So often, I thoughtlessly go through the motions of everyday life. The monotony of daily routines force me into an almost comatose state until the next adventure blows away the mindless haze obscuring life’s simpler pleasures. My most recent trip through the lunchroom queue at the elementary school I teach at, I felt the winds gather, and take the shape of a soup I had eaten numerous times before. From this day forward, every bite of this soup will send me reeling back to the darkest of times on the Korean peninsula. An unlikely history lesson I learned through a meal that literally translates to ‘troop stew.’ Budae Jjigae, pronounced ‘Boo day Chi gay,’ is beautifully simple, a traditional soup with humble origins that rise from the ashes of the Korean War.
 
Swirling around the fiery red broth sitting in my tray reveals ingredients other than the red chili pepper paste I’ve found ubiquitous in Korean cuisine. Leeks, onions, garlic, and other greens swim amidst the one addition I assumed was responsible for the backstory, sliced hotdogs and Spam. Still clinging to traditional dishes and ingredients despite the onslaught of westernization, these are rarely used items.
 
“Sliced hotdogs? What is the name of this soup? I want to be able to order this at a restaurant.” I asked my daily lunch partner and elementary science teacher, Mr. Go.
 
Cheeks exploding with rice, he managed a quiet, “budae jjigae,” gulp, “do you know about this soup?”
 
“I know it’s delicious!” I said, “Mashi soyo,” trying show off my limited Korean vocabulary.
 
Mr. Go instinctually recognized this opportunity; those trained in the field of education call it a, ‘teachable moment.’ Finishing up his next bite of kimchi, he set down his chopsticks next to the pile of rice on his tray, and settled back into his flimsy plastic cafeteria chair, as if preparing mental notes from past Korean history lectures. I thought I should do the same.
 
After a moment, he found the words to begin his impromptu lesson. “After the Korean War, so, so many people had nothing. No food. No house. Very, very sad for Koreans.”
 
With his words, a picture appeared, jolting my mind. I last saw this photo over nine months ago, but remember the details as if it were hours earlier. I remember fingering the picture torn from the pages of the Smithsonian Magazine, from an article showing John Rich’s dramatic color photography in a spread entitled, ‘One Man’s Korean War’ (www.smithsonianmag.com/people-places/korean-war.html#).
 
All of the photographs portrayed the striking cruelness of war brilliantly, yet, one will forever stand out in my mind. It is a picture of the capitol city, Seoul, completely leveled just a short time after the city was taken back from North Korean control. What once were houses, now useless shards of lumber and rubble strewn as far as you could see. There is a dirt path carved through of the chaos lined with piles of wreckage. On it, stood bewildered citizens, surely wondering where, or how, to begin picking up the pieces of their lives.
 
To see Seoul today, a chic, fast paced, modern city of over ten million people, one would never have thought, in under sixty years, it would emerge from the same annihilation seen in this photo, the destruction Mr. Go is attempting to describe.
 
He leaned forward, grabbing his chopsticks and pointing to the reddish liquid. “This name is ‘Troop Jjigae.’ At that time, people ate anything they found,” he picked up a cube of ham from the depths of the murky red soup and held it up to show me. “The U.S. soldiers would give away their army food to local people and they make this stew.” He tossed back the Spam as a faraway look glossed over his eyes. “U.S. Army very good to us. It was a very, very bad time.”
 
His words surged through me. I could see that he was in a different place, a different time; somewhere between the frontlines of the DMZ, looking down a scope at the enemy, or perhaps in the photograph I had seen of Seoul. My mind raced in an attempt to imagine what he could was unable to put into words.
 
There are many experiences to be had in this world, from the wondrous to the mundane, but those of the personal side of war is something never to be wished upon anyone. Many of us, the lucky ones, are fortunate to have never been forced into accepting food from soldiers stationed in the rubble that was once your neighborhood. Mr. Go’s body language, his inflection, and the sorrowful look in his eyes all scream of a lasting personal connection to this horrific event in his country’s history.
 
I think of my own past, a child in the confines of a well protected America with threats somewhere on the far side of the planet. The personal connection to war existed only through television and magazines; an unbelievable story in a distant place. I look around the lunchroom and think of my Korean students. Do they know their parents’ and grandparents’ everyday struggle with the enduring pain of the Korean War?
 
I hope the unspoken images undoubtedly swimming in Mr. Go’s head, find words with his newborn baby girl, once she is old enough to understand. The Korean War is tragically dubbed a ‘forgotten war’ in America. For people on the Korean peninsula, that nickname couldn’t be farther from the truth. Still fresh in the minds of so many Korean people is the scarred landscape they call home, the scarred faces they call family.
 
Our spoons, once again picked up, symbolize the abrupt conclusion to our conversation. Soon, we were both bent over our trays slurping the hot soup. In the split of a second, I glanced at Mr. Go eating his soup, and couldn’t help but think of the journey that soup has taken. I flashed him an appreciative grin and began eating. His honesty and openness with an obviously difficult subject was a moment I’ll cherish forever.
 
Budae Jjigae, the spicy soup with the ingredients as common as hotdogs and Spam, sent me on an unsuspecting lunchroom journey. I embarked on a trip that provided perspective and insight to a history rarely given enough thought, to a people too easily overlooked, to wounds still too deep to discuss. It was a simple bowl of soup that opened my eyes and helped me understand more about Korean history, U.S. history, and even myself in the process.