|
|
I shoved my apron in my bag, and was at the Green World by 10:00. Yes, today the dream came true: they let me cook with them. The simple, perfect, wholesome, organic, vegetarian, Korean, traditional, restaurant from heaven opened its arms to me and took me inside for a deeper look at the beauty of their world. It's not just that the food tastes incredible. It's not the fact that it's all organic and fresh. It's the fact that each day I taste the seasoning of their soul that has gone into this days sacred feast. Sun-hee and Moon-hyung, (the sun and moon) ARE the entire restaurant. No flashy advertising, no kid's menu, no singing on birthdays with streamers and funny hats. Every day is a celebration with beautiful, soft music floating through the air, us sitting on the floor mats snuggled close to low tables, eating beautiful food with humble wooden bowls, wooden chopsticks, and wooden spoons. The food isn't just organic (a rarity in and of it's self). Much of it is collected wild from the forrest near Moon-hyung's house: pine needles and juju bees for desert, wild herbs seasoning many of the dishes or constituting the dish itself, new spring plants in the soup, wild flowers floating in the drink. I imagine Moon-hyung walking meditatively through the woods on her morning walk, greeting the sun as it pokes its first rays through the pine trees and thinking of what she will make today for her customers, for her adopted family whom this day she will nourish, sustain life, and give energy. Childless, those that sit at her tables are her children. As I wrap pine needles around a juju bee and then bite through the brown, wrinkled skin, through the chewy bean, my teeth stopping on the pit, the flavor blends a medley in my mouth. I taste sharp, wild pine needles. I close my eyes and the flavor of the pine sends me deep into the High Uintas. I taste the rich, slightly-sweet juju bee and it reminded me of figs at Christmas. But more subtle is the taste of the rain, the soil, the wind, and the sun that have naturally tended to the planting and cultivating of this delicacy. Twice a week, Sun hee travels for three hours on train to Busan and teaches others how to meditate. She doesn't search for her words, even in her staggering English, as her brilliant eyes look straight into mine and smiling, asserts, "food is art!". She's spent time meditating about food, about this essential, sensual act that we have the ecstatic pleasure to engage in three times a day. Celeste knows that I've meditated about food and looks at me knowing I'm chomping at the bit to chime in with a loud and resonate "AMEN!" plus chapters of my own opinions, but I feel my words would only be banal. Moon-hyung has a way of climbing into your soul. Each time I say hello, she smiles and looks straight into my heart and can tell without words if I am sick, sullen, peaceful, or pensive. She can tell if I'm hungry for something other than brown rice and Korean pancakes. Her food feeds the soul, like the Little Prince's well in the desert. She has been a well in my wilderness. In Korea, sure, but in the personal wilderness of my life. She's has fed us and sustained our life. She has helped Celeste and I change food from a restriction to a ritual. So, when Moon-hyung asked me if I'd like to come and help cook in the kitchen, I couldn't say yes! hard enough. We planned on Friday. I arrived, took off my shoes, and walked through the door. The smooth voices of the King Singers, perfectly blended, like Winters Brew, rang from the small stereo in the corner. Jin-soon was already on perched on the floor in a patch of sun streaming through the windows. There was an assortment of leaves, wild plants, and grass lying on newspaper in front of her on a table. I slipped my apron over my head, washed my hands, and joined Jin-soon, sorting the leaves and tearing off yellowed tips and dried roots. Jin-soon was talkative today and we chatted for an hour while sorting. I don't have to filter discussion with her, we're similarly minded and just have to open our mouths. We spent a few minutes laughing about stupid movies, and then got down to business: what's going on in your soul today. It was an even dialogue and not a preaching by either one of us. Then Moon-hyung invited us into the kitchen to learn how to make some dishes. I was sure to bring a notebook so I could make copious notes. Also, I couldn't help but be obnoxious and ask every question about the dish's folkloric and cultural significance. After all, this event was worthy of a folklore archive.
My first lesson was a heretofore unnamed dish that contains steamed and crumbled tofu and kimchi. Moon-hyung learned to make this dish from a cookbook (she thinks, she's not sure.) Celeste and I unabashedly drool over this dish, and to learn how to make it was particularly sweet. Under careful observation, I cut warm tofu brick into chunks then used the edge of my knife to press and crumble it. I put then put it in a bowl, wrapped it in a clean towel, and wrung it, pressing the water out. I put the crumbled, squeezed tofu back in the bowl and added some kimchi--older, bitter kimchi is the better-- and mixed that around, a little at a time. I added salt, pepper, and a little bit of korean oil, the name of which has no translation but I wrote the name down to see if it exists at the asian markets back home. After everything was mixed, I molded the tofu/kimchi creation into a mound and dusted the top with red pepper powder.
Next was an equally, if not more, favorite dish called Japchay, or Chinese Noodles. Moon-hyung learned this dish from her mother, although she said that her mother didn't cook much. I didn't probe this, but perhaps that's why Moon-hyung loves to cook. For this dish, first I boiled water in a walk, threw in some of the chinese glass noodles. For the five to seven minutes that this cooked, I cut up vegetables. It's essential that the vegetables be sweet. Not like yams or tomatoes, but like onions, carrots, and green peppers. I cut up the vegetables in various sizes to make interesting textures. Then I drained the noodles using cold water, and let them sit in a colander to drip as dry as possible. I then cut up three different kinds of mushrooms and put those with the vegetables. Once the noodles were dry, I cut them into bite-sized pieces. Then I boiled about a half cup of water and a fourth cup of soy sauce in a walk and threw in the noodles and began to fry them.
According to Moon-hyung, this method is a healthier modification of the regular chinese method of frying them in straight oil. I cooked the carrots with the noodles for the first couple of minutes then keeping everything moving, I added the onions, peppers, and mushrooms. I sauteed this for about two minutes and then turned off the heat. Once the heat was off, I added about a tablespoon of the aforementioned korean oil. Moon-hyung said that adding the oil while the heat is still on will make your oil taste bitter and acidic. I put it on a serving dish, sprinkled it with some sesame seeds and, VOILA!! Japchay.
I placed this as well as my tofu dish on the buffet table, proud as a chef cord en bleu. After cooking, I took off my apron and couldn't wait to get my hands on some of "my" food. Moon-hyung insisted that I eat for free, regardless of my attempt to pay the six thousand won (five bucks) for my meal. As I sat down to eat, I bowed my head and thanked God for this food and the beautiful people with whom he has blessed my life. I tasted some of the grass that I had sorted that morning which was transformed from dirty wild grass lying on a table into a colorful work of food art, spicy and zesty. I wasn't surprised that the tofu dish I had made and the Japchay tasted than when prepared by Moon-hyung. Everything I make tastes different to me when I make it. It's like hearing your own voice played back on a tape recorder. "I don't taste like THAT do I," knowing that you can always taste the cook in the food. Delicious. Just different.
Cooking Lesson--Scottro [2003-05-16]
Navigation newest letter | older letters
Last five letters Gathering [2009-09-04] ?2002, Scott & Celeste. |
