Tag Archives: Korean

Meal Planning 101, Menu of Meals, Recipe

Meal Planning 101: On Reusing Versatile Ingredients, plus a “Nourish Bowl” Recipe

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As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, my initial motivation to schedule all my meals came from anxiety – anxiety that I would be wasteful with ingredients (and therefore money), that I wouldn’t enjoy my food. It’s become much more than that, more than a pressure valve for my neurosis. It’s a way for me to think creatively, to exercise a kind of freedom that only exists in the presence of strict parameters.

I’ve tried to outline a Meal Planning 101 entry, but found that a singular post would be far too long and verbose, and probably super boring. So, I’ve decided to start a series, highlighting different elements of my planning process. This first one is going to be about thinking ahead and reusing ingredients, and I’ll go through my thought process behind this week’s menu.

The process of reusing ingredients is important to me for a number of reasons:

  1. It tightens parameters. I don’t know if you know this, but there are like a gazillion food blogs (read: food porn sites) and a bajillion recipes for everything. Diving into the endless abyss of books and blogs to find that perfect dish is probably a gigantic time suck, and this helps. And, even though I like planning stuff out (clearly), sometimes I find it exhausting to make completely new things, everyday, and to find delectable recipes for each. Choosing versatile ingredients that I can reuse gives me a weird sort of peace of mind.
  2. It helps me to develop my palate. I learn more about the ingredient when I cook it in a number of different styles. Also, by focusing on one or more reusable ingredients for a week’s meal, I have the opportunity to actually taste different ingredient pairings and formulate my own opinions.
  3. It can save time. For example, I can prepare the ingredient for the whole week in one fell swoop (e.g. trimming or blanching vegetables), or cook the ingredient(s) in one batch and use them throughout the week.
  4. It can save money. I am often on the prowl for what’s on sale or in season. If I’m okay with reusing an ingredient or two throughout the week, it means that I can spend less money. Also, if I find that I’m reusing a great deal of something (an example for me would be jasmine rice), then I can save some money by purchasing in bulk.

There are obviously other elements to meal-planning. Often, I’ll start with what kind of stuff I’m craving, or what I think my body needs. But the focus on ingredients and how I can make them versatile is a key element to my planning process, one that I use every week.

This Week’s Meals

This week, because my husband is on tour (I’m lonely!), I’m making a lot of one-pot meals, reusing loads of ingredients/elements, and cooking things that are easy to bring to work. Additionally, because it’s been getting warmer, I want to cook and eat things that don’t make me feel like a sweaty slimeball. Here were some of my thoughts in coming up with the menu:

  • I wanted a versatile grain that would be good either hot or cold. I chose farro, because it’s not one of the foods that just tastes really healthy (read: boring or icky), it is healthy but has a relatively complex character. I can cook all of my farro at the same time, and use it for different meals to save on time.
  • Honestly, after a week of eating very little meat (since we binged in Maine), I am craving some animal. I decided to go the chicken route, since it’s kind of on the lighter side. And I’m not afraid to admit this to the world: I like eating chicken. Like, I like it a lot. So, I bought enough chicken for roasting, and for ddak bulgogi (Korean chicken BBQ). The latter will be its own meal (with rice or farro), and then serve as toppers for farro bibimbap and bibimguksu.
  • Roasted vegetables are amazing on or with everything. I’m going to roast a bunch of vegetables on a cool morning (w/ my new spice mix obsession for vegetables: salt, pepper, cumin, chili powder, cayenne, and paprika). Then, I’ll use them as a side for rice & beans, cheese omelette and fish in a bag. And, they will serve as integral elements to my farro nourish bowl.
  • Eggs. I love them so much. This week, I’ll pickle some soft-boiled eggs as part of all the rice or farro dishes. Also, since I’m allowed to be “lazy” while Nico is on tour, I’m going to make myself a delicious and easy omelette, one night.

I should also add that I needed all the meals to be relatively simple, since I had my first trip to the Emergency Room (as an adult) on Wednesday. Apparently, I have pretty severe vertigo, so lots of movement, or movement at all, is pretty disorienting and disconcerting. WOMP.

Now, with all the context, here is the weeks’ menu:

FRIDAY

  • D: Fish in a bag, w/ lemon, fennel, olives, and white wine sauce

SATURDAY

  • L: Farro nourish bowl w/ roasted vegetables and a pickled egg, topped w/ lime dressing
  • D: Bibim guksu w/ chicken bulgogi

SUNDAY

  • L: Leftover bibimguksu
  • D: Chicken bulgogi w/ jasmine rice and roasted vegetables

MONDAY

  • L: Leftover bulgogi, rice, and vegetables
  • D: Farro bibimbap w/ chicken bulgogi topping and a pickled egg, and an arugula salad

TUESDAY

  • L: Leftover farro bibimbap
  • D: Brie omelette, baguette, and an arugula salad

WEDNESDAY

  • L: Leftovers (of anything)
  • D: Roasted chicken thigh w. cherry tomatoes & asparagus, baguette, and an arugula salad

THURSDAY

  • L: Leftover chicken
  • D: Rice & beans and roasted vegetables

FRIDAY

  • L: Leftover rice & beans
  • D: ORDER DELIVERY (woohoooo)

And, here’s a recipe for an amazingly simple farro nourish bowl that has swept me off my feet. By the way, I think the term “nourish bowl” is the worst, like it’s the top selling (and only) food item at a CA smoothie store. But, it’s easier to say that, than to say “healthy but delicious bowl of grain with other hearty and mostly vegetarian toppings.”

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Farro “Nourish Bowl” with Roasted Vegetables and Lime/Maple Dressing
Adapted from Cookie Monster Cooking’s Blog
Servings: 4-6
Prep Time: 20 minutes
Cooking Time: 45 minutes

Ingredients
Roasted Vegetables:
  • 1 medium red onion, sliced
  • 2 small or 1 large yukon gold potato, peeled and chopped into ½ inch chunks
  • 1 large sweet potato, peeled and chopped into ½ inch chunks
  • 2 large carrots, peeled and chopped
  • 2 heads of broccoli, chopped
  • 2 ears of corn kernels (cut right off the cob)
  • 2 tablespoons of olive oil
  • 1 tablespoon of canola oil
  • 1 teaspoon cumin
  • 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 1 teaspoon chili powder
  • ½ teaspoon cayenne
  • 1 teaspoon salt
For the dressing:
  • 2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice
  • 1 tablespoon pure maple syrup
  • ¼ teaspoon salt
  • pinch of pepper
  • ¼ cup olive oil
For serving:
  • Farro, cooked per instructions
  • Avocado, sliced on top
  • Pickled egg

Instructions

  1. Preheat the oven to 400ºF.
  2. Chop up all the vegetables, and place them into a large bowl. add the cumin, paprika, chili powder, cayenne pepper, salt, olive oil, and canola oil. Mix well, and place the vegetables onto a baking sheet (use two if necessary – you don’t want to crowd the pan).
  3. Bake for 40 minutes, and stir halfway through. The vegetables should be beautifully browned and aromatic.
  4. In a small bowl, whisk together the ingredients for the dressing.
  5. To serve, place some farro in a bowl, and add the roasted veggies, sliced avocado, and pickled egg on top. Dress with the lime/maple syrup mixture, and enjoy!
Dinner, Lunch, Recipe

On Balance, and a Bibim Guksu Recipe

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I’m not particularly gifted and finding balance, in my life. Words that might better describe me: obsessive, sunny, self-deprecating, product-oriented, compulsive, nurturing, neurotic, controlling. Lots of things, but definitely not balanced. Not yet.
Also, not terribly photogenic

Also, not terribly photogenic

I’m on the hunt for a hobby, and am fully dreading this opportunity/task. When my only frame of reference for hobbies includes solo piano competitions, and other embarrassing activities of the like, it’s hard for me to approach a non-essential activity without being annoyingly methodical, aggressive, and ambitious, particularly since I have the great dishonor of conflating enjoyment with being good at something. Because of the level of unnecessary intensity I bring to the table, I end up talking myself out of doing anything. For example: when considering taking yoga classes, I decided that I should first start with bartered private yoga instructional sessions, so I could perform with the right form before being in a group setting. When I couldn’t find someone with whom to barter, and because I couldn’t even consider the notion of being completely unprepared for it, I didn’t do any yoga. Another example: I had considered returning to the piano, and got a keyboard for my birthday several years ago. Having picked up all my music from NJ, I started planning how often and how long to practice, made a schedule of when to learn and memorize each section, blahblahblah. Categorically not fun. A bit not good. But it’s the only way I know how to approach anything.

By way of cooking and eating, I think I’m slowly starting to learn to enjoy not only the (hopefully delicious) product, but also the process. Because the enjoyment (of eating) so immediately follows the work and process, perhaps I will begin to conflate the two pieces, and learn to approach everything else with the ultimate goal of enjoyment (instead of mastery, which will always be unattainable, anyway). All this to say, I was totally unbalanced about this week’s meals. Since I was a little lazy and unproductive the week prior, I felt the need to compensate with a rather intensive menu of meals. Plus, I had the added (self-inflicted) pressure of wanting to delight in spring/summer foods and salads. Even with a little bit of unnecessary stress, I experienced a great deal of joy while preparing the week’s menu. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn to approach everything in my life with a bit of balance, joy, and ambition, and eat good food all the while.

And now, a recipe. This dish was rocking and rolling, and is pretty perfect for any warm to sweltering day.

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Bibim Guksu Recipe

Serves 6
Preparation Time: 30 minutes
Cooking Time: 10 minutes

Ingredients

10 oz. soba or lo mein noodles (soba is better, but I couldn’t find any in the local grocery store)
1/4 head of red cabbage, thinly sliced
2 large carrots, julienned
1 large cucumber, julienned
1/2 of a tart apple, julienned
1/2  cup of kimchi, diced

For the sauce:

3 tbsp gochujang (Korean hot pepper paste) Note: each brand carries a different weight of spiciness. If you are sensitive to spiciness, start with 2 tbsp, taste after everything else has been mixed together, and slowly add more if you so desire
1 1/2 tbsp white vinegar
1 tbsp soy sauce
1 1/2 tbsp honey
1 tbsp brown sugar
1 1/2 tbsp sesame oil
1 tbsp sesame seeds, lightly toasted (optional)

See marinated flank steak recipe below.

Method

  1. Boil noodles as instructed. Drain, and rinse the noodles under cold water to stop the cooking. Shake the water off, put noodles in a large mixing bowl, and add a teeny bit of vegetable oil and mix to make sure they don’t stick together.
  2. Put your prepared vegetables into the bowl, along with the sauce. Using a piece of plastic wrap to protect your and from the spicy sauce, thoroughly mix the noodles, vegetables, and sauce together. Using tongs or utensils might break the noodles, so best to use your hands. 
  3. Place your mixed noodles into a bowl, and top with slices of marinated skirt steak (recipe below).

Korean Marinated Flank Steak Recipe

Preparation Time: 10 minutes, plus up to a 12 hours of marinating
Cooking Time: 10 minutes, plus 10 minutes of resting the meat

Ingredients
1 1/2 – 2 lbs of flank steak, 1/2 an inch thick
1/4 cup of soy sauce
1 tbsp of ginger, finely minced
2 cloves of garlic, finely minced
4 scallions, thinly sliced
1 tbsp of sugar
1 tsp of ground pepper
1/2 a apple, thinly shredded
1 tbsp sesame oil

Method

  1. In a large bowl, mix the soy sauce, ginger, garlic, scallions, sugar, pepper, apple, and sesame oil.
  2. Carefully pour the marinade into a large freezer bag, along with the piece of flank steak. Close the bag, making sure there is no air trapped. Put the bag into the refrigerator for up to 12 hours.
  3. An hour before you plan to cook the steak, take the bag out of the fridge. Let it come closer to room temperature.
  4. Heat a cast iron skillet at a high heat until smoke starts to come off of the pan. Lower the heat to a medium-high flame, and add the steak. After four minutes, flip it over, and let it cook for another 3 minutes.
  5. Take the steak off the pan and put onto a cutting board. Let it sit, uncovered, for about 10 minutes so that the juices can redistribute. The cooking time is for a medium rare steak. After 10 minutes, slice to your desired thickness. Place ontop of bibim guksu!
Dinner, Recipe

On Inherited Memory, and a Recipe for Kimchi Spam Fried Rice

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Our tastes are often molded by memory. In particular, we find ourselves fond of foods that make us nostalgic, dishes that take us back to a cherished moment, tastes that reestablish a feeling or experience, and meals that help us to feel like we’ve returned to ourselves and remember who we are. This makes sense to me. More puzzling than the fact that memory can impact our tastes buds in a powerful way is the possibility that these buds can even be affected by memories that are not our own.

spam-family-of-products

Spam. God, what the fuck is spam, and why am I so keen on eating it? I’m fairly certain that if someone introduced Spam to me as an adult, I would snobbishly spit out the salty and gelatinous mess and give that someone a damn dirty stare. But it was introduced to me by my parents as a treat to cherish. For them, Spam signified a moment in Korean history that gave them a deep feeling of ambivalence: the Korean War. The weird canned good was brought over to the peninsula by American soldiers and became a coveted luxury (yes, a luxury) in the dark and desperate years immediately following the war. At a time when meat was difficult to come by, it denoted prosperity and nutrition, luxury and finesse. It became a sign of America, an image of prosperity and processed privilege, an imagining of an unreal future where a canned meat equaled progress. And, of course, symbols of everything America were and continue to be met with deeply uncertain sentiments. America as savior. America as imperialists. America as progress. America as excess. America, the threat to a strong (and masculinist) Korean national identity. Whether or not Spam is delicious is obviously arguable, and also a bit irrelevant, to me. What is inarguable is the fact that Spam holds a lot of power over our memories (and therefore, our taste buds) because of the moment of history it represents. This canned treat is still categorically popular in S. Korea. Here’s an interesting tidbit: S. Korea is the second largest consumer of Spam in the world, eating roughly half as much as the U.S., which has six times as many residents. My people sure love their salty pork products.

Anywho, back to the original point. I was not born in S. Korea, and I don’t have my own memories of the war, or a remembrance of the desperation that marked its aftermath. With every gloopy bite, I don’t close my eyes and quiver with anticipation for feelings and memories to come. I don’t think about American soldiers, progress, safety, poverty, imperialism, or anything beyond “this is really fucking salty.” But I love it, anyway. I blame my grandparents and parents. They grew up with this experience. And though they didn’t say much about Korean history when pan frying this “meat”, I witnessed their strange love for Spam and thought it was  nice. And through either genetics or osmosis, I began to harbor my own strange love for the canned good.

I’m not saying that the only reason Koreans love Spam is because of the history/circumstances surrounding its introduction – I certainly know people who straight up love it. But I think it’s bizarre and lovely that I somehow absorbed my parents’ love and memory of the boxed pork. It’s perhaps a testament to my love for them that I inherited their fondness for a food that I could have hated. So, to all the naysayers who proselytize about Spam being the worst: suck it. I’ll love it for as long as I love my parents and grandparents, and you won’t take that away from me.

And now, the recipe.

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Kimchi Spam Fried Rice
Adapted from Dale Talde’s Recipe (featured on Buzzfeed)
Cooking time: 30 minutes
Prep time: 45 minutes
6 Servings

Ingredients

2 cups white jasmine rice, cooked
3 tablespoons canola oil, divided
3 eggs, beaten in a bowl until yolks and whites are combined
1 12-ounce container Spam, cut in 1/2-inch cubes
1 medium white onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup Kimchi, strained, thinly sliced, liquid reserved
1 1/2 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 bunch scallions, sliced in 1/4-inch pieces
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1 tablespoon of soy sauce
1 tablespoons fish sauce (optional, but you should totally use it)

Instructions

  1. Heat 2 tablespoons canola oil in a large cast iron skillet over medium high heat (I used my handy dandy cast iron wok). Add the egg mixture to the hot skillet all at once, turn the heat down to medium, and use a flexible spatula to move the egg around the skillet constantly. Just when the egg is fully cooked (around 45 seconds), put the eggs on a plate and set aside.
  2. Return the skillet to medium-high heat, then add 1 tablespoon of canola oil and the cubed spam. Cook the spam, stirring every 30 seconds or so, until they are golden brown, about 4 minutes.
  3. Add the onion and stir for 2 minutes. Add the garlic, stirring frequently to make sure that the minced garlic doesn’t burn, about another 2 minutes.
  4. Add butter, and let it melt. Add the sesame oil, chopped kimchi, and hot pepper flakes, and cook for about 2 minutes. Make sure to stir. Add the reserved kimchi liquid (should amount to about half a cup) and stir.
  5. Add your already cooked rice, and stir until all of the rice is fully coated. Add the cooked eggs, sliced scallions, soy sauce, and fish sauce, and continue to stir.
  6. Turn off heat, serve fried rice into bowls.
  7. If you want to add fried eggs, put that shit on top! (the only reason I didn’t add a fried egg atop my kimchi spam fried rice, the other day, is because I had already consumed 3 eggs that day. Whoops.)
Appetizer, Dinner, Problematization of Authenticity Series, Recipe

The Problematization of “Authenticity” Series: On Korean Food, Patriarchal Traditions, and a Mandu Recipe

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As you may know, I’ve been cooking a lot of Korean(ish) food in the past month, a process I’ve identified as a way to honor and remember my late grandmother. Though I’ve been cooking actively for the past seven years, I have successfully avoided making the food of my people, partially out of laziness (a lot of Korean food takes loads of time and preparation), and partially because I have been really afraid of making something “inauthentic.” With this cuisine specifically, I’ve conflated inauthenticity with half-assedness, and fear that I have only half an ass. I haven’t had time to go to H-Mart to get real ingredients. I don’t have packets of dried anchovies for broth. Tubs of hot pepper or dry soy bean paste scare me. I’m obsessed with kimchi, but wanted to wait until I had a separate fridge for this stinky and fermented treat. Plus, my experience with Korean food is so inextricably linked to my memories of my mother and my grandmother, I felt like making something in a new tradition would be dishonorable.

So, what is authentic Korean food? And, a larger and perhaps more difficult question, what would it mean to be authentically Korean? I’ve been thinking a lot about the relationship between the term/concept and tradition. As someone born in this country, I am pretty ambivalent about many aspects of Korea’s customs and conventions. How do I both remain respectful of its (rather sad) history and practices, and simultaneously reject the institutionalized patriarchy of its Neo-Confucian core? There are a lot of things I admire about my heritage (whatever that means). I like that respectfulness and honor is a priority in a person’s demeanor. I like that Koreans value hard work as much as they value intelligence or raw talent. I think there’s something rather beautiful about harboring a mentality that thinks more about collectivism than individualism. But what do I do, for example, with its long history of disenfranchising women? According to Confucian and Neo-Confucian orthodoxy, women had (and still arguably have) a primary duty of providing a male heir for her husband’s family (women were not incorporated into family trees, because men were born from magical unicorns), they were/are often mistreated and abused by her mother-in-law (for reference, please watch any and all Korean soap operas), and, if she could not bear a son, her husband could haved divorce his wife or taken a second wife. The nation even adopted and implemented its very own comfort women to serve members of the U.S. military in camp towns (called kijich’on). All this to say: the things that I admire about the culture are not totally unrelated to the things that make me cringe, rage, and cry.

In order to reconcile these feelings, I try to understand the history that led to an adoption of exclusionary and psychically violent practices. Sure, postcolonial nationalism is often wrought with dogmatism and stringent understandings of ‘manhood.’ Yes, intense poverty often informs cultural policies. At some point, the Koryo Dynasty was possibly matrilineal. I’ve done some work in investigating this context. But still, I remain ambivalent, saddened, angry, and confused.

So, to be authentically Korean, do I need to honor all these traditions, even if they dictate that I am unworthy of respect or power because I was born with a vagina, because I am not subservient, because I have both career and familial ambitions, because I am shameless and lack a demure personality? And, how far back do I need to go in order to find that ‘originary’ tradition? I am prone to thinking that this is a relatively futile etude. Or, is it possible to pick and choose what I like, and wear that mangled identity with pride and absolution?

Let’s bring this back to food. As I’ve stated, I’ve been afraid of making Korean food because I didn’t want to mess with tradition (and by tradition, I mean the way my grandmother and mother made certain dishes). But, if it’s okay to pick and choose what I like about being Korean, maybe it’s also okay for me to pick and choose how I cook the dishes of my people. No, maybe I won’t always use the proper ingredients, but that doesn’t have to stop me from making and eating something I love, from altering a recipe to fit my tastes, time, budget, and possible laziness. Somehow, my grandmother’s passing has instilled me with more courage. I know it sounds weird, but I have needed courage in order to cook Korean food without feeling shame, embarrassment, or competitiveness. And my halmuni’s love, life, and passing has given me enough energy to make this food without reservation.

Without further ado, here is a homemade mandu (Korean dumpling) recipe:

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Mandu Recipe
Recipe adapted from Maangchi (I love the recipes on this site – be sure to check it out!)
10 servings
Prep time: 1 hour and 15 minutes (includes time to make homemade mandu skins)
Cooking time: 20 minutes

Ingredients

  • 1 lb of ground pork
  • 1 lb of ground beef
  • 2 cups of chives, chopped
  • 4 fresh shiitake mushrooms, diced
  • Half an onion, finely minced
  • Half a package of extra firm tofu, drained and smooshed
  • 2 cloves of garlic, finely minced
  • 2 teaspoons of salt
  • 1 teaspoon of black pepper
  • 1 teaspoon of sugar
  • 2 tablespoons + 2 teaspoons of sesame oil
  • 2 teaspoons of soy sauce
  • Mandu skins (see below for recipe)
  • Vegetable oil, for frying

Directions

  • Place ground pork and ground beef into a big bowl. Add 1 teaspoon of salt, 1 tablespoon of sesame oil, 1 teaspoon of black pepper, mix by hand, and push onto one side of the bowl.
  • In a small bowl, mix chives with 1 tablespoon of sesame oil and mix – place this next to the meat in the large bowl.
  • Mix diced shiitake mushrooms onions into a small bowl. Add two teaspoons of soy sauce, 1 teaspoon of sugar, and 1 teaspoon of sesame oil in a small bowl. Mix by hand and put into the large bowl.
  • Place the squished half package of tofu into small bowl, add a pinch of salt and 1 teaspoon of sesame oil and mix by hand. Place tofu mixture into the large bowl.
  • Add minced garlic, and mix all ingredients by hand.
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  • Take out your mandu skins. Put some filling mixture into the center of the mandu skin. Using your fingertips, apply a little bit of cold water to one edge of the round skin – this will serve as a sealant.
  • Fold the skin in half over the filling and press edges together. Fold the edges over in order to make the ripple effect and to securely seal the dumpling. Do this with your desired number of dumplings.
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  • Put some vegetable oil on a medium heated pan (make sure you use a pan with a lid), and add the mandu. Lower the heat to a low-medium and put the lid on the pan to cook.
  • After 3 minutes, turn the mandu over. After cooking for a total of 6 minutes, carefully add 2 tablespoons of water and put the lid back on – this will ensure that the filling is fully cooked. After 2-3 minutes, take the lid off (be careful – oil might be splattering!) and cook for one more minute until the liquid is completely evaporated.
  • When mandu is golden and crispy, transfer onto a plate.

Mandu Pi Recipe
Recipe adapted from Maangchi
Makes 24-30 medium-sized wrappers (each about 4 inches in diameter)
Prep time: 45 minutes

Ingredients

  • 2 cups of all purpose flour, plus extra for dusting
  • ½ teaspoon of salt
  • 2/3 cup of water

Directions

  • In a large bowl, combine flour, salt, and water. Mix with a wooden spoon until it turns into one big lump. Knead the dough by hand for a few minutes until the dough gets a little bit softer. Put into a Ziploc bag and let it sit for 30 minutes.
  • Take the dough out of the bag and knead for 5-7 minutes, until it is smooth, dense, and elastic.
  • Place the dough on a cutting board dusted with a bit of flour and divide it into 2 equal pieces. Put half back into the Ziploc bag.
  • Cut the piece of dough into 12-15 equal sized pieces. Roll them into balls, squish them with your palm, and start rolling each piece out with a pin. The disks should be a little thinner on the outside than in the middle so that you can pinch the edges without much trouble. Do the same with the second half of the dough. Use them for your mandu

I actually ended up having a significant amount of mandu filling left after I finished making them. So, I added 1 teaspoon of Worchestershire sauce, an egg, made meatballs, and baked them at 450 F for 20 minutes. DELICIOUS.

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Next on The Problematization of “Authenticity” Series: (White) Cultural Appropriators, a Defense for “Authenticity,” and a Recipe for Shrimp and Grits.

Last thing: Our dog’s name is Mandu (because I love dumplings so much, not because I’m going to eat him). And he is the cutest thing in the world.

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Dinner, Recipe

On Being a “Bad” Korean, Identity Politics, and a Dak Bulgogi Recipe

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Excepting my immediate family, I didn’t grow up around many Koreans, so my understanding of what it means to be and look like a good one is based on one main thing: reiterations of a stereotype from a variety of sources. Adjectives I would use to describe the ‘ultimate’ Korean woman are: deferential, passive, overachieving, obsequious, and hardworking.

In many ways, I was good at fulfilling expectations/stereotypes at the start of my life. I played piano competitively (you have my permission to cry and/or laugh), became jealous of my older brother when he was “lucky enough” to go to Kumon (which resulted in my fabrication of math homework at home, which made no sense because I didn’t understand the meaning behind numbers), performed well in school, and desired achievement in all my bougie activities (including flute, choir, solo classical singing, and ballet). Parental expectations were high, but even at a very young age, my expectations of myself were even higher and more unattainable. And, to top it off, I was absurdly obsequious. Though I wasn’t gifted in math or science (I think I peaked in middle school), so far I sound like a pretty good Korean, right? Right.

Little Yejin as a good Korean

Little Yejin as a good Korean

Good Korean Yejin, in a bougie ballet

Good Korean Yejin in a bougie ballet

Enter college. I blame (read: appreciate) college for unveiling a whole mess of complexity around my identity as a Korean and person of color. During my first semester as a freshman, I took an upper level history class on black modernity, which was taught through the lens of Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man. Dope. I really had no business being there, because I wasn’t learned or capable enough (at the time) to fully understand a lot of the material, but I’m so glad I took that course because it sparked a piece of me that remains at my core: an investment in antiracism work and identity politics. This newly discovered passion coupled with my not-great experience with some Koreans and Korean-Americans on campus (who didn’t want to initially befriend me because I didn’t share their interests or religion, and, my personal favorite, because I didn’t look super Korean), moved me to bypass that part of my identity and start thinking of myself solely as a person of color. Goodbye, KPOP! Goodbye, Morning Glory! Goodbye, obeisant Yejin!

yejin6

College/Bad Korean Yejin with too many mismatched piercings, necklaces, and opinions.

But, as I started understanding my own privileges (of which there are many), I engaged in a lot of difficult conversations with mostly black and brown students about whether East Asians should be included in the ‘person of color’ identifier, at all. We had interesting, sad, and passionate discussions about whether a hierarchy of oppression exists, and how the answer should impact our daily interactions and our work. My first instinct was to be an ally to those who experience a different type of systemic, cultural and interpersonal racism, and to fully agree that there was no reason to be grouped all together. I rejected the importance and relevance of my background and focused solely on how Asians could and should be allies to our black and brown brothers & sisters.

Around the same time, I took an amazing and challenging US immigration history course, where I learned more about the Chinese Exclusion Act, the extremely racialized nature of immigration policy, and the intricate relationship between immigration, labor, and whiteness. I focused a lot of my time researching the third and fourth waves of immigration, and came to a new conclusion: that shit was complicated. I began to push back against the argument that Asians don’t experience racial discrimination (beyond the “ching chong” comments), not because I wanted to acquire some counter cultural capital, but because I began to see how power operated on a systemic and policy level to undermine non-white people, and, importantly, because I began to see the limitations of identity politics.

I am a middle-class Korean-American whose father is a dentist. I experience great privilege regarding class, education and gender identity, among other things. I am not poor. I have never been profiled or stopped-and-frisked by the police, nor do I fear for my safety, life, and constitutional rights when I see a cop. I am also not all Korean Americans or East Asians. I am not a working migrant laborer without documentation who speaks minimal English. I am not a child of working-class immigrants in Flushing who serves as the sole translator between their parents and [name any institution]. And I realized: to exclude any Korean or Asian history or experiences from anti-racism organizing would be a mistake.

The ‘person of color’ identity suddenly was not enough by itself. Without constantly locating my different and moving privileges (and experiences of discrimination), I couldn’t be a proper aspiring ally to my comrades. And without identifying as a person of color, I didn’t feel like I could incorporate the complexity of racial history and practices of oppression in my work and life. This meant that I was ready to invite my Korean-American identity back into my world. Hello, old friend!

For whatever reason, people have a really hard time accepting that they have specific types of power and privilege. I’ve never had that problem, and I’m grateful for that. Ultimately, I still think I’m a pretty “bad” Korean when it comes to the stereotype. I can be a bit abrasive. I still suck at math. I’m definitely not passive. I am an intense over-sharer (as you can tell). But, what on earth should it mean to be a good one? I hate when people say things like “a real/good American would…blahblahblahiamsoboring” in order to justify an exclusionary and simplistic tenet (e.g. ‘real Americans don’t take handouts from the government’). In response, I try to broaden the frame. Good Americans care deeply for those in poverty. Good Koreans care deeply for their black and brown brothers and sisters. So, maybe, just maybe, I’m not so bad.

“Our challenge, as we enter the new millennium, is to deepen the commonalities and the bonds between these tens of millions, while at the same time continuing to address the issues within our local communities by two-sided struggles that not only say ‘No’ to the existing power structure but also empower our constituencies to embrace the power within each of us to crease the world anew.”
– Grace Lee Boggs, The Next American Revolution: Sustainable Activism for the Twenty-First Century

And now, for a recipe. Korean food. Ugh, how I love Korean food. But, I’m lazy. Well, I guess that’s probably not super true. But I’m lazy when it comes to making Korean food because I don’t feel like going to H-Mart for ingredients, and Korean food requires a lot of preparation that I don’t really have time for on weekdays. But, this recipe is pretty quick, easy, tasty, and makes the apartment smell SO GOOD (and vaguely Asian) for hours.

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Ddak Bulgogi (Korean BBQ Chicken)

(adapted from Korean Bapsang’s recipe)
4 servings
Prep time: 15 minutes
Cooking time: 15 minutes

Ingredients:

1 ½ pound boneless chicken thigh (I don’t like cooking with chicken breast, but you can use whatever you want!)

Marinade:

3 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 tablespoons honey
1 tablespoon rice wine (or mirin)
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 teaspoon grated ginger
1 tablespoon sesame oil
pinch black pepper
1 teaspoon sesame seeds (This is optional. I never do it because I always forget to get sesame seeds and it turns out fine. But I’m sure it’s tasty to include!)

Directions

  1. Rinse chicken pieces and dry them with a paper towel. Using a sharp knife, cut each of the chicken pieces into your desired size. I like to cut them so they’re around two inches wide and two inches long. Make sure each piece is around the same thickness.
  2. In a large bowl, mix the marinade ingredients in a bowl until the honey is fully incorporated. Optional: Take a whiff of that incredible smell,
  3. Put chicken in the bowl and mix until each piece is coated in the marinade. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.
  4. Take the chicken out of the fridge and give it a good mix. Cover with plastic wrap and let it sit for 15 minutes.
  5. Preheat a skillet over medium high heat. Add a drizzle of canola oil and add chicken pieces, reserving the marinade. Do not overcrowd the pan. I usually do this in two batches. Cook for about two minutes on each side until the chicken is cooked through and slightly caramelized, about 2 minutes each side. If you think the pieces are starting to burn, you can take some of the marinade and spoon it over the chicken. You can also ever-so-slightly reduce the heat.

Serve this with white rice and some sauteed veggies, and you got yourself a kind-of-Korean dish. I also like to have something tangy with this chicken to balance the umami of the marinade. Kimchi, pickles, salad, whatever!

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(I ate this with jasmine rice, roasted asparagus, and fried tofu + spicy ginger garlic sesame sauce)