Styela clava

They look like slimy, translucent palm dates. A mixture of light brown and amber-colored ovoid. They are plump and bloated their thin skin stretched taut revealing the fluid inside. One end forms a cap that looks like an acorn cap, coarse and stubbled.

We’ve been walking around the market for half an hour and I keep seeing these strange-looking pupae soaked in a styrofoam box lined with blue trash bag. I assume they’re some kind of sea plant since I always see them in the fish stall, next to the sea cucumbers, and the eels, and the piles of fish, and buckets of buckets full of octopuses trying to escape their unfortunate fate. I decide to take a picture of the strange sea dates when the young man who owns the fish stall say hello and smile.

“Only in Korea!” I assume he’s talking about the thing.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Name?”

“Yes. Name!” I nod vigorously, hoping he would say something that I recognize.

“Mi. Do. Do.” He enunciates each syllable in such clear diction that my old choirmaster would’ve recruited him on the spot.

Mi-do-do? How on Earth do you spell that? Is he talking about the musical notation, mi (E) – do (C) – do (C)? Guess not. I’m guessing that’s the name in Korean? And how would that help me? The Korean name won’t tell me what kind of plant or animal it is.

Sensing my confusion, he picks one up from the pile and asks, “You try?” His arm outstretched, inviting me into this quick gustatory trip.

Well, another opportunity to try something new, I suppose.

“OK.”

He smiles. “Okay! Now watch me.”

He grabs one of them by the cap and uses a small knife to make a small incision in the center of the bulge, letting most of the fluid drain. He then puts it in his mouth, still grabbing it by the cap and eats it whole leaving only the cap between his forefinger and his thumb. The whole time he watches me from the corner of his eyes, to see if I’ll squirm.

“Ok. You try?” he asks. I must look pretty stunned while watching; he has to double-check that I’m still game for the dare. Meanwhile I am fixated by the demonstration. Not squeamish, not disgusted by it.

“Yes. OK.”

He smiles again and rummages through the pile to find one for me to try.

He picks one up about an inch long and repeats the same steps. Grabs it by the cap, slits the middle and let it drain. He then hands it to me while reminding me not to eat the coarse stubbly cap.

With most weird eats, it’s better not to look at it too closely lest I get cold feet. Best to just pop them in. Doing just that, I grab the barnacle-like cap, engulf the wet brown flesh with my mouth and immediately tastes a burst of sea brine; fresh salt spray washes over my tongue. I try to pull the cap away but it’s stuck, like adductor muscle in clams, so I use my teeth to sever the sinewy attachment and swallow the rest. More of the brine, the fresh sea taste. It’s like a cross between oyster and blood cockles. The bright briny flavor of oyster but the texture of cockles. It would’ve been good with a squirt of yuzu and shallots mignonette. Or as it is.

“How is it?” Everyone is looking at me now, wondering if I’ll start barfing all over the place. The man asks if I need to wash it down with water. Gabriel is ready to hand me bottles of water as well.

“Really good. Like oyster!” I told him. If there’s such a thing as sea grapes, I imagine it would be like this.

We thank the kind young man who seems to be amused by the whole episode. He doesn’t ask us to buy anything, just where we’re from lo. He looks genuinely happy to have shown us some Korean hospitality.

And I am quite happy to have solved the mystery of the day.