culture | roy ahn Home Run My Journey Back to Korean Food GASTRONOMICA Last winter, I dined with my then-pregnant wife, Amy, at a Korean restaurant in a suburban strip mall, where all good Korean food establishments seem to be. This holein-the-wall, located on a stretch of highway outside Boston ï¬anked by retail plazas and ranch houses, was ï¬lled with Koreans like myself, plus a Caucasian or two, Amy being one. The proprietor sat us in a spot away from the section with barbecue-grill tabletops, but the smell of seared beef mixed with garlic, soy sauce, and brown sugar still permeated our clothing. (Pop quiz: How long does the smell of beef bulgogi linger in a pair of blue jeans? Answer: Until it gets thrown into a washing machine.) The waitresses spun like dervishes from table to kitchen to table, bringing out vegetable and ï¬sh banchan dishes in one pass and clearing them away in another, with little respite between customers to wipe their beads of sweat. I took particular notice of the dinersâ white bowls, which reminded me of outsized pieces from Go, my late fatherâs favorite board game. After a cup of tea and our own
/lp/university-of-california-press/home-run-my-journey-back-to-korean-food-0CduX5ZxRJ