Korean food will change your life. Get on the frickin’ 7 train and get off at Main St., or head over to 32nd St in Midtown. Either way, bring an expandable belt.

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To have a full understanding of what you are ordering is. . .not exactly paramount in my view. Your best bet is to find a menu with as little English on it as possible, then find a waiter or waitress you trust and let them figure it out for you.

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And then you wind up with a table that looks like this.

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Too bad there aren’t, like, a lot of little things to taste.

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This is the best soup ever made. We don’t know what it is called, we don’t know what’s in it (Ann thinks fermented bean curd is involved. I say “sure.”) Alas, we’ll probably never find it again. I’m sure we’ll even come back to this restaurant in a little while and it will just be an abandoned lot and a picture of a Korean Rod Serling announcing the closure of a restaurant that once stood there. . .TWENTY FIVE YEARS AGO.

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Ann is wisely scared of the pepper looming in the soup.

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But she is not scared of the noodles.

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I like that the spoons came in a hat.

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Worth every penny.

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