I found this on a page dedicated to some people's visit to North Korea:
This should give you a good idea on the many delicacies made from
man's best friend.
Man Bites Dog
While we were boozing in the premiere revolving restaurant of
Pyongyang - the hideous burgundy-coloured hotel Koryo - our guide
jokingly suggested that we deviate from the night's itinerary: let's
skip the traditional Korean restaurant and go to a dog restaurant
instead! The suggestion was made in jest, but we pounced on it with
enthusiasm. One of the great pleasures (and dangers) of travelling is
the partaking of weird local delicacies. You never know when you're
going to find something delicious, something to remember for the rest
of your life. Unfortunately, this hadn't happened in Beijing. The
Chinese food there was - to my taste - far inferior to the low-salt,
low-fat Chinese that I'm now accustomed to in Australia.
After negotiating the price (a hefty US$20 each) the guides agreed to
take us to a canine canteen that night. It seems that Koreans don't
regard dogs as pets, unlike almost every other culture I know of. Dogs
are used as work animals on farms (these supply the restaurants) and
as gourmet delicacies, but apparently no-one keeps them domestically.
They are so rare that even the Pyongyang zoo has a dog section with 20
different breeds of hound to amaze and amuse the local populace.
Imagine lining up to see a labrador.
Koreans actually consider dogs an expensive and healthy delicacy,
sorta like how the Chinese consider turtles. Local wisdom says that
eating one dog a year keeps sickness at bay, and in winter it is
thought to be equivalent to wearing an extra coat against the cold.
At about 7pm that night we found ourselves being taken along the
darkened Reunification Street - a suburb full of high-rise housing but
with surprisingly few lights on. I asked the guide why so few flats
were illuminated, and he replied that, being a Saturday night,
everyone was out visiting their family! This seemed like a ludicrous
explanation to me at the time, but I suppose it makes sense: they were
probably visiting relatives who lived in a part of town that was
receiving the electricity ration that night. The high-rise suburbs are
connected to the city centre by huge thoroughfares - one even being 13
lanes wide - but I was unable to spot any parking garages amongst the
In the middle of this concrete canyon the van pulled over, and we were
hustled into a low concrete building. Passing by a small bar and shop
counter, we scaled the stairs and walked into a dimly lit room. It
turned out to be one of those combined dog restaurant / karaoke bars,
with flashing multi-coloured lights, a mirrored disco globe hanging
from the ceiling, a large karaoke machine containing (only) heroic
Korean folk songs, and a stylised night-scape of the skyline of
Pyongyang. This is easily the freakiest restaurant I have ever
Without much ado the waitress started bringing out the dog meat. First
we had dog backbone, where the meat was so tender you could peel it
off with a fork. Juicy, and very nice. It reminded me a bit of
venison. Next came dog ribs, with significantly less meat on them.
Also tasty. The guides were snickering amongst themselves and watching
us with great interest. "You like?". The waitress came out and asked
our guides if the foreign devils realized what they were eating. The
guide played along with the gag and said: "No; they think it's deer.
Don't let on!" They told us a story of how they'd been there before
with two German couples, and the men had insisted that the women not
be told what they were eating - until they were at the airport a few
days later. Their wives attempted to expel all the dog meat left in
their systems, right there on the airport floor.
The guides showed us from pictures what sort of canine is considered a
comestible in Korea; it looked a bit like Lassie. I'd heard once that
the dogs are killed in an exceptionally cruel manner in order to give
the meat its proper texture, but I preferred not to think about this
as I tucked into my Pyongyang Pooch.
The guides' snickering and guffawing reached a crescendo as the next
portion of the meal was brought out. "This is the essence of the
restaurant, the essence", they kept repeating, "You must eat this
essential part most of all". They mysteriously called it "middle leg"
but we soon figured out what it was. The shape was unmistakeable. As
if on cue, a drunken Korean jumped up from the next table and started
belting out a patriotic folk song on the karaoke machine. Was it all a
After the penis, the K9 soup was served. Very spicy and quite tasty,
but by this stage we were getting tired of eating nothing but hound.
The soup was accompanied by a small bowl of red paste, which we were
told to mix in with the soup. This turned out to be dog-brain puree.
As a reward for licking our plates clean we were given a complimentary
serving of sweet dog-tongue dessert. Afterwards I started to feel a
bit queasy (must have been the karaoke) but Erwin patted his belly and
declared the meal "doggone good".