Some dinners fill your stomach but leave your psyche barren.

I’ll blame part of it on not educating myself. For the prices charged, I wasn’t expecting the kind of setup I encountered. A bartender was extremely friendly and helpful in helping me and a dining companion in selecting four dishes. The famous roast pork buns, apple kim chi, fried pigs head, and fried brussel sprouts. Done.

“I tweeted the order,” I reported. A grimace was doled out in return.

Then, “They don’t allow photos here. It says so on the website.”

In true blogger fashion, I reacted with panic. “Really?” I flagged down a bartender to ask. It wasn’t true. Very funny.

Ssam Bar is, quite literally, bar food: the dishes come out all at once and you eat with people cleaning glasses in front of you. It made me feel like the place was closing and I should shovel everything done before it was taken away. I can’t fault them for this, but after my [admittedly pathetic] bank account shriveled by a third to foot the bill, I couldn’t help but wish they had paced out the dishes for maximum enjoyment.

image from gothamist. my camera cord be lost.

The pork buns were the highlight: encased in pillowy bread, dripping fat, and with the addition of hot sauce, they were delightful. I am hugely embarrassed to admit that I did not recognize the hot sauce in generic squeeze containers at first.

Dining companion thought the bartender was hot and struck up a conversation. Dead air became animated.

I asked her where they got the hot sauce.

“It’s sriracha,” she reported. “Make sure you get the kind with a green top.”

I almost died. How could I forget the notes of my favorite condiment? Wasn’t it sharper, more acidic, more vinegary? She brought over a bottle – indeed, exactly the same. Shame washed over me, dripping from my forehead to my fingertips, still sticky with pork fat.

The dishes were eaten perfunctorily. My feet ached, my pinky toe blistered from walking around in five inch heels all day. I balanced awkwardly on the stool and worked on a ginger pomegranate cocktail.

I looked behind me. There was a mirror, and I saw two figures, one in black and one in gray. My flushed shoulder was exposed where the cardigan had slipped. Diners came and went; the kitchen hummed in half-starts. I didn’t bother to right my sleeve. The meal ended, and I walked out.

The next morning, I had breakfast with a girlfriend at the top of the shopping complex in Columbus Circle. We wandered to the top, letting all the goods we could not afford buffet us along. I bought us breakfast. We had toast and oatmeal with brown sugar. I mixed it in and watched the crystals melt. It was strangely perfect, and wholly filling, and I was glad.

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2. Tony Maws’ Fried Pigs’ Tails at Craigie on Main, Cambridge
3. “Like a barnyard in your mouth”: JoJo Taipei in Allston
4. Hungry Mother, Kendall Square
5. Why There’s No Such Thing as a Free Lunch