{Mama Kim’s special oyako donburi, a meal I always relish}


{My third… or maybe it was fourth cousin… visited Southern California with a batch of homemade mini pecan tarts.  Imagine a 70-somewhat-year-old woman baking!}

 As I prep for my move to San Fran and think about my 5-week trip to India, a number of forgotten realizations engross me–with one being that food is synonymous to memorable stories for me.  Each meal encapsulates a unique emotion and history.  While I have mastered the art of cooking and pan-frying fish among other culinary skills, I am nowhere near being the master chef that mom is.  She can whip up a plate of exquisite homemade basil pesto spaghetti with such grace and bake a pan of rosemary focaccia with absolute deftness.  Behind the kneading, precise cutting, boiling, seasoning hides an unimaginable rich lineage–we not only inherit our ancestral knowledge of food but the family heirloom of love as well.  And what makes every component of my meal at home special is–well, taste, most definitely–the care and dedication put into creating it.  Although I’ll be lingering in my parents’ nest for another two months, I already know that I will long to hear chatter at the family table in the midst of satiating our voracious appetites.  And I most certainly will miss pampering my taste buds with a bowl of Mama Kim’s steaming hot oyako donburi on a dreary day.  

Stay warm and healthy, everyone!

pristine christine