By Andrew Salmon
It is that time of year again ― the time of year to tie one on, to get three sheets to the wind, to get tipsy, drunk, smashed, hammered, legless, befuddled. Yet, every year in Korea, it seems more difficult to do so in a socially acceptable manner. What happened?
Let's turn the clock back 30 years ― to the ghosts of Seoul's Christmas past.
‘Tis a dark and frosty night. A gentle snow falls over the midnight city. Clouds of meaty smoke billow up from countless hole-in-the-wall galbi joints into the night sky. What is that distant thunder? The quaint alleyways echo to the roar of drunken bombast and adversarial argument. Peaking through the frosted windows of eateries and watering holes, we can make out, through a cigarette fog, rowdy scenes: Gangs of merry gentlemen, neckties bound around their heads like Mongolian warriors, furiously knocking back shots of soju and chugging mugs of lager. Tables are thumped and thighs are slapped as puce-faced, be-suited revelers egg their comrades on.
Keep an eye out as you tread these festive streets, goodly Christian. Staggering ajeossis are likely to shoulder-bump you into the gutter, while you must avoid tripping over recumbent bodies. However, there has not been a Herodic massacre: The "bodies" are simply salarymen so sozzled that they have collapsed in a stupor and slumber, undisturbed, under thickening blankets of snow.
But ― hist! What is that pungent bouquet wafting across our fair city? Watch your step: The streets are minefields, liberally decorated with steaming splatters of fresh vomit.
Enough of this rough vision of Seoul past! Let us return to Seoul present.
In downtown nightlife zones, a good decade has been sliced off the dominant demographic. The most notable revelers are not be-suited gents in their 40s, but brightly colored youth in their 20s. Nor are they exclusively male; there are equal numbers of females among them. Added to the galbi houses, "hofs" and soju tents of yore are dining palaces, wine bars, cocktail bars and pubs. In place of the cheap firewater of old, the preferred tipples are vinos, designer makgeollis, imported lagers and craft ales. Even the soju is weaker.
Of course, what I have presented are just two snapshots of then and now. One must resist over-generalization. But without question ― after three decades of liberalization in both markets and values; of diversification of consumer choice and consumer behavior; of overall gentrification and sophistication ― Korean drinking habits have become more civilized.
The leading change agent came in 1989 ― the year newly democratized Korea permitted passports for overseas vacations. For the first time, ordinary Koreans, en masse, sampled the lifestyles of North Americans and Western Europeans. They bought new demands back home.
The first paradigm breaker was wine. Following the market opening that followed the 1997-8 financial crisis, and the subsequent multiplicity of free-trade agreements (FTAs), sensibly priced vinos became widely available. Wine is a tipple that is sipped, not chugged; savored, not one-shotted. In the land of soju, this was revolutionary. As incomes rose, tastes diversified and more FTAs took effect, quality foreign spirits ― notably, whiskies, vodkas and tequilas ― became commonplace.
In response, local distillers reduced alcohol in soju and started producing milder, neo-traditional beverages like Baekseju. Regulatory change enabled the production and nationwide distribution of artisinal makgeollis, then craft beers.
The new tipples were both tastier and pricier than those of old, leading drinking culture to shift from the manly challenge of "get inebriated as swiftly as possible" to the more leisurely "enjoy, drink, discuss."
Concurrent with all this was social change. As cuisine options diversified, it became young women who led trends in the culinary space, while the increasing presence of middle-management females at corporate after-hours dinners and parties curbed loutish behavior among ajoshis. And while, "I only did it because I was drunk, officer!" remains a common excuse in police stations, crackdowns on drunk driving increased.
Naturally, old-school habits die hard, but generally, Korea is becoming an increasingly diverse and convivial place to head out for a skin-full. With this happy thought, I offer a fond "chin chin" to all readers this festive season.
Andrew Salmon (andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk) is a Seoul-based reporter and author.
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Let's turn the clock back 30 years ― to the ghosts of Seoul's Christmas past.
‘Tis a dark and frosty night. A gentle snow falls over the midnight city. Clouds of meaty smoke billow up from countless hole-in-the-wall galbi joints into the night sky. What is that distant thunder? The quaint alleyways echo to the roar of drunken bombast and adversarial argument. Peaking through the frosted windows of eateries and watering holes, we can make out, through a cigarette fog, rowdy scenes: Gangs of merry gentlemen, neckties bound around their heads like Mongolian warriors, furiously knocking back shots of soju and chugging mugs of lager. Tables are thumped and thighs are slapped as puce-faced, be-suited revelers egg their comrades on.
Keep an eye out as you tread these festive streets, goodly Christian. Staggering ajeossis are likely to shoulder-bump you into the gutter, while you must avoid tripping over recumbent bodies. However, there has not been a Herodic massacre: The "bodies" are simply salarymen so sozzled that they have collapsed in a stupor and slumber, undisturbed, under thickening blankets of snow.
But ― hist! What is that pungent bouquet wafting across our fair city? Watch your step: The streets are minefields, liberally decorated with steaming splatters of fresh vomit.
Enough of this rough vision of Seoul past! Let us return to Seoul present.
In downtown nightlife zones, a good decade has been sliced off the dominant demographic. The most notable revelers are not be-suited gents in their 40s, but brightly colored youth in their 20s. Nor are they exclusively male; there are equal numbers of females among them. Added to the galbi houses, "hofs" and soju tents of yore are dining palaces, wine bars, cocktail bars and pubs. In place of the cheap firewater of old, the preferred tipples are vinos, designer makgeollis, imported lagers and craft ales. Even the soju is weaker.
Of course, what I have presented are just two snapshots of then and now. One must resist over-generalization. But without question ― after three decades of liberalization in both markets and values; of diversification of consumer choice and consumer behavior; of overall gentrification and sophistication ― Korean drinking habits have become more civilized.
The leading change agent came in 1989 ― the year newly democratized Korea permitted passports for overseas vacations. For the first time, ordinary Koreans, en masse, sampled the lifestyles of North Americans and Western Europeans. They bought new demands back home.
The first paradigm breaker was wine. Following the market opening that followed the 1997-8 financial crisis, and the subsequent multiplicity of free-trade agreements (FTAs), sensibly priced vinos became widely available. Wine is a tipple that is sipped, not chugged; savored, not one-shotted. In the land of soju, this was revolutionary. As incomes rose, tastes diversified and more FTAs took effect, quality foreign spirits ― notably, whiskies, vodkas and tequilas ― became commonplace.
In response, local distillers reduced alcohol in soju and started producing milder, neo-traditional beverages like Baekseju. Regulatory change enabled the production and nationwide distribution of artisinal makgeollis, then craft beers.
The new tipples were both tastier and pricier than those of old, leading drinking culture to shift from the manly challenge of "get inebriated as swiftly as possible" to the more leisurely "enjoy, drink, discuss."
Concurrent with all this was social change. As cuisine options diversified, it became young women who led trends in the culinary space, while the increasing presence of middle-management females at corporate after-hours dinners and parties curbed loutish behavior among ajoshis. And while, "I only did it because I was drunk, officer!" remains a common excuse in police stations, crackdowns on drunk driving increased.
Naturally, old-school habits die hard, but generally, Korea is becoming an increasingly diverse and convivial place to head out for a skin-full. With this happy thought, I offer a fond "chin chin" to all readers this festive season.
Andrew Salmon (andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk) is a Seoul-based reporter and author.
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