THE SEOUL GAMES / DAY 4 : Journalist’s Search for Flavor of Korea a Tasteless Endeavor

I didn’t come to South Korea to eat dog, but duty calls.

The newspaper correspondent sent to a foreign land to capture a scene or event is the eyes, ears and taste buds of his readers.

And it’s my perception that there is a strong curiosity among Americans about the custom of eating dog. I also sense that there are a lot of wild misconceptions that need to be cleared up.

Even around the press village, ignorance of the unique custom is being masked by stabs at humor.

There are jokes about fettucine Alfido and Great Danish, and speculation about whether it is polite at meal’s end to ask for a doggie bag. The loneliest man in town is not the Maytag repairman, it is said, but the veterinarian. Fast food is a greyhound.

It was time for somebody to get serious about dog.

I had reservations, not the least of which was dietary. I have not had a bite of red meat in 13 years and was concerned that the meal might make me ill.

But I was assured by my co-host for the evening’s meal, Mr. Cho Gyu Gon, that dog meat is considered a true health food, high in protein, low in fat, easy to digest.

I was not oblivious to the cruelty issue. Even though I would be doing this purely for journalistic purposes, to answer readers’ questions, there’s no getting around it--curiosity kills the dog.

“You can argue that dogs are friendly,” said my other co-host, Mr. Chi Jung Nam, a non-dog-eater. “But you can be very friendly with cows, too. It’s a question of attitude.”

Exactly. Americans are outraged at dog eating, yet we whistle on down to the golden arches to eat the remains of an animal that is worshipped in India. Bambi’s kin is a frequent visitor to the dinner tables of millions of American sportsmen, and most of us think it’s kind of cute when we see pictures of little Eskimo kids enjoying whale-blubber treats.

Here we are, on the brink of actually holding intelligent conversations with whales, and we turn around and harpoon them.

To feed our own beloved dogs, we grind up horses, the steed’s final reward for years of dedicated service and friendship.

Driving to the restaurant, Mr. Cho explains some facts about dogs. Women and Buddhists do not eat dog. Men who eat dog usually do so only on special occasions, either while recuperating from an illness or when anticipating an unusually amorous evening.

Dog meat is said to markedly improve one’s virility. Mr. Cho, a successful young Seoul businessman with a stocky, powerful build, claims with absolute sincerity that he was scrawny and weak until he discovered dog.

The dog meat comes from animals bred and raised to be eaten, not from your friendly neighborhood Frisbee fetcher. The Korean housewife does not cook dog at home, and does not particularly approve of her husband going to the dog restaurant.

The government has been cracking down on doggie diners for the last few years, because South Korea is striving to attain Western acceptance. But this is a part of the culture that cannot be phased out overnight, so there are still plenty of these restaurants around, although you won’t find them in the Yellow Pages.

Our restaurant is on a narrow side street a few blocks from the Olympics’ Main Press Center. It is a small and very tidy establishment with 5 or 6 tables, the equivalent of an informal neighborhood restaurant in America.

In a corner, a TV set is tuned to Olympic coverage. We take off our shoes at the door and are seated on the floor.

There is no menu; the meal begins.

Our waitress brings us bottles of beer, a bowl of kimchi (pickled cabbage) and plates with garlic cloves and ultra-hot green chili peppers. We are given a dish of sesame seeds, ketchup and garlic, to be mixed into a pasty--for want of a better term--dog dip.

On the center of our table, on an electric heater, the waitress places a large covered metal dish, and turns on the heating coils.

After about 15 minutes, she uncovers the dish, revealing a boiling, burbling stew of greens, spices and bite-sized chunks of dog meat.

Since the dog is not served luau-style, on a platter with a tennis ball in its mouth, and since there are no live dogs on the premises--restaurants that serve dog are supplied with meat just as are those that serve beef.

The meat is odorless, with a bland taste. I take 2 tiny bites. I don’t know what to compare the taste to, since I don’t remember what meat tastes like, but 2 Americans at the table say it tastes a little like lamb, the kind Americans eat. Surely you remember Mary’s beloved pet?

After about 20 minutes, the waitress scoops out the remaining chunks of meat, puts them aside, and to the broth adds steamed rice and a variety of minced fresh vegetables. The mixture is our final course.

For closers she brings us cups of sweet cinnamon tea, crunchy apricot seeds and sticks of the traditional “Juicy & Fresh” chewing gum.

The tab for dinner for 5, including 5 beers, is 25,000 won, about $33. Although the service was excellent, in South Korea it is impolite to leave a tip.

That’s it. That was dinner.

This column should satisfy the morbid curiosity of thousands of readers, thus saving the lives of many dogs.

But feel free, dog lovers, to send angry and indignant letters. Address them, “Dog Eater, L.A. Times.” All I ask is that you also enclose copies of the scathing letters you have sent to the dolphin-murdering tuna industry, or a copy of your most recent donation check to Greenpeace.

My conscience is clear. I did it for my profession, for my readers. Hell, I did it for my mailman.