For a moment, it felt like we had run out of shows to watch. Netflix has gotten boring, YouTube can only do so much, and we're accidental cord cutters, because I chose to get a landline phone rather than cable TV. So we had to dig a little deeper.

What we ended up watching was Sister's Slam Dunk, a five-year-old Korean variety show. (By the way, "variety" in Korean television parlance can be loosely called a "reality show", where a cast of celebrities do challenges. There's no big prize in the end; just people bouncing off each other.) I watched the second season - which saw the formation of a girl group out of two comedians, two actresses, and three singers - religiously, but I haven't seen the first season, which (partially) did the same thing and found itself with a really big success. So, we thought, let's watch that, then. There were episodes on YouTube, after all. Full ones. Officially uploaded ones.

The show's premise was to fulfill the dreams of its six cast members. The girl group thing was the second dream, and took eleven intense episodes. But the first was about getting a license to drive a bus and tour her friends to somewhere in Korea (which did kind of happen), and these shows would have to establish the chemistry between the cast, so on the third episode there was a mini-dream thing where more lower-stakes dreams were fulfilled.

One of them was to be able to eat alone. Makes sense, since if you're an in-demand comedian with a very busy schedule you don't really get to do that. In typical Korean variety fashion it became a challenge for everyone to accomplish, with varying degrees of awkwardness. You can eat solo outside, or in a fast food joint, or a family restaurant.

Also in typical Korean variety fashion there are shocked reactions about what has to be done. I mean, I get it. You're celebrities. You don't really get to do those things. But we were struck at how unusual eating alone seemed for them. I mean, setting aside the whole you-don't-really-get-to-do-it thing, why is eating alone so weird? Does it never happen?

I mean, yeah, sure, eating is a communal thing. It's part of the set-up in Korea. Just think of all the banchan - side dishes in small plates, kimchi being one of them, that accompany cooked rice - on a spread. That screams "you do it with someone". But I guess not everybody gets to do it. Korea, or at least Seoul, is a very busy place. There's little time to stop and relish things, unless you're really rich, I suppose. Apparently it's one rationale for all the mukbang videos, at least before Westerners ruined it with their attention-seeking grotesqueness. That, and the Korean barbecue restaurants designed for solo diners, with cubicles and small television screens attached to them.

But to us, it's weird that they find it weird. I mean, eating solo in a restaurant? Personally, it's something I had to do from my first days in the labor force, when I found myself surrounded by colleagues who want nothing to do with me. You just get out of your desk, choose where you want to go, and eat there. Sure, it gets awkward when you realize the communal tables are full and so are the other tables, but you learn from your lessons. You avoid the rush. You plan ahead. And, if all else fails, you buy take out and eat at your desk.

I guess it's because I have been doing it alone a lot of the time. I mean, not lately. Whenever we can Shalla and I would eat out. Nothing fancy. Just a food court, if we happen to be at a mall. Right now, though, it doesn't seem that awkward, eating alone. I mean, everything is spaced out. Tables for four will only accommodate two. And even then, you're not really supposed to be out and about for no reason, right? Except a few months ago, when people really pushed their luck. I saw a food court table have eighteen people. Two weeks later, we had a spike in cases, which we all conveniently blamed on a girl from the United States who skipped quarantine and went partying.