day Saints. “You will know them. Joseph Smith is the head one of them.”

Thomas Forsyth recounts the rest of the story in his autobiography:

“I had never heard of the Latter Day Saints till he asked me that question in his letter. In order to answer his letter I began to inquire who these Latter Day Saints were and where they were. I could find out but very little about them. But all I found out I wrote to him. But the next year there was a Mormon Elder came to my Mother-in-law's place, about seven miles from my place, and gave out notice he would hold a meeting there. I was at that time very curious to find out whether there was a God or not and if there was any way to worship him, for all I had heard in that line was a mass confusion to me. So when I heard the Mormon Elder was going to preach the next day [Sunday], I said I would go and hear him.

“My wife's youngest brother was at my home that night and was going home the next morning so I made up my mind to go with him and as soon as breakfast was over I went to fix to go. My wife was in the act of putting a necktie on me. Her brother stood close by my eldest and only son [at that time he was 20 months old] who was sitting in his little chair with a piece of pasteboard in his hand. We were not talking about the Mormons, nor about what they preached for we did not know anything about them; yet he held the pasteboard in his hand and moving his head as if he was following a line of reading, he repeated these words, “The Mormons preach Jesus' Gospel.” He repeated these words some three or four times as plain as I or anyone else could say them. When we heard him we were struck with astonishment for we knew he had never heard these words by anyone. When he noticed us looking at him, he laughed and threw the pasteboard away.

“We went to the meeting and heard the Elder preach, and I knew then and there that he preached the truth and I commenced to investigate, and very soon I was convinced that there was a God and that I had found what I had been looking for and praying for, for I had truly been praying for about two years, and no one knows the joy that filled my bosom only these that have experienced the same feeling that the finding of the Gospel brings to them.” 

Thomas Forsyth remained faithful to that gospel message for the rest of his life. ♠

[Source: "Autobiography of Thomas Forsyth" at familysearch.org.] 

Grave of Thomas Forsyth in Toquerville, Utah. He died in 1898.

Koreatown of Los Angeles

As soon as we turned off the I-10 Freeway and onto Western Avenue I could tell this wasn't a sleepy neighborhood. Two lanes of snarling traffic in each direction flooded the congested roadway. Most of the billboards and shop signs read in Korean. Everything appeared compact and chaotic. Although we knew we were in Koreatown, there was a side that believed we could have been in Busan.

After a long 7-hour drive, the first thing we wanted was to get a bite to eat. We walked to the Koreatown Plaza—one of many shopping malls in K-town—and found the food court on the bottom level.

A large room with tables hosted an almost exclusively Asian crowd. We walked around the perimeter with all the different vendors and found a shop selling Korean street food. It was the cheapest option there.

I ordered the dduk ggochi, a rice stick with barbeque sauce on a skewer, and two bulgogi tacos. It was enjoyable eating the food, but also to watch the people in the food court.

We took a walk around to some of the other shops around the mall. There was a stand selling red ginseng, which was of interest. Also we walked inside a bookstore where all the books were in Korean. Jordan recognized several of the books (written originally in English) by the pictures on the covers.

Dduk ggochi, a rice stick on a skewer. 

Many Asians eating in the food court. 

The first Korean immigrants to Southern California came in 1902 and 1903, settling in Riverside and Claremont, and some near downtown in an area called Bunker Hill. Many of them worked in the railroad and farm industries.

Growth was slow in the beginning with only 650 Koreans living in the Los Angeles area in the 1930's. The population boomed with the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965. This allowed many Koreans to join family members who had already immigrated.

After Lee Hi Duk immigrated in 1968, he saw a need to provide Korean goods for the existing population. He established a store on Olympic Boulevard, which he called Olympic Market. This became a successful venture and provided groceries to the now 10,000 Koreans.

Drawing from that momentum he bought five blocks and brought in other Korean-owned businesses. His vision was of a “Korean Village.” This was the genesis of the modern-day Koreatown, and just a few blocks away from where we were currently visiting.

Korean book store. 

After a few hours spent at the beach that afternoon, we returned to our hotel in Koreatown and set out to find an authentic Korean barbeque. We found one near our hotel, which ended up being the highlight of the day.

We ordered the combo for three to four people for $98. We sat at a table with three burners and immediately the waitress brought us bowls of kimchi, rice, lettuce, and other condiments I couldn't name, and piling heaps of beef and pork onto the griddles. On the middle burner she placed the ingredients of a soup, which included noodles and tofu.

Sizzling aroma wafted through the air. We felt as if we had to hurry and eat before she brought us more. Every person had their own small bowl and chopsticks, and could experiment with any combination they pleased. It could be rice, beef, sauce and tofu; or lettuce, pork belly and kimchi.

By the time we left there was still food on the table and all of us were stuffed. It was a very good experience.

Plenty of food at a Korean barbeque. 

Korean barbeque. 

The following morning Jordan and I went for a walk through the neighborhood. The morning was cool and fresh, and the smell of blossoms filled the air. As we walked through the residential area nothing appeared Korean anymore. Architecture looked as if it were from the twenties or thirties. Street names like “Oxford” and “Normandie” were not at all Asian. The silhouetted skyscrapers of downtown Los Angeles loomed in the distance.

With all this different architecture, I realized that this neighborhood was once occupied by another people. That brought up new questions: Who were these people? When did they live here? When did they leave? Why did they leave?

Old European architecture in Koreatown.  

Now and then a pocket of Korean shops would pop up. We passed the Seoul International Park where we saw elderly Asians using the park equipment to do their morning exercises.

Across the street stood the Korean Pavilion, the only true Asian architecture we encountered. The pavilion itself was small and the gate locked, but we could still see the ornate flare of its architecture.

It was interesting that we passed a house with a sign describing itself as a Zen Buddhist temple. It appeared nothing like a Buddhist temple.

An interesting fact about Koreatown is that it's very diverse with other nationalities, including those from several Latin American countries. As we walked we saw several vendors setting up street stands. One of them sold pupusas and we were tempted to buy. We also passed Pollo al la Brasa, a Peruvian restaurant.

Korean Pavilion near Seoul International Park. 

View of downtown skyscrapers from Koreatown. 

One of the buildings that stood out was The Wiltern, a greenish-blue 12-story building on the corner of Western and Wilshire (hence the name). The sight of it beckoned to an earlier time.

Technically known as The Pellissier Building, it was built in 1931and housed the Warner Brother Western Theater. It was later renamed The Wiltern Theater.

Over the years it fell into disrepair, but in the 1980's came the desire to restore it to its former glory. After four years of renovation the theater once again was able to host a wide variety of live performances.

The Wiltern.

Intersection on Wilshire Boulevard. 

There are several old churches in Koreatown. I don't know if they are currently active or have been re-purposed. One of the more impressive buildings is the Wilshire Boulevard Temple, a Jewish Synagogue. Unfortunately, we didn't have time to go inside, but did drive past.

For our final evening in Koreatown, I headed back out to the streets with Jordan and Kaitlyn. This would be our first time wandering in the dark. For most of our walk we felt safe because the streets were lit and empty. But we had one stretch where it was dark and fifty feet away from a homeless encampment. At that same time we heard someone from an apartment window yelling. We quickened our step.

Our destination was Jinsol Gukbap on 8th Street. The restaurant sat on a dark corner, but was well lit and friendly on the inside. The menu was very simple and consisted of dishes ranging from $17 a plate to $39.⸻I ordered the Bibimbap in Hot Stone Pot.

Before our orders came out the waiter brought seven small trays of condiments, three sauces, and a cup of rice. The trays consisted of kimchi, sliced peppers and onions with a spicy paste, pickled cabbage, sliced chives, a sweet and crispy vegetable in a sour sauce, cooked crab claws and a pickled pepper in red sauce. Of course, those represent my descriptions and not the reality of what they really were.

Then came the main course. It came in a piping hot dolsot and still sizzling. Arranged neatly in separate piles were carrots, shitake mushrooms, spinach and other vegetables I didn't recognize. In the middle sat a scoop of rice with an egg yolk on top. After waiting several minutes to let it finish cooking at our table, the waiter came over and squeezed gochujang sauce onto it, then mixed it all together.

Bibimbap.

A variety of condiments for our meal. 

It was a bit spicy. I ate it with a spoon, then used my chopsticks to grab a piece of kimchi or pickled pepper or whatever sounded good to chase it down.

It was past eleven by the time we finished and they were now putting up tables. I attempted to eat all I could of the condiments, but unfortunately couldn't fit them all in my tummy. When we left out the side door most of the employees were in the parking lot taking a smoke break. They were very friendly and waved goodbye.

Jordan and Kaitlyn giggling about something. 

As we walked back to the hotel on those dimly-lit streets I told Jordan that it reminded me of the streets of Phnom Penh. If the streets were just a bit narrower, I told him, the buildings looked similar and it had a similar smell.

We walked back to our hotel, past the homeless encampment and beneath street lamps. In an odd kind of way, it would be a moment that would create nostalgia. ♠