“Work hard and earn everything you have, Naya. This way, no one can ever take anything from you.”
My mother used this mentality and saying to push me to learn everything I know today. Her biggest goal for me as her oldest and only daughter was being independent, and it all started in the kitchen. Our small, yet stuffed fridge was the holy mecca of food; it had everything from steaks, beef short ribs, ox-tail, ground turkey, kimchi, pesto, Greek yogurt, rice cakes to soy paste. I guess this was just the epitome of living in a Korean-American household.
Average Shim Household Menu on a Saturday:
8:00AM – The thick aroma of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and toast would fill up our home in the morning, especially on weekends. Waking up to the sound of bacon sizzling on the stove and the smell of bacon and eggs was the best. We’d walk down to a cloud of hot smoke-y air from the heat of the stove. But smelling the food itself from upstairs was definitely enough of a reason for us kids to get out of bed. (I learned pancakes were just a way for my mom to get us to eat our fruit, decorating it with a colorful array strawberries, blueberries, and bananas).
1:00PM – Lunch time meant something quick and easy for my mother to whip up in the midst of her busy day full of housework: fettuccine alfredo with chicken and pesto. Often eaten with chopsticks in my home, Alfredo sauce was our favorite, and my mom would make a quick and easy recipe from scratch using heavy cream and fresh parmesan cheese. If the food processor is going, it meant she was making pesto for that day. Grinding up the olive oil, parmesan, basil, pine nuts, with a dash of salt was enough to overpower the smell of chicken grilling on the skillet – our protein element for the dish (pasta was also the safest option for lunch when friends came over for playdates on the weekend because who doesn’t love pasta?).
7:15PM – Dinnertime was a family favorite and considered the most important meal of the day because dinner meant family time. No matter how busy my dad was for work, he would always make sure to come back to eat with us. For my mother and I, dinner meant bonding time. It was common to eat a Korean dinner. It was as if my mom wanted to remind the family of our roots and culture at the end of the day. Kal-guksoo was the first [Korean] dish I ever learned how to make; it was easy, delicious, and acceptable to be eaten at any time of day. We ate this dish at least once during the weekend, but it didn’t always have to be dinner. Sometimes we’ll have these noodles for breakfast.
This kind of bonding time with my mom was silent – we did not speak. Though the kitchen was loud enough already, my mother did not have to explain herself or the recipe. Pure. Focus. I just watched my mom dance around the kitchen while I cut potato she gave me and a small knife to practice cutting with, but what took me 10 minutes to dice a potato took her 10 seconds to finish all the vegetables for the broth. How did she do it? Dinner was the most elaborately prepared meal, and I carefully watched her prepare two hours beforehand: *chop chop chop chop* the sound her quick knife work of mincing garlic, julienning carrots, dicing potatoes, and slicing green onions.
The best way to describe the kitchen before dinner is organized chaos. The sound of clashing pots and pans hitting the stovetop, the sink running, the water boiling, the fan going, and the knife chopping against the cutting board. It was the perfect formula of sounds for kal-guksoo noodles with banchan (korean side dishes at home usually consist of kimchi, seasoned bean sprouts, green peppers with soy paste dipping sauce). She made preparing the same dish in three different ways for the family look easy. Yes, THREE. The first bowl was made without any veggies or meat for my picky little (and youngest) brother, he got served first. Then, she added the main ingredients for the broth and served my brother and I the original simple noodle dish. Lastly, she would add the seafood and spicy red pepper paste to make a spicy version of the dish for herself and my father. But this sequence also meant, the children would eat before the adults get their meal. This was against all of my innate Asian filial piety instincts.
“Excuse me, miss? Do you mind bringing out my kids’ dishes first if they are ready? They are hungry,” my mother would ask the waiter at a restaurant.
My mother always puts the family before herself, and it isn’t only with noodles or in the home. She would serve herself last, but if my mother felt ill, too tired, or didn’t have time to cook, there would be no meal to serve. As the oldest and only daughter, I learned my duty was being the “second mother” since the day I learned how to make kal-guksoo. Sharing this recipe and experience with me was her way of passing down her magical wand of power in the family. It was this day I learned that being independent meant not only being able to take care of yourself, but others too. And this, was the start of my journey to feel empowered and capable.
*Phone conversation last week* “Naya, thanks for sending me pictures of the food you make! I think it’s so funny that you told me you didn’t want to be like me when you were little. A-housewife-that-spent-all-her-time-in-the-kitchen. Look at you now! You’re always in the kitchen cooking in your free-time.”
This is true. Over the years I have learned to use food to my advantage and show people the extent of how much I truly care. It is the reason why I spend an hour cooking for my friends when I still have homework and laundry to do. It is the reason why I hosted a separate Thanksgiving dinner amongst my friends, not family. I learned to make many recipes from scratch, including noodles, just like my mother. I didn’t want to buy pre-packaged foods and dried pasta to only be a part of the cooking process. I want to be there from beginning to end, start to finish. From one end of the noodle to the other, I want the consumer to know that was all from me.
Though I am not with my family, I cook my own meals because I need myself. I do not have anyone else to rely on to feed me in my apartment, and for this I am independent. No one can take my food from me that I make for myself. I decide where my food goes, whether it is for me, my friends, family and guests.
——————————————————————————————-
I chose to imitate Alane Salierno Mason’s “The Exegesis of Eating” chapter in the The Milk of Almonds because the story reminded me of my relationship with my mother. Even more so, food helped me discover one of many purposes I can serve in life. Similar to the narrator, I wondered if I was needed and soon had to step up to the plate and care for family when an important female role in our lives could not. I loved this piece because the writing was very detailed and descriptive for the story it was telling as well, so I chose this piece in efforts to make my creative writing to have the same effect on the reader – immerse them in the time, place, and experience with the noodles and my family. I figured there was no better way to do this but take on this writing style and engage all five senses.
I learned about Italian culture from a multi-generational perspective, seeing and hearing it from the experience of the author via the language and interactions with their grandparents. The gender roles in Italian culture are very similar to me own, which is why I can see how my own cultural DNA is embedded in the piece. When I was younger, I didn’t like the idea of being stuck in the kitchen like my mother. I wanted to work a corporate job and make money instead of being at home all day. But I soon found a love for cooking and giving food to others when I saw how my food can make people happy or feel better, the same ways the grandmother’s food could make the grandfather feel. I feel like I have a deeper purpose and that I am needed when people ask me to make food for them.
I also felt connected to the grandfather in someway, because he had to learn how to cook for himself when his wife fell sick. There were many instances while growing up that I had to learn how to cook for the family when my mom could not. Through the similarities in my own life and the class reading I extracted from my own culture that a woman keeps families alive. They put food on the table to survive, even if the process gets tiring or even boring for them.
I learned a little bit about the perspective of a couple where one was native to America, whereas the other came from Naples, Italy to America way later in his life. Similar to the couple in the reading, my mother and father were both born in Korea. Except, my father came to America when he was 3 years old with his family and my mother came for college around the age of 18 by herself. My mother learned how to survive on her own, while my father grew up in a very traditional household under the care of his parents where the man did not need to know how to cook. Rather, cooking was a female’s role in the house. I learned that Italians also give back and take care of the elders when other generations can’t, the same way I take care of my family and when my mother can’t.
I learned that my Korean culture, and more specifically my family’s particular Korean-American culture, has adapted to our lifestyle here in the United States. While many Asian families serve the elders first, my mother just wants us to eat before the food gets cold instead of waiting on her or my dad to finish up their chores and errands. We do not always eat Asian food at home either, especially when there are guests over for playdates or visits. It is hard to make fancy noodles, but easy to prepare a fancy steak dinner. Through my writing and reflecting on my past, I’ve learned that food was a significant means of communication for my mother. Food is her way of telling us how much she cares, more so than satiating our hunger.