KRISTA
KIM-BAP
ANGELA AHN
Second Story Press
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Ahn, Angela, author
Krista Kim-Bap / Angela Ahn.
ISBN 978-1-77260-063-6 (softcover)
ISBN 978-1-77260-064-3 (e-book)
I. Title.
PS8601.H6K75 2018jC813’.6 C2017-906503-3
Copyright © 2018 by Angela Ahn
Cover by Hyein Lee
Edited by Carolyn Jackson
Design by Ellie Sipila
Second Story Press gratefully acknowledges the support of the
Ontario Arts Council and the Canada Council for the Arts for our
publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the
Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund.
Published by
Second Story Press
20 Maud Street, Suite 401
Toronto, ON M5V 2M5
For my kids
CHAPTER 1
First of all, I know that if you haven’t grown up eating it, kimchi can really smell funny. Sometimes when I go out of the house and then come back home, I can smell it in the air right away, even if we had it for dinner the night before. When you open a fridge with kimchi in it, the smell can sock you in the nose. But not in my house because my mom ties a plastic bag over the jar to seal in the smell. It totally works.
Grandma doesn’t tie up her kimchi jars in plastic, and when you open the refrigerator door at her house, there is no mistaking that smell. I think her milk even tastes a little bit like kimchi. Still, even though it smells like somebody made a huge mistake, I kind of love kimchi. My mom says it’s in the blood. If you can love a stinky food like kimchi it must be because you’re Korean.
My sister Tori wouldn’t be caught dead eating kimchi. She says she doesn’t want her breath to stink. I think she actually likes it. I remember her eating it when she was younger, but lately she’s become kind of funny about stuff like that. I’ve heard my mother grumbling about the “teenage years” when she’s talking about Tori.
When we’ve had kimchi for dinner and Tori’s friends are coming over, she runs around the house spraying air freshener. That’s only after she tries to convince us not to eat any with our dinner in the first place and fails. Then she changes all her clothes and brushes her teeth ferociously as if her life depended on having fresh breath, which is always pretty strange considering that kimchi never even passed her lips— she was just near it.
Sometimes, my best friend Jason asks my mom for kimchi and rice when she asks us if we want anything to eat, and he’s not even Korean! I’ve converted him over the years. When we were both in grade 3, my mom and I started by giving him tiny strips of kimchi, washing away all the spice. Eventually we moved up to unwashed big pieces. Now, a few years later, my mom says he eats kimchi like an honorary Korean boy.
Tori is very particular about not being very Korean in front of her friends. None of her friends are Korean. At her high school, there are only a few Korean kids and she makes a special effort not to be friendly to any of them, especially the exchange students who don’t speak English and wear too much clothing, even if it’s scorching hot outside. Most of them are new to Canada, but Tori and I were born in Vancouver, and for Tori that is difference enough.
Come to think of it, none of my friends are Korean either. I know some people who are half-this, half-that, and I always thought that it was a shame that no other Korean-Canadian kids lived nearby because it would be nice just to have a friend who you didn’t have to train to eat the foods you like. But that’s okay, I have Jason and he’s willing to learn.
“There are leftovers,” my mom told Jason as he rummaged through our fridge after school.
Jason looked at the glass container and removed the lid. “Yes! Bulgogi! May I?” he asked my mother.
My mom grinned. “Sure.” She placed the leftovers in the microwave and Jason went to the cutlery tray to get a spoon and chopsticks. It cracks me up that he likes to use chopsticks. Even my dad asks for a fork at a Korean restaurant.
It was Wednesday.Wednesday was our free day. Jason and I had a standing date after school. We always came to my house. Jason had two brothers, one sister, and two dogs. It was a bit crazy at his place. His mom worked for an airline and had weird shifts. His dad was the manager at the local organic grocery store, so he was home more regularly than Jason’s mom.
Jason and I learned what the word “ironic” meant in class last year and we both immediately thought of his family. We both think it’s pretty ironic that his dad works in a grocery store because whenever we go to his house, there is never anything to eat! Since I’m not even twelve yet, I don’t think it’s appropriate to fend for myself at my best friend’s house—that’s what parents are for.
The last time we went over there after school, we were both starving. Jason’s older brother was home, but he was not the kind of guy you asked for a snack. We looked in the refrigerator and all we could find were sauces, mustard, and mayonnaise. There was also some sour-smelling milk and moldy cheddar cheese. In the pantry, dried pasta and bran cereal. I think they order a lot of take-out for dinner. We figured the only thing to eat was the plain bran cereal and water. Jason kept apologizing. I mean it was okay, we didn’t die of starvation, but I wouldn’t willingly go back to his house for a bowl of bran cereal and water again.
On the other hand, my mom is always home after school and she always has something good to eat. She used to be a vice-principal of a high school before she had Tori and me, but she went on what she called “permanent maternity
