Geonbae!

“And what’s the occasion?”
Our hostess queries.
Her polished city hair 
gleams under blue lights;
her head cocks to the side, 
trying to discern what four women 
and a man are doing out for an epic meal.

I shrug: “Just a family reunion!”
My husband gulps. 
"Oh, and my cousin's early birthday celebration."
He stares, wordless.
What did I say wrong? 
I wonder.

“Yes! Thanks for bringing us to Cote!”
My cousin gushes. 
“Right!" Says her partner.
"Lou didn’t tell me we were going 
to a Michelin starred restaurant tonight! 
She just said “steakhouse."
What gives?!” 

He breaks his silence: 
“Well…so yes, birthday, and... 
"it’s Di’s and my anniversary...
"So —.”

My face becomes 
Awkward Teeth emoji.
“Omigod-Babe-I’m-So-Sorry!”
I screech.

He gives me that straight smile — 
the one that simultaneously conveys 
“It’s Okay; I Take No offense, really” 
but also indicates:
“You’re ridiculous! And further, you will always be...
...incurably, authentically You.”

I scoot into the horseshoe leather banquet.
Soon we’re distracted 
by the first course of our omakase feast:
a tiny ceramic plate nestles a sole kkaennip leaf
itself cradling a geometrically perfect cube 
of translucent toro, which our menu calls: 
“the A5 Wagyu of the sea.”

Sprinkled atop with pyramidal sea salt, 
The tuna, jewel-like, a glowing dice,
arrives with a dab of wasabi janagachi.
I roll the leaf and pop the gift in my mouth.
The deity-grade tuna has the softness of guava.
The herby leaf and polygon detonate 
an unctuous umami tsunami 
that storms across my awaiting tongue.

We then wash down our presents with 
American Prime bone consommé,
gently held to lips from a wee glazed cup.

As we acclimate to the royal treatment,
we take in the living walls of tropical greenery 
and the dark gloss mirrors and burbling water features.
Our vision draws back table-side at the coming 
of a wooden presentation board on stilt-like peg legs,
which brims with gemlike cuts of ruby beef.

Lychee martinis clinks against lemonade glass.
We toast to our luck:
Of being together, 
Of finding love,
Of having health,
Of being here, 
eating our way through the heart 
of the world’s Doenjang jjigae pot.

Course after course hits the table 
until no surface remains visible 
under the battalions of platters, 
stew pots, omelette crocks, and ban chan. 

Our stomachs grow tight;
our smiles grow loose.
Dates and faulty memories thereof 
are forgiven.
Who can think even conjure the past 
when the present is all around us?

We raise, again, 
our miniature crystal Soju glasses: 
Geonbae!

====
Happy anniversary, my love. 
I will remember you always
(if not our milestone calendar dates)!