The Guardian, G2
We're wandering round the market in Incheon, Korea. Jean tells me that it's quiet today. The stallholders normally shout at you about how good their food is. Koreans are rather like Italians. We pass a stall loaded with dried fish - big ones staring from sunken eyes like marine mummies, tiny silver ones like metal filings in a sack.
Christine points at some microscopic shrimp. They are soaked in salt for a very long time so all the juice comes out, and the flavour is magnificent. We eat them with kimchi pancakes. I bring my face close to a bucket of clams in seawater. Semi-opaque tubes protrude from the shells; one gently breaks the surface like a periscope and shoots an arc of water at me.