I had a Kimchi Jang Summer
How does one sum up a good summer? My instincts say I must type out a long list of all the things I did. But listing it all—camping, Grand Canyon, painting a room, swimming, rearranging this, building that—doesn’t quite do it.
So let me start with a question: Have you ever made kimchi?
Once or twice a year, I host a kimchi jang. I scrub my kitchen until it’s sparkling and rinse out my big kimchi tubs. My husband goes to the market when sales are ripe. He returns only when he’s got a carful of veggies and fish sauce.
Then the party arrives. My friends bustle into the kitchen. Their kids disappear into my son’s room for hours of play. And—I don’t exactly know how—the result is magic.
We make sure everyone’s wearing aprons. K-pop blasts from one of the cell phones that’s laying around, forgotten. The Maangchi mak-kimchi recipe sits on the end of the table. We fumble with this wealth of veggies. There’s so much on the table it’s hard to make space for cutting boards. How do we do this again? How many pounds of napa are we using this time? Twelve? Twenty?
Finally, we feel ready for our fist task: prepping the cabbage for brining. We slice into the end of a cabbage, grip each side firmly, and rip it asunder. It’s the perfect power trip. Nothing else like it. Somehow, every single time, we marvel at how beautiful these crinkly green leaves can be.
And so begins three hours of labor. We work side by side, having an old fashioned gossip. In my experience, the word gossip is loaded, but I say gossip because the word chat doesn’t quite cover it. You get what I mean. We finish chopping everything for the filling, but the cabbage hasn’t finished brining. So I make spicy tteokbokki and cut refreshing cucumber.
I pull soju from the fridge. Touristy shot glasses I bought in Jeju last year clink in my hand.
A friend exclaims, “it’s the middle of the day!’
I say, “but the food is spicy.”
Another friend adds, “I should’ve had my husband drop me off…so I wouldn’t have to drive home.”
I laugh, “no getting drunk at my house.”
I know she wouldn’t, anyway. That would ruin the fun. We sit around the table, legs exhausted. We sip, we eat. When the brining timer goes off, we get back to work.
The feeling of a Yoon kimchi jang is like family parties from when I was a kid. Back when I ran around under the grownups’ feet, just like our kids do now. The honesty, innocence, and freedom. The feeling is warm. It’s community. It’s home.
This feeling is how I’ll sum up my summer. My family drove eight hours to attend a wedding. We met friends at the local water park, sometimes watching each others’ kids, sometimes meeting up so the parents could chat too. For several weeks, we hosted guests who were in-between housing situations. The list could go on. And on. But I’ll spare you.
I am not the most socially adept person out there. It has taken years to find my voice and dare to believe that there are people out there who don’t mind me being—me. And beyond that, actually like me being me. They accept me when I fidget, when my social battery is depleted, when I get a little turned around, when I can’t find my words, or when sensory overload forces a retreat. This is my first semi-unmasked summer, where I’ve accepted accommodations and trusted that maybe me being me is a gift, not a curse.
At the end of a kimchi jang, my house is thrashed. Huge tubs are covered in a deep, red paste. Bits of veggie scraps have fallen on the floor. The dishes have piled up. My friends clean up despite my resistance to help, bless them. I send them off with hugs, and collapse into a happy exhaustion.
We leave our fresh kimchi on our kitchen counters overnight to ferment. The next step?
Enjoy.
What’s Next?
Now that we’re getting ready for the school year, I’ll finally have work hours again. It’ll be so good to settle into my cozy, well-regulated brainspace again. I plan on updating you on several things!
Sept. 5th, tabling at Fullerton Art Walk
Sept. 13th, I’m running a free therapeutic art session for adults at Hello Heart Creative Studio
And don’t let me forget to show you the client work I did earlier this year!
Thank You
I appreciate your care, your kindness, and your support. Please purchase the I Am Enough coloring book to color along with the YouTube series.
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