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I reach for Wansu’s hand, my eomeo-nim. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“You should come whenever you feel like it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
One of Ellen’s best dishes is pork sandwiches. She’d put the pork in the slow cooker in the morning, and by the time I got home, the meat would be falling apart in a bed of fragrant juices. She’d toast big sesame buns while I forked the tender meat into smaller bits. Ellen liked her sandwich with relish and would spoon a giant portion from a store-bought jar. I’m in Korea and the best kind of relish here has to be made with gochujang, the ubiquitous red pepper paste with its twin pleasures of sweet and hot.
Mrs. Ji watches with interest as I set a heavy steel pot on the gas stove in the back kitchen. I go through the routine of double washing my hands before gloving up. I’ve two cuts of meat: the shoulder and the loin. Pulled pork, the kind that Ellen made, comes from the shoulder. I don’t have a slow cooker, so I put water in the base of the pot and make a bed of crumpled foil for the shoulder to rest on. Along with the garlic, I add Korean apple pears, a handful of black peppercorns, brown sugar, cloves, gochujang, and thyme. It already smells good and it’s not even begun to cook.
The loin gets a different treatment. It needs to be crispy on the outside. I do a simple salt-and-pepper rub, sear all four sides, and then wrap it in foil and bake in the oven at a low heat.
Now I need the toppings. The kimchi fridge has four different kinds of kimchi: cubed radish, white radish, cabbage, and perilla leaves. I take all of it out. Mrs. Ji helps me and then adds a small bowl of chive kimchi she had in a different part of the refrigerator. I finely chop all of them, putting them in different bowls, and then I start to add other ingredients, like tiny bits of apple pear, vinegar, and salt-soaked cucumbers, lemon zest, caramelized onions, mustard, ketchup, peppers. Some of it is terrible. Mrs. Ji ends up spitting the one with lemon, onion, and vinegary cucumbers into the sink, but she gives me a thumbs-up for the apple pear and cubed radish version with hot peppers and gochujang paste.
As I cook, Mrs. Ji tidies up, putting things away, washing dishes. I try to stop her but she insists. The clutter was getting to her. “What will you do with all this food?” she asks.
“Have a party.”
I send out a group text. Ahn Sangki sends a happy dancing bear emoji, Jules a thumbs-up, but Bomi wants an engraved invitation.
BOMI: to Sajang-nim’s home? Is this okay with her?
I text Wansu.
ME: Im making dinner and invited friends. One of them is Bomi but she wont come unless you say that its okay. Please tell her its okay.
I then text Yujun.
ME: Im making dinner. I invited Bomi Jules Sangki
YUJUN: Sangki beat you by five seconds
ME: He lives on his phone. Im elbow deep in kimchi relish
YUJUN: Kimchi relish?
ME: Trust me
YUJUN: I do
Those two words settle around my shoulders like a warm blanket. I toast a baguette, slice off some of the pork tenderloin, and pair it with provolone cheese and the napa cabbage kimchi cut finely and mixed with pineapple. Mrs. Ji downs her small portion in about three bites. When the last bit is swallowed, she gives me the thumbs-up. “Jal meokkesseumnida.”
She ate well. Pleasure and pride fill me. This woman who cooks for us every night said that my food is good. It’s a huge compliment.
Mrs. Ji puts out the Western china along with forks and spoons, even though this is a finger-food meal. Almost by habit, she prepares eight different banchan dishes while I make french fries. Thank goodness every Korean kitchen has a mandoline or I would have still been cutting the potatoes when everyone spills into the house. The back kitchen smells like roast meat and fried potatoes, which makes me think of Ellen and Iowa. When I was young, I remember Ellen trying to cook Korean food for me. The house smelled funny and my school friends made fun of me for it, so I made her stop. She would cook the occasional Korean dish, but mostly she returned to her staple meals of pork chops, loin, hamburgers, roasted potatoes, corn on the cob. Everyone has their comfort food, and I suppose this is mine. It brings to mind hot days on the back porch, mosquitoes, butter dripping off freshly boiled corn, and Saturday movie nights. All good memories.
There are some things I won’t want replaced by bulgogi and seaweed soup. The things I miss can all be brought here, including Ellen, my comfort food, even entertainment, since Wansu is willing to risk internet jail for me to get illegal streams. As we were driving home from the columbarium, she asked if there was anything I missed and I told her subtitles. She brought an IT tech from IF Group to hook my television up to a computer so I can get a feed from the US.
