My Daughter Has a Diverse Background — I'm Using Food to Help Her Connect With That

One of the last memories I have of my father before he passed away was from August 2016. My husband, 1-year-old daughter, and I flew to Oklahoma to spend time with him because he had just found out he had stage 4 lung cancer. Here I was, in a small town in Oklahoma, in one of Garth Brooks's favorite family restaurants, Hugo's. A literal pile of bacon sat in front of me, and a plate of homemade biscuits smothered in sausage gravy sat to the side. It didn't get much more country than this.

This wasn't the first time I'd been sitting in a restaurant in Oklahoma with people staring at me. As a child, whenever I would visit my grandparents, I would get odd looks because you didn't see many half-Korean kids in this part of the country. Back in the day, it bothered me a little bit, because all I wanted to do was be a kid and have fun — go camping, chase snakes, jump into waterholes, pick pecans, and so much more. But today, it felt a bit different. Today, I had my daughter with me, and I really didn't care what others thought. I wanted my daughter to be with her grandfather and to enjoy the food that always held a special place in my heart (and stomach).

My father passed away just a few weeks later. Although my parents had been divorced for over 20 years, they had been married for 25, so my Korean mother wanted to pay her respects to him by attending his funeral. It was a somber time for everyone. My family had never been good at communicating to each other, so my mother and I barely talked on the flight back. But on the drive home from the airport, we did the one thing we knew how to do together to heal — we ate Korean food. From biscuits and gravy in Oklahoma to banchan (small side dishes) in Maryland, it was a whirlwind of memories I will never forget.

Although my daughter was too young to remember her last meal with Grandpa or the way Grandma and I drowned our sorrows in kkakdugi (radish kimchi) and kongnamul (seasoned soybean sprouts), I want to make sure she grows up to appreciate the food of her family.

It's not often that someone claims "mashed potatoes with gravy and a side of kimchi" as their favorite food. But that's mine. There has always been a battle between fried and fresh, savory and spicy, and barbecue and bulgogi. It never matters who wins the battle, because it's all delicious. My dream is for my daughter to appreciate the diversity of food and understand how it bonds human beings together, especially families. Although my mother mainly raised me, the few and far-between memories I have of my father always go back to food, like all of my best memories do.

I want my daughter to know the excitement of waking up at 4 a.m., getting on a boat, catching fish, cleaning the fish, and frying the fish around a country campfire. I want her to wake up on a Saturday morning, heat up leftover kimchi soup, and grab at least three banchan sides to eat with rice while watching cartoons. I want her to see her great-grandmother bake perfect homemade buttermilk biscuits from scratch. I want her to see another grandmother make fresh napa cabbage kimchi with extra red pepper. I also want her to enjoy a bowl of homemade chicken and dumplings soup with a side of cornbread just as much as she would enjoy homemade tteok mandu guk (rice cake soup) with a side of eomuk bokkeum (stir-fried fish cake). I want her to sit around a handcrafted wooden table, on chairs with floral cushions, seasoning with salt and pepper to her delight. I want her to sit cross-legged on the floor, around an unfolded wooden table, adding as much sesame oil or red pepper as she wants. I want her to know the beauty of butter and the gift of gochujang (chili paste). I want her to experience the ultimate Thanksgiving dinner where pieces of turkey soak up kimchi juice and mashed potatoes mix with dubu jurin (pan-fried tofu). I want her to know who she is.

A few weeks ago, my daughter tried cucumber kimchi for the first time. She's an excellent helper when it comes to making kimchi, but she refuses to eat it, so I was surprised she actually ate it and liked it. She can pack away potatoes like it's her job, but she hasn't quite embraced her "spicy" Korean side. Her taste buds are in progress, and that's OK.

Next week, I might make beans. Should they be baked with brown sugar and bacon or braised with soy sauce and sesame seeds? Maybe both! That's the beauty of food. It's something that brings every culture together.