bibimbop

If you read this blog, you probably already know a great deal about my life. One thing that you probably know is that I was born in South Korea and that I was adopted when I was 9 months old. My parents are part Irish and part German. I don't know anything about Korean culture or Korean food. (I don't feel bad about this, so don't worry, Mom and Dad) I ate Korean food for the first time when I was 24, and I've eaten it only a couple times since. And I've never made it. Until last week.

There are student groups on campus that sell Korean BBQ. I've eaten it a couple times, but because Drew has been a vegetarian for the past 10 years, he hasn't (I've been veg for a little over a year now). He recently began expressing an interest in making vegetarian Korean BBQ with fake meat. And even though we're pretty good cooks and we're always trying out new recipes, we elected to use a jarred Korean barbeque sauce. The irony isn't lost on me, but in my defense, I am Korean in the way that Taco Bell is a Mexican restaurant. It's silly to expect me to know how to make Korean food. After all, my former Italian American roommate didn't know how to make lasagna, and my Mexican American friend doesn't know how to make tortillas.

I came across a recipe for bibimbop on a vegan foodie blog. I don't really know what bibimbop is, and this may not be authentic, but it sure tasted good. Check it out:
We sauteed spinach, mushrooms, and zucchini, pickled cucumber and carrots, and marinated the meat substitute in the Korean barbeque sauce. We topped it all off with a couple fried eggs (the vegan version used tofu instead of the egg).

Drew and I aren't about to become Korean food experts anytime soon, but I recently came across a recipe for kimchi, so we'll see.

on U.S. citizenship and race

Last week was a newsworthy week, and I'm not talking about the royal wedding here. I'm talking about the release of President Obama's birth certificate. Ever since the 2008 election, there has been a bit of a ruckus over whether or not Obama is a natural born citizen, sparking the birther movement. Donald Trump, who may seek the Republican nomination for president in 2012, suggested Obama was born in Africa and challenged him to show his birth certificate. Finally, Obama released the long form of his birth certificate, thus proving he was born in Hawaii and that indeed, he is a natural born citizen.

I am utterly disgusted by the birthers, Trump, and anyone else who questions Obama's citizenship and allegiance to the United States. I'm sure that all of these people would say they're not racist, but I find this hard to believe. After all, has any other president been challenged to show his birth certificate? Have we questioned any other president's citizenship status? As of right now, 11 state legislatures have introduced legislation requiring presidential and vice presidential candidates to prove that they are natural born citizens by providing a long form birth certificate. Arizona was the first state to pass such legislation. Funny how none of this ever happened until we elected a non-white president.

Newsflash: People of color are U.S. citizens too. Yup, it's true. You don't have to be white to be a U.S. citizen. Seriously.

I know how it feels to have your U.S. citizenship questioned. When I lived in Minnesota, there were people that thought that I couldn't possibly be from the U.S. Over the years, I learned how to detect this skepticism. People would ask me where I was from, and even though I would answer Minnesota or Rochester, they would say "No, where are you REALLY from." WTF? I'm not lying, you assholes. Some people tried to be more subtle, but I knew what they were really asking. These people would say "So, have you lived here all your life?" Um, yup, pretty much, you moron.

Despite my midwestern accent, many people couldn't believe that I actually considered myself to be from Minnesota. Obviously not my family and not my friends, but perfect strangers who had the audacity to ask me deeply personal questions about my life. They probably thought there was nothing wrong with this, and maybe they were genuinely curious and interested in my life, but when you are asked these questions on a weekly or bi-weekly basis, it gets old. And it's not flattering. It's offensive.

These questions are so offensive to me because white people get to be just white. They don't have to have a race or an ethnicity. And they get to be just U.S. citizens. I, on the other hand, because I'm not white, have to have a race. I'm Korean-American or Asian-American. I don't get to be just American. Believe me, I've tried, but people insist that I add in the qualifier to denote that I am not white and that I'm supposedly different.

Living in Southern California, I'm not a minority, and it's so diverse here that I don't deal with people questioning my citizenship. (well except the time that the former president of the UC Regents insisted that I learn to speak Korean simply because I am one, but that's another blog post.) But I dread the thought of living in a non-metropolitan area and dealing with people who don't think I speak English, who assume that I'm well versed in Asian food and culture, and who will not believe me when I say that I really am from Minnesota. I just hope I won't have to start carrying around my passport.

a recipe conspiracy

I have come to the conclusion that there is a recipe conspiracy going on. What is a recipe conspiracy, you ask? Well, it begins when I request a recipe for some baked good, like a cookie or a cake. It might be a family recipe, it might be that baker's specialty, but in the interest of carrying on baking traditions, I want that recipe. So, I get the recipe, but here's the catch: it's hand written. And herein lies the conspiracy. A hand written recipe (as opposed to a photocopy of a recipe from a cookbook) ensures that I can never totally duplicate the baked good in question. Maybe the recipe writer omits helpful hints or maybe even some necessary ingredient or technique so that my cake or cookies will never ever be as good as theirs. You may think I'm overreacting here, but let me present the evidence.

Take Exhibit A:

This is a chocolate layer cake, a recipe that comes from Drew's mom (Kathleen). She has made it every year for his birthday, so naturally, it's a tradition that he'd like to continue. Drew lives 3000 miles away from home, so his mom couldn't bake him this cake last January. I have made this cake 2 or 3 times, and my version is terrible. I loathe my version of this cake. I dislike it so much that I tried my hardest to convince Drew to let me use a difference recipe. But he refused, because THIS is the chocolate layer cake he eats every year for his birthday (well, except for the last one when I made a chocolate bundt cake instead).

Here is the recipe conspiracy: the recipe is hand written, thus ensuring that my version will never be as good as his mom's. (I'm sorry you had to find out in a blog post Kathleen, but I just had to let you and everyone else know) My version is dry, but Kathleen's version is light, moist, and fluffy. I can't stop eating Kathleen's cake, but I can barely eat one slice of mine. I've tried more than once to make this cake, but each time it's just not very good. I am vigilant about monitoring the baking time, but no matter what, the cake is dry (I don't have this problem with anything else I bake, but the way). A recipe conspiracy? I'll let you decide.

(Let me reassure you that Exhibit A has nothing to do with the fact that it is Drew's mom and her recipe. There's no stereotypical mother-in-law animosity here. I am just saying that I am suspicious of hand written recipes. Take Drew's dad's recipe for macaroni and cheese (hand written as you may have suspected). Drew followed the recipe, and the first thing he said when he tasted was "well, it's good but not as good as my dad's." See? Another recipe conspiracy!)

Next, I have Exhibit B:

I had a craving for my Grandma C's sugar cookies. When I was a kid, she would bake them up and put them in me and my sister's Easter basket. And so I went in search of a bunny cookie cutter because I wanted to make bunny cut outs just like hers, with chocolate chips for eyes and all. So Grandma sends me the recipe (hand written), and I bake them up. The cookies are good, but they are not quite like hers. It's been a while since I've eaten her sugar cookies, so I think the flavor is similar, but there is something different about my version (maybe it's because I didn't roll out the dough to an eighth of an inch like she recommended) A recipe conspiracy? Perhaps.

And finally, here is Exhibit C:

The candy cane cookies are, in the end, really a success story. But the first time I made them was a disaster. The cookies were gross, fluffy, and inedible. I abandoned the recipe and didn't try again for a few years until I was living in California. This time, I called my Grandma and had her walk me through the recipe. Turns out that she creams together the shortening and sugar with a wooden spoon, not an electric mixer as I had done the first time. This helpful hint, by the way, was not written in the recipe. Ha! A recipe conspiracy averted. I am proud to say that I will be able to carry on the candy cane cookie tradition, just like Grandma makes.

In the end, maybe the important thing is that I'm carrying on baking traditions, whether or not my version tastes as good as my grandma's or Drew's mom's. My stuff still tastes good and I'm still passing along their recipe.

gardening

Has it really been over 2 weeks since my last blog post? Sorry for the long silence over here. I haven't forgotten about you, I promise. It's been a busy April so far, but the most interesting thing is that Drew and I got a garden plot! Our housing complex has 50 garden plots for student use. The nice thing is there is really no start up cost, as gardening tools are available for us to use.

For many reasons, Drew and I have decided to try our hand at gardening. For one thing, it does seem like it could be fun. I hear that gardening can help relieve stress, and well, we could use some of that. There are also environmental reasons to try growing some of our own food. I can't think of a better way to eat local, and when food doesn't have to travel across the country, it tastes better too. I always hear about how home grown tomatoes taste far superior to the off season ones in the grocery store, and I can't wait to sink my teeth into one straight off the vine (well, sort of. I'll wash it off first). Plus, Drew wants to make loads of marinara sauce, I want to can salsa, and we're tired of paying $2 for a red pepper at the grocery store.

So for many reasons, gardening seems like a good idea, but I'm not certain that it's the best hobby for me to take up. While Drew has demonstrated an ability to keep plants alive, I have managed to actually kill a cactus and there is a succulent on the porch that's not looking too good. Our herbs are sad and wilted, but I just transplanted them, so I hope they perk up. We were trying to grow lettuce on the porch, but 2 of the 6 died. We tried to blame it on the fact that our porch gets very, very little sunlight, but when we moved the remaining 4 lettuces to the garden, it wasn't long before they joined the other 2 in lettuce heaven.

So far, gardening has proven to be a great workout. I had heard that gardening qualifies as exercise, and before trying it out, I was skeptical. Not anymore. Before we could plant anything, Drew and I had to go out and rip up the soil and stir in some compost. This was no easy task. We're in a desert here, so the soil is actually clay, which is more suitable for making pots, not growing vegetables. Clay is what gardening books tell you to cross your fingers and pray you don't have.

Today, I went out to plant our pepper plants and tomato plants (Drew was at a wedding; he wasn't being lazy here). So far, I think we're off to a good start. Check it out:

I'm currently sowing eggplant seeds and more tomato seeds. If all the seeds hatch, we'll actually have too many plants, but we'll cross that bridge if we come to it. Stay tuned!