Crying in H Mart is a Perfectly Seasoned Dish Called Life
I don’t prefer audio books but this one was a pleasant experience
Michelle Zauner, the author of Crying in H Mart, also a musician, part of the indie-pop band Japanese Breakfast, very gently pulled me into her life, into moments with her ‘lovely’ mother and the grief of losing her to cancer. (I usually get distracted a lot when I am listening to an audio book, but this one was a very different experience.)
First, with her soothing, mellifluous and versatile (no I didn’t look at a thesaurus :D) voice that touched my heart. So, 10 points to audiobooks narrated by Michelle Zauner. And then, with her journey of discovering and building a unique relationship with Korean food. Her connection with food, what it means to her and the way she savours it is pretty much like me. It is unfortunate that she lost her dear mother, and we learn from the book that cooking and relishing Korean meals helped her deal with the grief of the loss, of remembering her mother and in many ways becoming her. The loss is unfathomable for me. But, even at the risk of sounding trivial, I will say that I relate to food the same way she does. The way she sees it, as an integral factor that has helped her find the connection with her beloved mother.
Food is the most important thing for me. It allows me to connect with people, new places and cultures, open my heart to the world and to understand why people are the way they are; however they may be. It also helps me get over sad days, celebrate the great ones and in many ways makes my life worth living. I am what I eat, surely as Michelle’s mother said. She was very particular about how to eat something; a quality I admire because I am like that too.
See,
…she did raise me with a distinctly Korean appetite. This meant a reverence for good food and a predisposition to emotional eating. We were particular about everything: kimchi had to be perfectly sour, samgyupsal perfectly crisped; stews had to be piping hot or they might as well have been inedible. The concept of prepping meals for the week was a ludicrous affront to our lifestyle. We chased our cravings daily. If we wanted the kimchi stew for three weeks straight, we relished it until a new craving emerged. We ate in accordance with the seasons and holidays.
I eat like this. I make food like this. My mother makes food like this. Is it a vice or a virtue, I don’t know! I think it is about respecting the food you eat, your body and most importantly, being grateful to choose from a variety and relish the food you want. Amen!
Now being able to appreciate good food is a talent, but look at this paragraph. Michelle writes this when she begins making Kimchi, a fermented staple in Korean cuisine.
I had thought fermentation was controlled death. Left alone, a head of cabbage molds and decomposes. It becomes rotten, inedible. But when brined and stored, the course of its decay is altered. Sugars are broken down to produce lactic acid, which protects it from spoiling. Carbon dioxide is released and the brine acidifies. It ages. Its color and texture transmute. Its flavor becomes tarter, more pungent. It exists in time and transforms. So it is not quite controlled death, because it enjoys a new life altogether.
The memories I had stored, I could not let fester. Could not let trauma infiltrate and spread, to spoil and render them useless. They were moments to be tended. The culture we shared was active, effervescent in my gut and in my genes, and I had to seize it, foster it so it did not die in me. So that I could pass it on someday. The lessons she imparted, the proof of her life lived on in me, in my every move and deed. I was what she left behind. If I could not be with my mother, I would be her.
I decided to buy a copy of the book so I could re-read this passage as many times as I want, whenever I want to. To keep it and to protect it, because how beautiful are these words? I cried a lot, feeling Michelle’s grief while also swelling with pride for her. I appreciate her brain and I am glad I got to listen to her thoughts. Michelle also depended a lot on Maangchi, the Korean Adjhumma, whose YouTube channel is The Bible for Korean recipes. Michelle’s relationship with Maangchi was endearing to witness.
Now the final bit, and the central theme of the book — grief.
I think grief is the most complex of all human emotions. A lifetime can seem less to process its many stages, the many layers in each stage and its general unpredictable nature. If you are attempting to heal your life, you will know what I mean about the unpredictable nature of grief. Michelle successfully translated these complexities into words. While dealing with grief is a personal journey, different for every individual, it is a universal emotion. It helps to be reminded of that and be reassured that we are not alone. That we are resilient enough to cope with it. I cannot comprehend the grief of losing a loved one, but I sure experienced grief and Michelle helped process it to some extent.
The final chapter was comforting, where Michelle also made peace with the loss of her mother. She is a great writer and I truly appreciate her mind and the way she thinks. I am glad she decided to publish Crying in H Mart.
Should you read it? DEFINITELY!
