Why Do Koreans Cut Meat With Scissors? My Friend Had No Idea What Was Happening.
This was a few years back, when Timmy was in Korea.
He'd been talking about samgyeopsal since before he even landed — kept saying it was the one thing he really wanted to try once he got here. So one evening, I took him to a Korean BBQ place.
We sat down, and I could already tell what kind of night this was going to be. Timmy's never been great at hiding how he feels. If he's excited, it's all over his face. If something surprises him, you can see it in his eyes before he even says anything.
We ordered samgyeopsal, obviously — he already knew that name. But I also threw in hangjeongsal (pork jowl) and galmaegisal, a leaner, chewier cut of pork, figuring he might as well get the full range while he was at it. Hangjeongsal gets this rich, almost nutty flavor once the fat renders down — crisp on the outside, soft and a little chewy in the middle. Galmaegisal is leaner, chewier, with a good bite to it, and it really shines once it's charred hard on the grill.
The meat started sizzling. A server came by to flip it, and once it was done, picked up a pair of scissors and started cutting it into bite-sized pieces right there on the grill.
Timmy just stared.
"Wait — why is she using scissors?"
I laughed. Fair question, honestly, for someone who'd never seen Korean BBQ before.
Using scissors at the table is second nature here. Long cuts like samgyeopsal get grilled whole, then snipped into manageable pieces right on the spot — no need to move anything to a plate, no knife required, just a few quick cuts and it's ready to eat. And it's not just for meat, either. Scissors show up for cutting naengmyeon noodles, kimchi, jeon — basically anything that's easier to snip than slice. It's so normal here that I honestly never thought twice about it.
"So you guys just cut meat with scissors?" Timmy asked again, like he was making sure he heard that right.
"Yeah, that's just how it's done."
I said it like it was nothing. Timmy kept staring at the scissors for a good minute before he tried cutting a piece himself — and once he did, he was clearly enjoying it a little too much.
A meal like that isn't really complete without something to drink, so I made him his first somaek — soju mixed with beer. In Korea, people have all kinds of ways of making it — different ratios, different methods, sometimes literally dropping a shot glass of soju into a mug of beer. There's no single "correct" way. It mostly depends on who's making it.
"What is this?"
"Soju and beer. Try it."
He took a careful sip. Then smiled.
Honestly, I don't think it was really about the taste. What got him was the whole process — mixing it right there at the table mid-meal, explaining the ratio, watching him try his own version. Small stuff, but it clearly landed as something new for him.
From there, the night loosened up fast. Meat, drinks, some back-and-forth teasing, more meat on the grill. We ended up staying way longer than either of us planned.
By the end, Timmy hadn't just had samgyeopsal — he'd tried cuts he'd never heard of, cut his own food with scissors for the first time, and learned how we make somaek.