I'm homesick.
I was thinking about the little round tupperware container full of a mysterious powder from my mom that I think may be an anchovy broth base for delicious Korean soups and mmm. Then I started thinking of the few dishes I could possibly make with that. I have mandu and some vegetables in the fridge... scallions, eggs... *sigh. Then I thought about all the other dishes I'd love to enjoy freely but cannot due to not knowing how to make 'em or fear that my housemates would be dfjsdlf to the smell (denjang, kimchee-anything). With the deep pangs in my chest, throat, stomach, head, I longed to sit in the kitchen again, talking to my mom while she cooks, cleans, or lies down on the wooden floor with Lexi curled up in a nook along umma's body. Umma would be tired, perhaps with a cotton apron on. Her hair the way it always is, curled slightly at the ends, some highlights growing out, oh, the warm, comforting smell of umma. Her umma-figure, her beautiful piano hands, warm and fleshy, a mother's hands. Her calloused feet from standing all day, her worn and beautiful face. Eyes closed eventually, napping on the floor. Lexi, one sigh, sleeping with her favorite, her mama too.
I love mornings, afternoons, late-nights in that kitchen with umma. Gosh, the meals she would create... the snacks, the amazing array of foods... her amazing ribs that Jaeho and I can eat whole slabs of, the tight and full kimbap... little mountains of rolls that quickly turn into a landscape of colors, textures, tastes... the ends always being the best (so she taught me), the various guks and chigaes... omg. That special stone bowl she cooks them in. How she puts in so many different things, by feeling and inner knowledge rather than recipes or measurements (I don't think I've ever seen her look at a cookbook... ah, besides that Mrs. Fields baking book - I like umma's versions of cookies and breads better though), it all bubbling so delectably, gosh, the textured smells... piquing spiciness, rich velvety radish, warm soothing ddukguk, gosh, whatever it may be.
Even the lovingly-cut fruit platters and mmm, her smoothies! Thick, more fruit than dairy products... we prefer it that way... sometimes, having to eat it with a spoon. OMG
Her lasagna, so many different kinds of kimchee... her kakdughi that's unique, much better than any else I've ever had... nice big chunks of radish in there. The oigee, mm. Sidedishes! So many! The sesame oil and soy sauce that goes into many of them... the lotus root that Jaeho and I always eat up the fastest, the manuljjong... mmm... manuljjong. All that, any of that.
Her package to me the other day made me so happy. Every time I pick up a pair of chopsticks and hop from one container of sidedish to the next, wrapping my rice with gim... all in my happy, comforted mouth, I feel a surge of love and care, security and tenderness, home. I treasure those tupperware containers of foods I know she spent the entire day planning and making (which would keep during shipping? which do not give off foreign smells that may sfjdkl her housemates? which does she like best? what would be hardest for her to find over there?). I think if I were to eat a full meal that tastes and feels exactly as how she would make it, I'd cry. Like the emperor in that Korean movie I watched this summer, where his royal chef made a dish for him that brought him to tears because it fully captured the essence of his beloved country during a time when the Japanese were invading and taking over. The script's description of what each ingredient and taste evoked about Chosun was beautiful. There have been a few times when I've teared because something is just so good. Once I think at that famous Myungdong kalgooksu place - wow. A few other times when really, something umma made just -- mm. Not just delicious on the palate... not just wonder-full to the senses, but how it lovingly touched something deep within me. How 'umma' it was.
Gosh, it's not just about the food, as delicious and beautiful as it is. It's about the image of umma over the sink, the stove, on the floor. Her figure, the way she bends over, the work of her hands. The coolness of the night through the open windows, the brightness of the morning. The voices of the Korean channel's news anchors, singers, talkshows, or documentaries from the little tv in the corner that keeps her company when no one else is around. I love watching those shows with her. I love lying down on the bed with her as we watch them on the screen upstairs. She usually falls asleep halfway through, Lexi nestled next to her, in her warmth. Sometimes, Lexi lays her head on umma's pillow too, and umma puts the blanket over her. I smile and tiptoe out, close the door slightly and go to my room to sleep too.
