I stumbled across a word “smirting” (flirting when smoking with someone), and shared it with old friend Lars, among others. He then started to talk about kretek (Indonesian clove cigarette).
The WhatsApp text exchange that ensued has awakened a memory that somehow never got converted to a blog, so here’s making up for it.
Lars, history lecturer at SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London), had co-written a book on opium*.
A Korean chap back in 1996 had taught me how to make kimchi/kimchee, which his peers and other Koreans had said was excellent. I used to make it regularly to give to my students (need to bribe them to come to class, you know…).
As it’s loaded with raw garlic, I’d wrap up each jar with a plastic bag doubled over, tied down with plastic bands to seal it further, in case I got ejected from public transport.
When Lars and his co-authors gave a talk at SOAS on the book, I turned up with a jar of my kimchi for him, presenting it to him in the room just before the talk began. He, therefore, had no time to put it away, so he stood it on the far corner of the table at which the three of them sat.
As the jar was fortified with double plastic, the contents were not visible.
Throughout the talk, I could see that all the audience’s eyes were on that mystery jar, sitting there on the top corner of the table.
Since the topic of the talk was opium, the audience must’ve assumed that it was a pot of pot, to be passed around after the talk — to look at and smell only, of course…!
(London, 2004)
- Narcotic Culture: A History of Drugs In China by Frank Dikotter, Lars Laamann, and Zhou Xun (2004). Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.
This blog post is a delightful mix of linguistic curiosity, academic engagement, and unintended humor. The author weaves together seemingly unrelated elements—flirting while smoking (*smirting*), Indonesian clove cigarettes, Korean kimchi, and a scholarly talk on opium—into a quirky and engaging narrative.
ReplyDeleteThe opening sets the stage with a casual discovery of the word *smirting*, which sparks a conversation with Lars, a history lecturer at SOAS and co-author of a book on opium. This seemingly trivial exchange triggers a buried memory, revealing how unexpected associations can bring past experiences back to life.
The real charm of the piece lies in the humor surrounding the mysterious jar of kimchi. The detailed description of its double-layered plastic wrapping, meant to contain the potent garlic aroma, inadvertently transforms it into an object of intrigue. The audience’s unspoken but palpable suspicion—that the jar might contain something illicit—creates an amusing irony, given the talk’s subject matter. The fact that the author observes this misinterpretation unfold without correcting it adds to the humor, making the reader feel like they, too, are in on the joke.
The writing is crisp, playful, and effortlessly engaging. The interplay between academic seriousness and the everyday mundanity of homemade kimchi makes for a refreshingly original anecdote. One small addition that could enhance the piece is a final reflection—perhaps on the power of assumptions, the odd intersections of life’s moments, or even just whether Lars enjoyed the kimchi!
Overall, this blog is a fun, well-paced, and memorable read, showcasing the author’s ability to find humor and narrative connections in the most unexpected places.