Once upon a time, I picked a random, never-heard-of-before dish from the menu at the local Korean joint, and ordered it. My lunch ended up being these fat white cylinders of rice-flour paste -- think of really chewy dumplings with no filling -- smothered in spicy sauce. I was not a fan, but ate it anyway because I paid for it and I needed food. But I swore I'd never order those foul-chewy-tacky tubes again.
Today, those fuckers ambushed me at lunch AGAIN. I had forgotten their name, because Korean isn't one of those languages that I'm even remotely familiar with, but I always knew to stay away from the rice dumplings. I read the description of the dish -- rice and vegetable cakes in a spicy sauce -- and thought, "hey, sounds kinda good." Instead of a happy lunch, my enemy came riding out to meet me on a plate garnished with a purple orchid. I swear, it sneered at me. Again, I ate those hated things (this time wasn't at painful as the first) and cursed my lack of Korean.
So, as a public service to you, my friends, I give you the Korean name so you can avoid the spicy starchy death rattle: dduk. Yes, two "d's."
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