Stop Bringing Me More Food! Language Barrier Frustrations

14 02 2009

I never thought I’d say that, as I LOVE food to its core, but last night was one of the most frustrating experiences I’ve had in a long time.  I was craving spicy Korean BBQ, so the boyfriend and I decided to try out Korean Hometown Restaurant, off of Convoy in the heart of Asian madness.  The restaurant is in a plaza full of other Korean/Chinese shops…a couple karaoke studios, a smoky pool hall, bakeries and restaurants, and even a gaming cybercafe where you can play Counter-Strike (and yes, I’ve played there before!).  All the signs are in Korean, so it was tough to figure out which restaurant it was, especially in the rain, but thankfully they did have small letters below the sign stating “Korean Hometown Restaurant.”

I was warned of this by Yelp reviewers, but one thing I was not warned of was that I would be pointing to menu items and communicating through nods and hand gestures.  Our waitress, who also cooked our food, could barely speak a lick of English!   It really couldn’t get more authentic than this!  I had no idea that the beef bulgogi (bbq) came with all the kim chi  (pickled vegetables) and rice  I wanted.  I attempted to ask, but all I got was gibberish and “yes…mm..no…mm…sorree” types of responses.  I should have stopped right there and just made an order, but I went on the assumption that the bulgogi did not come with the stuff and proceeded to ask if the kim chi stew was an actual soup or just the pickled vegetables in the sauce.  Again, similar responses. It didn’t help that I also asked about the seafood pancake but decided not to order it.  As clearly as possible with a “let’s cancel everything I said before” hand gesture, I said, “OK, let’s start over. 1) Beef bulgogi, 2) Kim chi stew, 3) Rice with kim chi.”  There!  I felt like at least I would get kim chi in some form that I wanted!  I had heard of the copious amounts of food they had there, but had no idea which came with which, until it all started to pile on.

First, the beef bulgogi DID come with all the small dishes of kim chi and rice.  Wait, was that #1 and #3 off my list or does that normally come with the bulgogi? Then the stew came…ok, I ordered that…let’s try it!  Delicious as well!  I figured, perfect, got all 3 things I ordered.  Theeeeen the pancake came. Oh boy, I remember saying “let’s cancel that and start over.”  As politely as I could, I said, “I’m sorry, I did not order this, but that’s ok, I’ll pay for it. No more food right?”  And a confused look glazes over her and she nods and smiles.  A few minutes later, out comes the rice and stew. OH MY GOODNESS!  I had no more words as those definitely didn’t help.  Instead, I grabbed my face in a rather FOB-like way and crinkled my forehead thinking, “How did I f*ck this up so much?!?!?!?!”  A couple sitting nearby, a Korean woman and American man, had overheard and seen what was going on and was so kind to take this plate off our hands and buy the dish, as they had absolutely loved the food (and must have realized bulgogi DOES come with all the extras).  Had the hand-made crayon and marker menu stated this, all confusion would have been averted!  Mind you, the menu was in perfect English and rather neat, with pasted in pictures of the dishes…bulgogi sans extra dishes!!!  Methinks it was probably a son or daughter who created the menu.  Where was he/she?!?!

I stared at our table.  Not one piece of it wasn’t covered with a dish.  To be fair, she did technically bring out everything I ordered, but the pancake was extra.  I felt horrible that from Asian person to another Asian person, communication had failed.  I didn’t think these kinds of things happened anymore.  My head was spinning with questions.  Why was I so ignorant?  Why is there a restaurant that can’t answer questions about their menu?  Why did I have to ask so many things?!  ARGH!  Why does this kind of miscommunication happen mainly with Asian people?  I go to the nail salon, and it’s a similar experience, but they at least know the basics where they can hold a generic conversation and understand if I want French manicure vs. a solid color.  But if I go to an authentic Italian restaurant or a Mexican one, which is everywhere, it’s not nearly as rough of a time.  I have grown up with language barrier issues as I always had to translate for my mom and I could tell people were frustrated with her broken English.  I was upset at myself that I couldn’t handle this situation better.  It makes me wonder if I’ve assimilated so much to American culture that it’s hard for me to accept it when others can’t speak English.  I think if you are a business and are able to draw American customers, you should at least have the basics down.  What are your thoughts?

Finally, I have to say, the food was delicious, and that was what I was looking for, so mission accomplished.  I do recommend this restaurant, but know beforehand what you want.  It will make the experience significantly better!  Time to heat up that seafood pancake for breakfast!





Absolutely Enraged.

29 11 2007

I don’t understand sometimes why people have kids. What their true reasons are. Supposedly, at a point in your life, you want to pro-create to feel like your life is worth something. So then maybe it’s a selfish reason. I know that in Asian culture, having children means having someone to take care of you, to give back, and it’s expected that this happens. Loving is not enough. The pure emotion of caring for someone unconditionally is just not enough. It has to be proven or demonstrated through the acts of giving either in favors or household chores, or later in monetary means by buying things for your parents. Sometimes it’s by giving your family name a positive reputation by being successful. What the hell is being successful anyway? Having a big house? Making a lot of money? Being on national TV? Playing golf? The Laotian community thrives on gossip and I’m sick of it. I want out.

What first-generation children experience is something that isn’t easily understood, especially if your parents are not native English speakers that constantly rely on you. To interpret everything. To make calls, read mail, be their voice when possible. I cringe at the strong opinions of those who feel that people who can’t speak the language should not be allowed to live in this country. The United States is seen as this land of opportunity. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my parents fleeing Communism in Laos allowing me to have a better life. And here I am, just waiting on the day to flee from them. I am thankful for what I have but sometimes, I wish life didn’t have to be this way.

I constantly feel like I am living these two lives side by side. There’s the free life I want to have, to just do as I please and be an American kid. Is that so much to ask for? But then I’m tied down to this other life that reminds me that I can’t just do that. At the end of the day, I have a home that I return to where I’m supposed to be a good daughter that brings home good grades, cleans the house, and does as told. Parents and kids are never on the same wavelength. For 22 years, there have been arguments, tears shed, and misunderstandings, not to mention the overly-abused guilt trip that gets tossed around. Perhaps it’s true that I will never understand the mentality of what my parents want for me until I have children of my own some day.

I write today to vent and to share a lifestyle that is less common. As always, comments are welcome, but please know I’m not looking for a solution.