THE SECRET BEHIND THE CHOPSTICKS: SEOUL FOOD
By: Jennifer Lee
A small groan of complaint escaped my chapped lips as the sun glared down at me. Squinting my eyes, I glared right back at it, urging it to stop burning holes into my skin with its stinging rays. As usual, I lost the staring contest, and my eyes drifted to the small phone with a case that had a similar hue to the sky above me. Sighing in defeat, I grasped my patterned backpack a bit tighter while I merely stayed seated on the warm concrete of the stairs, staring at the happy screams of children whom were years younger than me. Envious of their freedom, I looked away, my mind drifting to all the assignments I had to complete that day. Suddenly, a soft buzz and a hum of a sweet melody entered my unsuspecting ears, causing hope to flutter in my stomach, filling the previously empty space. Eyes lighting up, I scrambled to my feet and raced past the wired fence that imprisoned yards of burning concrete, the countless trees with their bright green leaves, and the wisps of small smiles from familiar faces. As soon as I swiped across the shining screen at the device I was holding in my sweaty hands, I automatically pressed the cool glass against my right ear and immediately recognized the person even without looking at the contact icon.
“Nedyuwa [Come down],” his masculine voice flowed through the phone.
“Adasu [Okay],” I replied shortly.
The call ended with a small BEEP as my hand dropped back to its original place, the electronic that was still caught in my tight grip. Our phone calls were never the longest, but it didn’t matter to me at the time, since I was going to see him in a few moments. I ran down the stairs as fast as I could with my short little legs and feet, my bag hitting my back each step I took. Hopping down the last three stairs, my sneakers smacked onto the ground. Quickly regaining my balance, I briskly turned and exited through two large fence doors. My feet skidded to a stop as I analyzed my surroundings. Searching for a certain silver car, I soon spotted it, with the only inhabitant calmly awaiting inside at the other side of the road. A silly grin broke out onto my face as my head turned to the right and the left to check that no vehicles of any kind were passing. Assured that nothing was heading in my direction, I scurried across the cracked road. Finally reaching the Honda, I reached out and grabbed the warm handle of the door. Flinging it open, I felt a cool breeze drift across my skin. Mentally sighing at the bit of refreshing air, I giddily jumped into the back seat, throwing my bag onto the empty spot next to me. Shifting in the driver’s seat, the man turned around to see me in his line of vision.
“Hi apa! [Hi daddy!]” my voice cheerfully rang out.
“Hi Jenny!” he said, returning the enthusiasm.
We conversed, asking about each other’s day and of course, if I had homework. Our voices filled the space in the car, with the occasional comfortable pause of silence. Now here was the real challenge: find a parking spot. My eyes narrowed as they skimmed over the rows and rows of cars, waiting to pass by an empty space. Minutes (that felt like hours) passed, and we drove past the same street for the tenth time. I was slowly becoming more and more agitated as seconds ticked by. Suddenly, I visibly stiffened in my seat, soon regaining my composure. A growl had almost escaped my rumbling stomach, and I was trying hard not to show my discomfort since I didn't want to seem whiny.
“Apa. Jogi hana eenunde. [Daddy. There’s one over there.]” I calmly motioned to the empty space that I had spotted, keeping the irritation out of my high-pitched voice. The hunger was getting to me, and at a fast rate, which was not a good combination with my short temper. Following the vague path that was being shown with a point of a finger, he grasped the steering wheel, and backed up into the space. With the sound of the motor dying down, we exited the air conditioned car, and, almost immediately, I felt a heat wave crash over my recently cooled skin, engulfing me in its burning flames. My dad grabbed my bag from its former place next to me and easily slung it across his shoulder, then locked the car with the press of a button. His tall structure towered over mine, glasses refracting the bright light of the sun, and smiled down at my shorter form. Me being me, I naively ran all the way to my apartment, which happened to be rather far, considering my little nine-year old legs. The trees seemed to blur around me and the miniscule, amused smiles of strangers were barely caught by my dark brown, almost onyx, colored eyes.
I’M SO FAASSSSSSSSTTTTTT! I thought, while moving at the speed of a small dog running, probably slower. Panting, I grinned childishly, as I looked behind me and saw my dad smoothly walking a couple meters away. Grabbing the gray metal of the door handle, I swung the glass door open and let myself inside. I smirked evilly to myself as I pulled on the handle on the other side of the glass door, preventing anyone to be let inside as long as I kept my firm grip. My dad reached the front entrance and tugged on the door’s handle, only to find that he had a bit of trouble doing so. Looking down, he spotted my small figure that had an impish expression adorning my small, round face. Of course, with his strength being superior to mine, he applied more pressure, and was able to open the door. Giggling, I moved back from the door to make way for the taller man. Smiling at me, he took out his keys and checked the mail. Meanwhile, I just stared at the mirror that served as a wall in the lobby and made faces at it. Unlocking the front door, my dad held it open for me. Gliding across the threshold, I murmured a few words of gratitude. As we strolled along the long hallway, a glimpse of a polished door came into view. Pressing the elevator button, my dad and I enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere of the room, with the soft whirring of the air conditioner protruding the silence. When the elevator came to the lobby after a few minutes of waiting, we entered the small space and pushed the button engraved with the number “2”. The walls were a marble-like design, with a ceiling that had a built-in ventilation system and rows of buttons with various digits labeled on them, along with braille on the bottom of each one. The door slowly closed, encasing us in the elevator. With such a quiet mood, anyone might have thought that the atmosphere was awkward, but between my dad and I, we both understood that we were comfortable with just acknowledging each other's presence. Reaching our floor, we stepped out. My dad, once again, took out his keys and unlocked our home door. Walking inside, our stomachs let out slow rumbles that had been held in for a while. As my dad set down my bag and turned on the air conditioner, we looked at each other with a mischievous glint in our almost identical eyes.
“Begopa? [Hungry?]” my dad questioned.
“Uh. Apa nun?[Uh (kind of like yes in Korean, but it doesn’t exactly translate to that). What about you?]” I replied. It had been a long day after all.
“Mo mugoole? [What do you want to eat?]” he asked.
“Ummm...” I thought, heading tilting upwards.
Suddenly, a light bulb went off in both of our heads.
“RAMYUN! [RAMEN!]” we blurted out in sync, with identical smiles on our faces.
My dad’s ramen wasn’t the regular, everyday instant ramen you might see in supermarkets. Korean ramen itself is quite different, and we only have it on rare occasions since my mom isn’t a fan of having something unhealthy as a meal. The brand that we usually purchase is called “Shin Ramen” (no, not as in the body part “shin”, but “shin” as in spicy. It is not a Korean word, but from Chinese, since Korean includes some Chinese characters). Most Koreans and Korean ramen companies prefer spicier ramen, thus as a child, my dad would usually have it as a meal. Being experienced with the dish and all, he would make his own and experiment with it as a child.
We agreed that while he made the ramen, I would complete some of my homework. I glided into my room, and got straight to work. My mechanical pencil flitted across the paper of my assignments, making scratches of sentences, lines, and numbers in my neat handwriting.
Finishing off a math problem, I heard my dad’s voice ring out.
“Dahesu! Bapmukja! [I’m done! Let’s eat!]”
“Okay!” I replied, gathering up my stuff and organizing everything.
Running out, my face lit up at the sight of the familiar food. It was still bubbling, its red soup base enveloping the noodles and the various spices. My dad was already seated at the table, chopsticks in hand. Sitting down and grabbing a pair of chopsticks for myself, I had a bowl of ramen set in front of me. We broke the wooden chopsticks in half, and dug in.
“Kahmsamnida! [an informal “Thank you!”: I never was one for formalities, especially in front of my parents],” I slurped, already starting to eat. The taste always burned my tongue, as there were chili peppers used in the soup base, but I paid it no heed. At certain times, I would take a few sips of water in attempt to soothe my burning mouth. Even though we enjoy talking during meals, this was the exception. Only the sounds of our satisfied slurping dared to break the tranquility of the cozy apartment. Being the slower eater, I finished ten minutes after my dad did, yet that didn’t change the outcome. After eating such a spicy ramen, and during the summer time as well, we were left with runny noses and watery eyes.
“Eating warm things during the summer is good for you, especially since you eat so much ice cream. Your body temperature lowers, as it needs to adapt to the warm climate. So, by eating hot foods, your temperature will stay normal, and perhaps you won’t catch as many summer colds,” my dad would say to me.
Although it may not seem like it, I never really liked spicy foods too much when I was little, since my tongue was sensitive. As I grew older and older, I experienced new foods and new cuisines, gaining new tastes. But, deep inside, I always knew that the ramen that I had as a young girl, and still consume today, would be one of my favorites, since it started this long journey. My long journey through food, family, and Korean culture.
Dad’s Special Ramen Recipe
(WARNING: NOT FOR THOSE WHO CANNOT DEAL WITH SPICE OR DISLIKE IT)
Ingredients:
Shin Ramen Pack (store-bought, and the amount varies - if you want to serve more, put in more packages. For two people, two packages is best, and so on.)
Chopsticks (or anything that you can stir the ramen with)
Water
Stove
Pot
Trivet (or hot pad)
Bowls
Instructions:
1. Gather all your ingredients.
2. Take your pot, and pour in water until it has at least been filled up halfway.
3. Put the pot on the stove, but do not turn on the flame.
4. Open the ramen package, and take out the noodles. There should be multiple packets (which are seasonings, flavorings, etc.) as well, and those will need to be opened. Pour in these ingredients into the pot.
5. Turn on the flame to high.
6. Take your chopsticks and carefully stir, keeping the noodles intact.
7. Stir until the noodles are soft.
8. As soon as the noodles are soft, turn off the flame and take the pot off the stove quickly, yet carefully.
9. Place the pot on the trivet/hot pad.
10. Serve the ramen by putting them into bowls. It is best when eaten as soon as it is served.
11. Enjoy!
