What Exactly Are You Eating?
If you have the opportunity to meet me in my current state of being, you will know that there are three foods that I will never say “no” to: Guinness, Cupcakes, and Korean. I love Korean food — galbi, bulgogi, kimchi chigae, soon tubu, kimchi pan, jajang myeon, tteokbokki — the list really goes on and I’ll never turn down an opportunity to consume all of it. I’ve always loved Korean food — but, much like my love of Taylor Swift — I was embarrassed of it for a long time.
“The word “normal” implies that it is the standard and that deviations from that standard should be judged as inferior.”
A Tale of Two Groceries
To understand, this will require you to think about going grocery shopping. If you grew up bi-cultural (i.e., you were “American” outside of your home and fill-in-the-blank culture at home), my journey will be familiar to you. If you grew up in a traditionally white, American household (i.e., food you eat at home can be found at most chain restaurants around the country), then this might be a different narrative than you’re used to. As a child, going to the grocery store always meant two trips. One to get the “normal” food that I would beg my mother to make (i.e., spaghetti, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, those cheese packs with the crackers and the red plastic stick that never really did a good job of spreading the cheese, etc.) Food that my mother considered “junk food”. It isn’t until recently, that I realized that “normal” is not the appropriate word for this food. The word “normal” implies that it is the standard and that deviations from that standard should be judged as inferior. And, this is where my Korean-food shame originates. It is probably an other-worldly experience for the typical white American to think of having to justify to friends how one could possibly eat these “exotic”, “abnormal” foods, that you eat every day at home, for school lunch. Or the idea that one might hope and pray that friends visiting your home won’t open your freezer to only inevitably respond with disgust. It’s not something you’d know because frozen pizzas and whatever else white Americans keep in their freezer has always been acceptable.
“That one interaction, as a child, is enough to understand that being different doesn’t feel good…”
The second trip was to the Korean market — I loved going to the Korean market. You could get the candies covered in rice paper that melted in your mouth, the honeydew-flavored ice cream popsicles, bulgogi, kimchi, and everything else that I now associate with “comfort food”. I never thought of going to two different grocery stores as strange, it was my normal. That is, it was my normal until I brought Asian pears to school instead of apples and the kids next to me crinkled their noses and asked, “What is that?!” And, I couldn’t explain and they didn’t really want to know. That one interaction, as a child, is enough to understand that being different doesn’t feel good and should be hidden. I think back to growing up modestly and qualifying for free and reduced school lunches. Often, students are ashamed of their socioeconomic status and will forego lunch just to avoid being outed as poor. It’s a real thing and again, I have a soapbox for this but it will have to wait for another post. That was not the case for me, I didn’t know I was poor and the chance at eating gray fish sticks and chicken nuggets was a far better option than bringing home-made Korean food to school. If kids made fun of my lunch, I could blame the cafeteria staff rather than feel like I had to blame myself and my culture. From where I stood, I wouldn’t be “othered” by eating school lunch.
Fast forward to middle school and high school, notably some of the most awkward and trying times for most people and this was no different for me. The most mortifying thing that could happen in conversation with my friends usually went like this:
Friend A: You’re going over to Kady’s today?Have you seen her freezer?
Friend B: No, why?
Friend A: It’s so gross! She has these tiny fish — like anchovies that are frozen in there. Her family eats them. Tell them, Kady — right? Your family eats those?
Me: Uh. Yeah.
Friend B: Oh, gross! That’s so weird.
Friend A: And, her house always smells weird.
Me: Yeah, it’s pretty gross. We don’t always eat like that though. I don’t really like it either.
You can imagine that my high school palate quickly became comprised of pizza, hot dogs, and hamburgers while secretly yearning for Korean food. So many arguments with my mom revolved around her feeling like I was ashamed of being Korean and that this shame could be evidenced by the fact that I never wanted to eat Korean food when my friends were around. And the truth is, she was right. I felt like she would never grasp how humiliating it was to explain to your friends why the food at your house was so weird. As a dutiful mother (for which I am ever-grateful she was), she felt like her child was losing grip of a strong and valuable culture that mustn’t be lost in the American noise.
“If nothing else is universal, the one thing we have in common is that we all need to eat.”
It’s a strange time. Now, if I tell someone I’m Korean American, one of the first things they might say is, “Oh, I love Korean food!” Which has its own problems (for another post) but they genuinely mean it and they’re trying to connect with me as a person through my culture. If we are having a BBQ, I will proudly announce that my parents are coming and they’re bringing galbi — and most people probably come for that reason alone rather than to spend time with my opinionated, stubborn ass. It’s the opposite of how I remember my childhood. It’s helped me embrace who I am but, it took the approval of white culture to make that happen. I have mixed feelings about it, but I can’t deny that it’s a step in the right direction. As an adult, I no longer struggle with this concept of my food being “strange” to others. I can only say that I wish I had come to this conclusion sooner. I’m envious and hopeful when my high school students share their pho, egg rolls, chimichurris, and everything else under the sun. I love and often take for granted these days, kids and teachers alike will not only bring these foods to class potlucks but will actually purchase — SPEND MONEY — on these food items at school food fairs. No one says something is gross and kids share what ingredients go in their food, no matter how “exotic” it might sound and everyone responds with “oohs” and “ahhs” in the most respectful and genuine way. In a world where so many things are going wrong, something as simple as a high school food fair can show you how so many things are also going right. Breaking bread is often referred to as the best and most expedient way to build relationships and bring about peace. Lunch or dinner meals are where interviews might be held, contracts might be negotiated, peace accords might be discussed. If nothing else is universal, the one thing we have in common is that we all need to eat. As important as everything else is, I truly believe food is not only the simplest place to start to effect change — but it’s a place where the very beginning of acceptance and inclusion begin. (In case you’re wondering, I also have a rant about cultural appropriation and food but — you guessed it — for another day and another post.)
Some Parting Thoughts
I know for a fact that I had non-white peers that didn’t have this struggle, they appeared to happily eat Kosher, Halal, or vegetarian. Peers who would fast and patiently explain why they couldn’t eat when the sun was up and I would be the person that was confused and asking how that made any sense and ignorantly saying how I wouldn’t be able to do the same. I guess this post ends with the fact that it took many years and a lot of introspection to realize that I have been guilty of the “othering” of my peers while feeling simultaneously “othered” by them. This realization has also led me to be more mindful of how I interact with my colleagues, friends, and strangers. My curiosity should not outweigh your right to be different. Is there one right way to ask someone a question about the food they’re eating or the culture they ascribe to? No. What made me shrink inside my own skin is not going to be the same for someone else. But, your curiosity should not end with a value or judgment placed on the response that you get. Catalogue it as something new you’ve learned, something that will broaden your mindset of what you think “food” is and in that act, you’re broadening your mindset of what you think it means to be “American.” And, when we do that as a nation, perhaps we can begin to see some healing begin.
xoxo,
Kady
