Uncategorized – What will Dr. Gwak say?

Today, March 30, 2021, I got my second Moderna COVID-19 vaccination. The doctor who gave me the shot and I had a chuckle about my T-shirt that said “A lifetime of social distancing prepared me for this” and when I gave her a thank you card after the shot, we elbow bumped with joy although both our instincts was to hug. She recited a long list of possible reactions to the vaccine–basically, that I will feel rotten for the next 24-48 hours but that I will be fully immune in two weeks.

To prepare for the next two days, I made a big pot of my chicken soup, this time with lemongrass, Korean pear, and fresh turmeric, rosemary and thyme with bits of carrot. I also made a flourless chocolate cake with a coconut white chocolate glaze.

When I received a notification to set up an appointment to get vaccinated, I hesitated. I had registered with the city and mentally prepared myself to hunker down till about June when my turn would come. With vaccines now available, the next dilemma was who should get it, as briefly discussed in this NPR story. I thought about my friends who were struggling to get their elderly parents vaccinated and colleagues whose districts had supply issues, even for those who were on the priority list. I also found out that many folks at the boundaries of the city were not yet aware of the FEMA vaccination site at the Convention Center where hundreds of doses were leftover at the end of the day due to no shows and cancellations. Those were being given to people who could drop everything and get to the site in less than an hour. And then there were the line jumpers, making up cockamamie stories to get in front of the line so that they can “get back to normal”, whatever that is nowadays. In short, I did not want to be a jerk.

Later that day, the dude said he received a notification as well, almost at the same time that I did, and that tipped the scale for me. We agreed that we will take it as winning the lottery, thanked the gods, and signed up together.

The security guard at the door of the vaccine clinic today congratulated people exiting from the site, and to one person who got her second shot, he said, “Celebrate! Get champagne!” Maybe later. For now, chocolate cake seemed like the right speed.

I don’t usually make cake at home. It’s too dangerous. The temptation to eat half the pan is always present. Cake recipes are never for a two-person household and flourless chocolate cake often calls for a half-dozen eggs making it a calorie bomb. After some digging, I settled on the King Arthur Flourless Chocolate Cake (which is ironic since it’s a flour company) which had 3 eggs and lots of chocolate. It’s very very chocolatey and rich and almost impossible to eat more than a small slice at a time.

The recipe says to microwave the butter and chocolate. I never do that. Let’s just say that I have had enough butter explosions in the microwave that required scrubbing oil stains and, especially when mixed with chocolate, it’s a minor kitchen disaster. I start too cautiously, maybe 15 seconds at a time, then get impatient, and end up boiling the butter to eruption.

Instead, I do the double boiler method (stainless steel mixing bowl over a pot of water boiling on the stove), so that I have better control over the texture and consistency of the chocolate/butter mixture.

In fact, my default is to mix everything by hand. No fancy stand mixers or even handheld electric mixers. I don’t even use the attachment that comes with the immersion blender.

Perhaps I am just a control freak….

One kitchen hack I read somewhere a long time ago is that if you spray your baking pan, do it on the lowered door of your dishwasher. That way, you won’t need to wipe the counter and the door will get washed anyway when you run the dishwasher the next time.

I used my own recipe for the glaze. I sprinkled the top with more cocoa powder and espresso powder to finish.

Coconut White Chocolate Glaze

1 cup white chocolate

1/2 cup coconut milk

2 Tbsp simple syrup (Optional. I used meyer lemon syrup for this one)

Bring everything to a boil, whisking constantly, making sure it doesn’t burn at the bottom. Lower the temperature to a bare simmer and stir until slightly thickened. It will still be pretty runny but will solidify as it cools.

As I wait for the vaccine to do its magic and for me to emerge on the other side with the courage to rejoin public society, I leave you with the gratitude list that I compiled in the first six months of the pandemic. Those who know me know that I am not the “celebration of life” kind of person. Nevertheless, this year has made me appreciate the preciousness of life, the privilege I have, and, yes, the gratitude to which even the biggest cynics can rise.

Positive things about this staying at home and social distancing business:

Basically reverting back to my grad school schedule: roll out of bed before my first meeting, go to bed around 2am. I think this is my natural circadian rhythm.
Appreciating the very rare in-person interactions with others outside my household.
Affirmation that I found the right life partner. Almost six months of spending hours together and we are both still alive and still like each other.
Being clearer about wants v. needs. There is nothing bad about wanting something but I don’t use the word need to justify it anymore.
Being more forgiving of others and of myself. We are all trying to do our best during a pandemic.
Better dental hygiene. I’m not saying it’s poor (my hygienist gives me smiley face stickers for doing a good job) but I pay more attention. If you ever burped in a mask you would know why.
Better work life balance. With the kind of work that I do, I never had enough time to do the things I liked because I could never carve out enough time. Now, I can do both concurrently and it’s awesome.
Buying fruits and vegetables from local farms and feeling totally virtuous about it.
Cooking more. I really missed it.
CSAs and pre-ordering from farms has been the best shopping experience ever.
Drinking good wine on random days. It’s the pandemic; why not?
Empathy for anyone who is restarting. Five years ago this time, I was running 40-45 miles a week training for an ultramarathon (actually fell short of running 40 miles but did a respectable 50k). These days, running 4 miles in one go is excruciating and I am barely making 10 miles a week. But I have pledged to start running regularly again, so here goes nothing.
Finally got over the fear of bread making.
Finally got to take that selfie in Love Park. It’s usually too crowded with people and I am too old to queue.
Finding hacks. My favorite so far is ironing board as standing desk.
Finding new streets and neighborhoods in an attempt to stay away from people.
Freezer surprises, mostly good ones! I have been freezing a lot of leftovers for a long time.
Growing my hair out again. I had long hair for a long time, then after donating 3 feet of hair, kept it short since. It’s legit shoulder-length now.
Less sun means less sun damage means less wrinkles.
Mail order everything because you will be home when the package arrives and there is very little danger of anything walking away with someone.
More time doing strength training exercising.
Much less laundry.
No contact food exchange with neighbors. I have done a version of this before but now it’s one of the joys in life.
No make up! My apologies to all my colleagues who have to look at me but my skin thanks you for having to bear it.
Not exceeding my daily quota of words. It’s a true joy.
Not wearing high heels. Explains the hamstring and calf strain in the first couple of months. It was probably my Achilles tendon stretching back to the proper length.
Noticing little things, like azaleas that are finally in bloom.
Ordering in. I haven’t done that in like 20 years.
Planting again because I have time to tend to a garden.
Purchasing 25lbs of chickpeas sound totally reasonable, if not responsible.
Reading. Actually read an entire book!
Reduced spring allergy symptoms: Not going outside means less time covered in pollen.
Resting an injury. I pulled my left calf muscle a few weeks ago and the general inability to run responsibly has forced me to rest a soft tissue injury.
Showers are not optional, but I can shower when I feel like showering.
Slow mail project: folding and mailing strings of good luck paper cranes.
The mute button during zoom meetings. You know what I mean.
The window sign game is strong in the city. Funny, meaningful, personal, you name it–it’s there.
Unapologetic consumption of garlic.
Using the phone more like a phone.
Using up all the odd stationery I have collected over many years to send cranes. I still have about 100 strings of cranes to send and I may actually run out of stationery first!
Virtual races: At my own time, at my own pace, on my own route, without keeping up with the Joneses, and for causes I care about.
Waking up without an alarm.
Washing vegetables/fruits as soon as I purchase them. Not letting it sit around in its original packaging for days.
Wearing T-shirts all the time.
Written expressions of gratitude (snail mail, texts, email, social media, whatever), since we cannot assume by gestures or contact.
Obvious one: Pajamas as work attire. My dream.
I finally get to use all the soaps and lotions that I have accumulated from hotel stays because I really don’t want to go into stores anymore.
Haven’t blow dried my hair in a week and I think I am getting the shine back.
Not getting dressed up for meetings.
Spending no money on perfume. It is by far the most expensive thing I buy (Givenchy, if you want to know) and I have used it once in the last six months.
Knowing that some things will always be the same. For example, even in a pandemic when days run into each other, Mondays still suck.
Finding time to make 떡 (tteok, Korean rice cakes). It’s not hard to make but it is difficult to make it good, especially the consistency.
Not leaving the house for two, three days at the time doesn’t make me a recluse. I am just being responsible.
Finding a reason to belly laugh every day.
Getting much better doing push ups. I have a rule that if I go downstairs to the basement, I must do 10 push ups before going back up. It is also where the nearest bathroom is…
Watching movies while doing mindless work–can’t really do that in the office without getting side eye.
Ease of getting doctor’s appointment. I was waiting almost 2 years to see a dermatologist and I called last week and the booked me for next week.
Wearing a face mask=not feeling that you just botoxed your face when it’s cold outside.
Finding the time to finally go through the boxes that have been sitting in your office since I moved into the house 10 years ago.
The weight gain over the last 8 months turned me into a frickin’ camel; didn’t need food or water running a half marathon distance.

Cooking, Uncategorized

Contemplation over Hummus

March 17, 2021 Sonya Gwak

On St. Patrick’s Day, I stood at the white quartz counter of my Philly rowhome, listening to K-Pop and peeling boiled chickpeas to make hummus. Today’s Spotify selections seem to be mostly ballads, resonating with the mood of the day marked by the murder of eight people in Atlanta, what I am certain is a hate crime against people of Asian descent. Friends checked in on social media and with text messages as the spin of the news pointed to possible motivations for the killings.

There is a lot of debate about whether or not it is necessary to peel chickpeas, especially if you use a high-powered blender (which I do), or if you can even tell the difference. I choose to painstakingly pick off the skin of each chickpea to make the five cups I need for the hummus. The whole process takes about an hour or so. The mostly mindless and repetitive exercise gives me time to think through stuff without interruption.

I think about the fact that it is the middle of the day on a Wednesday. I am working from home and there are no meetings scheduled all day so that means that I can parse out my work for the day in whatever fashion I want. I have just come back from a five mile run through the South Philly and Pennsport neighborhoods, mostly on empty streets save for the dog walkers and construction workers. I think about the fact that the women killed yesterday did not have my privilege and had to report to work that day because their livelihood depended on being out in public in the middle of the pandemic. I wonder if I have the right to feel that I am a target.

As the peeled chickpeas start to pile up in the bowl, I think about whether or not spending this time is foolish. I did make hummus once before without peeling and the texture was definitely grittier than when I started peeling them. I wondered if that was because I did not use enough tahini or because I did not blend it enough, or it was really because of the peels. The dude told me that for hummus they must be peeled–that’s how it is done in Lebanon. Now that I have done it a few times and know the exquisite smoothness in texture, I cannot ever not peel the chickpeas. I think about the environment in which I grew up and the international school that shaped my worldview. A school of barely 1,200 children from kindergarten to Upper Sixth made up of 48 different nationalities, where difference was all around us all the time so that it was normal. I know that it was a privilege afforded to me as a foreigner living in Ghana to attend an elite, private school and that the school shielded me from harsher realities of poverty and oppression. However, it did teach me, from a very early age, that people you call your family are not necessarily related by blood and friends are not only people who look like me. The corollary goes for enemies. Once you know something good, you can never go back. I am the beneficiary of a diverse and inclusive space and I want to find a way to reclaim it but I no longer know how.

I think about my own identity now. I have always been an outsider of sorts. I was never Korean enough for my Korean extended family and often treated like a weirdo on my summer visits to Korea (I stopped going when I turned 16). I was never Ghanaian enough because people in the streets never let me forget that I was a foreigner. When I came to the United States for college, I couldn’t pass as Asian American until I learned to speak with an American accent (“leisure” was the last word I unlearned–“rhymes with seizure not pleasure”). Then, I learned through experience and an entire dissertation, that even people born in this country are often treated like outsiders and foreigners. I thought I had settled happily in my inbetween space as a perpetual outsider. That space is no longer safe.

I think about my role as an administrator in higher education where there is an overrepresentation of students of Asian descent (although not necessarily in faculty or administration) and from the ivory tower, we are not always viewed as people of color or minority–until something like this happens. I think about how after 9/11, many of my friends had to get their fingerprints taken because of their nationality, there was a spike in violence against Sikhs for wearing turbans and growing beards, and all my friends with the name “Omar” (I know a surprising number of people named Omar) got searched at airports. Violence against people of color has always been present; it’s just that violence against people who look like me was highlighted most recently. A friend once told me that rather than engage in “Oppression Olympics” we should find a way to address the structure that perpetuates oppression. I am still looking and trying but every one of these murders reminds me how far we, as a society, have left to go.

I think about the fact that I add lemon zest in my hummus to enhance the lemoniness even though no traditional recipe I have seen includes lemon zest. I think about all the different “hummus” out there made out of all sorts of different beans and flavors and wonder if they know that “hummus” or “hommus” means chickpeas in Arabic. I wonder when hummus became ubiquitous in American cuisine since I remember a time when it was a specialty food item. I think about how much I hate the idea of authenticity although I catch myself looking for the “real deal” often. I think about the oppression of binary gender norms of a narrow-minded society and the recent deaths of LGBTQ activists in Korea. I know that violence does not always have to involve a gun. I wonder when the time will come when labels lose meaning and change and difference will be ubiquitous.

Sonya’s Hummus Recipe

4-5 lemons, juiced and zested
8-10 cloves of garlic
1.5 cups water
2-3 Tbsp kosher salt
5 cups chickpeas, boiled and peeled
2-2.5 cups tahini

Blend lemon juice, lemon zest, garlic, water, and salt.
Add chickpeas and tahini.
Blend until smooth, scraping the sides as necessary.
Refrigerate. Makes about 6 cups of hummus.

The dude tasted a fingerful of hummus and the verdict was “Lemony, garlicky, tahini-y, chickpea-y but needs more salt. Eh! That can be added later.” I wonder when we can be hummus.

Uncategorized

Pickled Garlic Scapes/마늘쫑

March 10, 2021March 11, 2021 Sonya Gwak

One of the joys (and sometimes frustrations) of joining a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) is that you get whatever is in season. Around late spring of 2020, I joined the Savoie Organic Farm CSA. When I used to shop regularly at the Headhouse Farmers Market, I shopped with them mostly to get pepper seedlings (I still have fond memories of purchasing Trinidad Scorpion seedlings from them several years ago). Late May, I started getting boatloads of garlic scapes. Garlic scapes are the stalks that grow from the bulbs of garlic plants. I love them but I could not use them quickly enough in stir fries and they started to accumulate in the fridge.

Then I remembered that one of my favorite 반찬 (banchan or side dishes) was 마늘장아찌 (pickled garlic scapes) but not the kind that is served in most restaurants that are cooked in soy sauce but ones that were peppery and chewy and crunchy at the same time. I did a few google searches and none of them were what I remembered.

So I called Mom.

She, too, started with the soy sauce version:

Sterilize jars and fill with scapes.
Combine 2 cups sugar, 2 cups vinegar, 2 cups soy sauce, and 1 cup water and bring to a boil.
Pour hot liquid over the scapes.
Let cool completely and store it in the fridge for 3-5 days.
Once ripened, fish out the scapes, add 1 Tbsp gochujang, 1 tsp sesame seeds, 1 tsp simple syrup, 1 tsp sesame oil, and mix.

I said that was not what I remembered. She paused for a second, then asked, “How much gochujang do you have?” I happened to have a lot. Then came the simplest instructions ever: “Cut the scapes to about 3cm and bury it in the gochujang and let it sit for a few weeks. You can fish out what you want to eat, add sesame oil, sesame seed, and rice wine vinegar, and that’s it. You can use the garlicky gochujang for making banchan or soup.” (Turns out that the pickle I was looking for is 마늘쫑 and not 마늘장아찌).

3 weeks worth of garlic scapes about to be buried in 4 lbs of gochujang

“This is your 외할머니’s (maternal grandmother, so my mom’s mom) method. She knew I liked this so every spring she would bury the garlic scapes in the gochujang 장독 (jang dok, earthenware pot that is specially made for fermenting sauces) so that they would be ready when we came to visit in the summer.”

Her voice broke a little.

Out of her four sons and four daughters, my mom was closest to my grandmother. She also lived furthest away, in Ghana. Back in the 80’s the journey from Ghana to Korea was Accra-Lagos-Amsterdam-Anchorage-Tokyo-Seoul and the reverse to get back so it took several days to travel back and forth. We tried to go to Korea every summer if possible. In the time of snail mail and $2 per minute phone calls, keeping in touch with family half way around the globe was not easy. This was my grandmother’s way of thinking of her daughter and waiting for her to come home.

My grandmother passed away very suddenly while my mother was in Ghana and it devastated her. She still tears up when she speaks of her. This is the first recipe that has been handed down from my grandmother to my mother to me.

Category: Uncategorized

The day I saw the light at the end of a yearlong tunnel