When I was growing up, my mom periodically brewed a pot of this bitter, allegedly medicinal soup and forced me to drink a bowl (she says the ginseng promotes general well-being). Although I used to sit at the kitchen table for an hour, slowly spooning each dreadful bit into my mouth, I've since discovered that the only way to tolerate it is to gulp the liquid down as quickly as possible. Now nearly every time I go home, she prepares this special (and unfortunately simple-to-make) soup just for me — which probably explains why I don't go home very often.