I watched her lay out the ingredients. Sheets of dried seaweed, eggs, beef, carrots, spinach, yellow pickled radish. “You wash spinach. Wash very well.” She bent down into a cabinet and pulled out a colander. “Then you wash carrots,” Grandma ordered.
She proceeded to fry the beef she had bought at the store while I washed. I washed for a long time. I was afraid of doing it wrong. She had started a pot of water to boil and after I finally handed her the spinach she dumped it in the pot of boiling water. “Only one, two minutes,” she instructed. Then she dumped the contents back into the colander in the sink. “You squeeze later, when cool.” She moved on to the carrots, which she had started to slice into perfect long, slim sticks.
“Now, cook carrots.” She gestured for me to come to the stove and help her. I took the wooden spoon. “Add little sesame oil, not too much!”
The preparation was endless. It was way past dinner time and I was so hungry, but I couldn’t tell Grandma that. She was trying to help me, and I was kind of surprised at how nice she was being, especially after how I had stuck my foot in my mouth earlier.
We were finally ready to roll up the kimbap. We stood side by side, each with a sheet of seaweed laid out. “Now, spread rice. Not too thick.” My grandmother showed me. We laid out each of the other ingredients we had prepared and finally, finally, we were ready to roll.
“Not bad for first roll.” Grandma smiled as I finished rolling. “Next time, little bit tighter.”
“Can I eat some now, Grandma?” I asked.
“Okay, I slice for you, but we still have to finish more.”
She got out a big knife and sliced up the roll I had made. It was nearly 8pm, and after having been surrounded by food all afternoon, finally getting to eat it felt so good. I loved the way the pickled radish crunched in my mouth. I ate the whole roll very quickly.
“You want some soup too?” Grandma asked.
“Yes, please.” She pulled out a pot from the fridge and set it on the stove for me. I didn’t even care if it was tteokguk again. I was so hungry any soup would have been welcome.
“Let’s finish, then soup is ready,” she said as she popped a slice of the kimbap into her mouth. “Taste good. We did good job.”
We rolled about ten more rolls together and she packaged most of it up for me to take home. It was very late when Grandma drove me home, but I had my rolls of kimbap in a plastic bag and I had actually had a good time with my grandmother.
As I was getting out of the car, Grandma said to me, “Tori says you have party next week?”
“Yes,” I replied carefully. How did my grandmother know these things? Did she and Tori text each other?
“Okay, maybe I see you in a few days,” she said. “Make sure your dad eats kimbap tonight. Best fresh.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Grandma. I learned a lot today.”
She nodded slightly and drove away leaving me standing at the curb with a bag full of food. I went into the house and put the food in the kitchen.
Then I barged into Tori’s room. “Why did you tell Grandma that I have a party next week?” I asked angrily. I had answered Madison’s email with my reply being “maybe,” so it was not a sure thing that I was even going to go.
“Because,” she got up off her bed, “I started to make you…this!” She pulled a dress out of her closet.
I was a little bit stunned. It was the Korean dress she had worn for Heritage Month, but it was totally mutilated.
“A shredded dress?” I asked.
“Ugh! I knew you wouldn’t be able to appreciate it yet, so I was waiting to show you until I was closer to being done. But I guess Grandma spilled the beans. I was planning to use the traditional material but turn it into something more modern.”
I had no vision for this kind of thing. A traditional Korean hanbok is brightly colored, like a box of bold pastel crayons. The fabric is very silky and smooth. But mostly, I have to say, it doesn’t look that great. Something about the style and the colors just doesn’t appeal to me. Japanese kimonos look beautiful, Chinese cheongsam dresses look elegant. Pretty much any other Asian traditional dress looks better than the one I was stuck with. Wearing a hanbok, you get all hot and stuffy. After a while, you look and feel like a big piece of sticky candy.
“You may as well do a preliminary fitting for me,” she said.
“I’m confused,” I said as I slipped the mangled dress over my head. “Is this dress for the Red Carpet Party or is this for my Heritage Month project?”
She shrugged. “Both. Why not?” she said, even though she had stuck a few pins in her mouth as she got to work. “I was just really inspired and I felt like making it. Hopefully you can use it for something,” she said half talking, half spitting because of the pins.
“Did I mention that there’s kimbap downstairs?” I said as I held my arms out while she pinned the sides of the dress.
“Oh, did Mom buy some at the store today?” she asked. She only had one pin left, so I could almost understand her now.
“No, Grandma and I made it,” I said. “Where do you think I’ve been all afternoon and evening?”
“I don’t follow your every move. Anyway, I was so busy making this dress, I lost track of time!”
“Ow!” I yelled. A pin stuck me in the ribs.
“Don’t move!” Tori yelled at me.
“I love how I get hurt and it’s somehow all my fault,” I muttered.
“Okay, stay here, I’m going to go eat some kimbap really fast. It’s
