After everybody got over the excitement of me wearing a dress, Grandma knocked on the classroom door. My grandmother showed up at school right at 10am, just like I had asked her to. I heard a couple of girls gasp as she entered the class wearing her traditional hanbok—it really looked quite different from mine. With the full skirt and bright colors, I felt like she dominated the room. Everybody was staring at her. How could you not? She was wheeling a large cooler behind her and had two large bags in her hands. I was so nervous. The night before I had asked her what she was planning on doing and she had been vague with her answer.
Mrs. June said, “Hello, Mrs. Kim! So nice of you to come and help us out.”
Grandma smiled and nodded. The whole class was silent.
“First,” my grandmother said, “everybody wash hands, clean desks.” She brought out a large roll of disinfecting wipes. “Pass to everyone.” She motioned to me.
She started unpacking at a table in the front of the room that Mrs. June had set up for her. She laid out dozens of plastic containers of prepared food, and from somewhere, she fished out a small rice cooker. My classmates were settling back into their desks, quietly watching her. My stomach was in knots.
Grandma stopped moving and suddenly looked like she was going to say something. The class remained deathly quiet. She motioned for me to come join her at the front of the class. I felt a little vomit rise up in my throat.
“Krista says you all work on project about families, about your heritage.” She paused. “Krista is Korean. I am Korean. I wear traditional hanbok. Krista wears modern one. I guess I am old-fashioned and Krista is like young modern Korean girl. I like her dress, but it is not traditional.” She paused again.
“I tell you something about old Korea. When I was young, Korean people suffered a lot. We had war. We had nothing. I was hungry a lot. Everybody was hungry. We never wasted one bit of food. After the war, many Koreans remembered being hungry, so we made our food with so much joy. We were happy to eat. Korea is now very rich country, and now only old people like me remember when we have nothing.
“But I think because of suffering, we still remember that we are so happy to live and to eat. Even if young people know nothing about the suffering, they can feel it, in the food. This food that all Koreans eat is in our hearts. Today, I show you some of my heart and some of Krista’s heart.”
As she stopped talking, I felt strange. People were still very quiet at their desks. She reached into her bag of supplies.
“Today, we all make kimbap. I teach Krista how to make it not long ago. This is NOT sushi!” she said emphatically. “But if you like sushi, maybe you like this too.”
I watched my grandmother distribute containers to my classmates. She had planned for us to work in groups. She had thought of everything. The way she packaged ingredients made it very easy for each group to lay out the rolls properly. She even made it fun. She walked everybody through the steps patiently and helped groups when she needed to.
When it finally came time to start eating, most people liked it. Grandma walked over to Jason, stopped at his desk and asked him, “Do you like it?” My heart stopped. I don’t think she knew that things were weird between us—unless Tori had told her, but I hoped she hadn’t. I think she talked to him because he was the only other familiar face.
“Oh yes, Mrs. Kim. I’ve had this before at Krista’s house. It’s not new to me. I’ve always liked it. But Krista’s mom always bought it from the Korean store. Yours tastes so much better,” Jason answered. Grandma smiled and nodded at him.
I felt myself relax. I felt humbled by Jason’s natural ability to talk to Korean ladies and say just what they wanted to hear. He looked over at me from the corner of his eye, and I looked at him. I felt proud that he was my friend, that is, if he was still my friend, but mostly I missed him. We hadn’t eaten Korean food together in a long time.
Jason looked away from me and from Grandma, but to my surprise, Grandma continued. I strained to hear her, and to my complete shock she said, “You come to dinner tomorrow. You usually come Wednesday, right? Krista’s house. Okay? I make soup. Not tteokguk. I know you not like that one. I make a noodle soup just for you.”
Jason looked completely stunned and if I had had a mirror and could have looked at myself, I’m sure I would have looked the same.
It took him a few seconds before he said, “Okay, Mrs. Kim. I will be there.” If you added up all the words Grandma had spoken to Jason in all the years she had known him, you’d find she had just doubled the number.
Of course, some people didn’t like the kimbap. I saw Madison pick out the spinach and the crunchy pickled radish. I was pretty sure I thought I heard Arden say it was “gross” but I ignored it.
Mrs. June gave us the “don’t be afraid to try new things” speech, but you can’t exactly force kimbap down somebody’s throat, can you? But it was okay. Not everybody likes the same things.
At the end of Grandma’s time with us, Mrs. June said, “Class, what a wonderful experience to learn from Krista’s grandmother! Thank you for sharing all your knowledge and teaching us how to make kimbap. Class?”
We chanted in unison, “Thank you, Mrs. Kim.”
“I get it!” Marcus shouted, standing up for emphasis. “Krista Kim-Bap!”
My grandmother stared at him without a hint of a smile on her face, but not me. I smiled. A
