Would You Like Dog With That?

I love outdoor markets. Any outdoor market, really. I’m not sure what it is, but food just looks better to me when it’s away from the fluorescent glare of the supermarket and under a tent. And in Korea, the person selling the food is generally a sweet old woman, who I can never really say no to. Which is why my fridge is currently overflowing with three pounds of cherry tomatoes that I’m now eating like grapes.

One of the biggest markets in Busan is two subway stops away from my house and is also around the corner from the Mormon’s apartment. So when she asked if I could help her carry a table home that our director had brought to school for her, I agreed on the condition she’d show me around the market afterwards. Deal.

I should have known that by “help” she meant I’d be carrying the table myself; as if the two foreigners don’t get enough stares speaking English on the subway, I was now the white freak show with a table strapped to my back. The thing is this was not my first time carrying strange items on a subway: in New York, my roommate and I once trekked an eight-foot Christmas tree home via two different trains. But in New York, people stare for a minute and then move on with their lives. It seems once Koreans find you puzzling, they can gawk for hours. Fortunately, the ride was only two stops. Unfortunately, she lived on the fifth floor and the table didn’t quite fit in her tiny elevator. Twenty sweaty minutes later, we had deposited the table and were off to explore the market.

As she shops there almost daily, she confidently showed me down the never-ending maze of small alleys and winding streets, packed with tiny stalls selling everything. Intent on coming home with a plant, I walked into every flower store we saw looking for the ideal tiny green thing that would hopefully last longer than a week. Convinced that she knew the perfect plant store but unsure of how to get there (I know it was by the fish. But maybe it was past the grains?) we spent a good hour searching up and down every aisle.

Near the end of the fish market, I began to smell something pungent and familiar. While I was trying to figure out where I knew the smell from, we rounded the corner and I found out. Lining both sides of the narrow street were rusty cages with two or three dogs apiece, mostly lying down or asleep. The breeds didn’t look too familiar to me, however they were all big animals whose coats were long overdue for a brushing. But these dogs weren’t waiting to be groomed. Just next to the cages were refrigerated display cases, showcasing freshly killed dog meat.

When I moved to Korea, I had heard jokes about people eating dog, but somehow assumed that it was a tradition that had been done away with. Like foot binding or scrunchies. However, standing there staring at a row of dead dog paws confirmed that the custom apparently lives on and I was suddenly mentally reviewing every piece of meat I had eaten since my arrival, wondering if I had ever unwittingly consumed a poodle with my noodles.

Initially repulsed, I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to figure out why a dead dog made me want to alert the authorities while a dead pig meant bacon with my eggs. Every argument I threw out didn’t hold up for very long. Because dogs are pets, that’s why. Well, they’re only pets because we made them pets. In parts of India, aren’t cows pets? Yeah, but dogs are smarter than cows. But aren’t pigs smarter than dogs? Yeah, but bacon tastes really good. Mmmm. Bacon.

Until recently, dogs weren’t kept as pets in Korea, and for the most part it seems they widely prefer the small breeds for companions. These big dogs were raised to be killed, much like any farm animal. When I asked my kids about the practice, they all protested that the only people who like the meat were their grandparents, but when I asked if they’ve ever eaten dog, about half of the class raised their hands.

It seems that until I learn more Korean, I’m limited in the information I can find on the subject, as most English articles are just a tad biased: “Why It’s Wrong to Eat Dog,” or “Animal Rights: A History of Cruel Dog Eating in Asia.” From what I did find, about 10 percent of the country say they include the dish in their diet, generating a business that brings in close to a billion dollars annually. However, partly because the Korean government faced fierce opposition to the practice from Western groups during the 1988 Seoul Olympics and again during the 2002 World Cup held jointly in Korea and Japan, dog meat has no legal status in the country, which has caused the industry to move underground. While some critics deplore the inhumane conditions the animals are sometimes subjected to, they also argue against legalizing the industry, which would effectively end these conditions with regulations much like the ones imposed on the beef, pork and poultry businesses. It seems officially including dog on the country’s menu poses too much of an image problem with the West.

Still, unless you’re a militant vegan, it’s hard to defend one animal while you’re chewing on another’s leg. The cultural supremacy inherit in the argument is blatant; you shouldn’t eat that because we think it’s wrong. It’s all relative, and the clash of my suburban American upbringing and my current home in Korea made my head (and stomach) hurt.

Nevertheless, while I can defend the practice in principal, the thought of ordering dog soup still makes me a bit queasy. After yelling at the Mormon for not warning me I was about to be scarred for life, we soon found the hidden plant store and I came home the proud owner of a small green shrub with yellow flowers. That promptly died two days later.