Soju I Remember

 

Soju I Remember

 

I can hold my liquor pretty well.

If I had to choose my favorite alcoholic drink, it would probably be soju.

But I didn’t start drinking with soju. When I first learned to drink, I started with Cheongha, which had a lower alcohol content than soju.

Back then, soju was much stronger than it is now. For many years, 25% ABV was almost the standard for soju in Korea. So for someone who was just learning to drink, soju could feel pretty strong.

Of course, I eventually moved on to soju.

And I wasn’t the only one. Many of my friends went through a similar process back then.

But when I think about soju now, the first thing that comes to mind isn’t actually when I started drinking.

It’s a memory of my father.

When I was a child, we lived in the countryside, and my father always drank Geumbokju.

So naturally, I thought, “Geumbokju must be my dad’s favorite drink.”

Everyone around us drank Geumbokju.

Then we moved to another part of Korea.

Suddenly, my father stopped drinking Geumbokju and started drinking Gyeongwol instead.

I remember wondering,

“Why isn’t Dad drinking Geumbokju anymore? Didn’t he like it the most?”

But everyone there drank Gyeongwol, too.

Then we moved to Seoul.

And my father started drinking Jinro.

Of course, everyone around us drank Jinro, too.

It wasn’t until I grew older that I understood why.

My father hadn’t changed his favorite soju every time we moved.

The soju that was familiar to the people around him simply changed from place to place.

In the Korea I grew up in, regional soju culture was much stronger than it is today. Different parts of the country had their own familiar soju brands. Geumbokju was closely associated with the Daegu and Gyeongsang area, Gyeongwol with Gangwon, and Jinro was especially familiar in Seoul.

There was also a system that once required liquor distributors to purchase a certain percentage of their soju from producers in their own region. The Constitutional Court ruled that system unconstitutional in 1996, and the soju market gradually moved toward nationwide competition.

Looking back now, I understand my father a little better.

He didn’t keep changing his favorite soju.

The soju around him simply changed.

And my father just liked soju.

I had a similar experience myself.

After I got married, I lived in Gangwon Province for a while. At that time, the soju I usually drank was San. It was a very familiar local soju there.

That’s why I think soju is an interesting drink.

Soju is more than just a bottle of alcohol.

For many Koreans of my generation, soju is connected to where we lived, who we were with, and what our everyday lives were like at the time.

These days, the soju market has become much more nationwide. In Seoul, Chamisul and Cheoeum-Churum are the bottles I see most often.

When I travel abroad, I also find that Chamisul is usually the Korean soju I see most often.

So if you ever visit Korea, I have one little suggestion for you.

Don’t just drink the soju you already know.

If you travel to different parts of Korea, try the local soju, too.

You may notice that they taste slightly different. And even if you don’t notice much of a difference, I think it’s fun to drink the soju that people in that region are familiar with.

Personally, Hallasan was the soju that suited me best when I drank it in Jeju.

I really liked it.

Unfortunately, I don’t get many chances to drink Hallasan in Seoul.

But I think Hallasan is just meant to be enjoyed in Jeju.

A look at the diverse regional soju brands across South Korea. In the past, where you lived often determined your favorite bottle.

There’s also a little ritual about soju that I love.

You open the bottle.

Pour the first glass.

Take the first sip.

And somehow, a Korean naturally goes,

“Kaaaah~~~!”

There’s something about that first sip.

That little kick.

For me, even that sound is part of soju.

Soju goes well with almost any kind of food.

But if I had to choose the perfect combination, it would be Samgyeopsal.

After eating a piece of fatty Samgyeopsal, you take a sip of soju, and somehow it feels like the soju washes everything down.

They just go so well together.

My mother wasn’t much of a drinker. But whenever she ate Samgyeopsal, she always had a glass of soju.

And she would always say,

“You have to drink some soju when you eat meat. It helps you digest it.”

So now, when I have meat with my children and drink a glass of soju, I find myself saying the exact same thing.

“You need a glass of soju to help you digest it.”

I guess the memory of my mother having a drink while eating Samgyeopsal with our family stayed with me more than I realized. Haha.

When I was in college, there was also a time when soju mixed with fruit or vegetables became popular among my friends.

We would pour soju into a large bottle and add cucumber or lemon. We simply called them cucumber soju or lemon soju.

A refreshing pitcher of cucumber soju at a classic Korean pojangmacha (tent bar). Brings back so many college memories!

These days, you don’t even have to make them yourself. There are already all kinds of flavored soju on the market.

The colorful variety of modern soju. From the classics to new fruit flavors, the options are endless these days.

Soju has changed a lot over the years.

But for me, soju is still the drink that brings back the most ordinary memories.

My father’s Geumbokju.

The Gyeongwol he drank after we moved.

Jinro in Seoul.

My mother’s one glass.

The San I drank in Gangwon.

The Hallasan I drank in Jeju.

And, of course, that very Korean sound that naturally comes after the first sip.

“Kaaaah~~~.”

Maybe that’s why soju is still my favorite drink.

If you ever visit Korea, give soju a try.

What kind of memory will you take home with you?

Soju and Samgyeopsal — they just belong together, don't they?
I'll share my memories of Samgyeopsal with you in my next post.

K-Food Story
Stories behind Korean food by Somang